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A woman’s pen must be sheepishly compliant, subjugated and enslaved. She must duck and dive when it comes to writing Junoesque, voluptuous words. She must never bare them by putting her hard-earned dignity at stake and never ever ever use blood-red ink because in her untold herstory the gender of her words is invariably feminine. In the realm of unwritten laws, the streaks of superiority and rebellion lurking beneath her impertinent phrases are tantamount to monstrosity

in the eyes of a totalitarian.

Published by Smita Ray

Things take turn for better or for worse but reading always brings its own rewards. You don’t just write stories and dramas, you learn and grow with it and it grows on you. You learn to be grateful for small mercies yet you don’t take things lying down. You don’t get carried away by things that never amount to a hill of beans. You might turn from xenophobic to xenomanic and you come to know how little you know. You don’t look over your shoulder if a hair is out of place. You see through dodgy characters and don’t abide…

Published by Smita Ray

Originally published at on May 6, 2021.

Fall is unduly tanned and it goes against the grain

to truss up its bronzed limbs when they wiggle gracefully

in an easy-breezy manner as though seasons have a skinful,

gliding in the crisp parched air, rampaging past me,

scrambling up to their forsaken homes.

Our gaze meshed

and hearts bounded up together in harmony,

Yawning days, plodding their ways

left behind the hegemony

of gust that thumped and slashed.

Published by Smita Ray

Originally published at on April 20, 2021.

Social media

An eternally comical place

Photo race

Published by Smita Ray

Originally published at on April 17, 2021.

Little girl do you see?

How your diamond eyes still hold galaxies,

Oh, you have grown up an effervescent river

Concealing gazillions of their ilk

in your arabesque layers!

Published by Smita Ray

Originally published at on April 16, 2021.

Behind the lush pastures where our child flesh pasted to adult bones never wanes there’s a house riddled with numberless examinations and tests.

Yesterday, when my mother told me that relationship is metaphoric to love, I twigged…

Why she felt like a sky, endless, vast and eternal, festooned with clouds of all colours, of candy floss.

Why birds and butterflies conjured wings. Why flowers and trees sprouted, rayed and soared above. Why seeds bust open the earth.

Why devil takes the hindmost in such dynamics…

Why when love calls it doesn’t feel like withering scorn.

When the walls are riddled…

Unfettered, blinkers slipping out

Fail to comfort with the grace of a whore

Wilting dialogues push up the daisies

No longer flushed with warmth and kinship

Dreams unfold handsomely

The ghost of fathers pull back to match your stride

Yet to reach the police station sited at a stone’s throw

Puddles of daughter’s blood still drip off his talons

While ravens peck matter-of-factly at rodents

Watching the seer plunge his scalpel into the ripen wounds

His alabaster brows furrow, stuck in the groove

Dying at their own fancied pace

Dreamers hurl the blinkers to the pyre afire

Immerse those iron fetters of envy into the Ganges

To fashion a garden entrenched in the graveyard of dreams

Photo saved from

Originally published at on April 13, 2021.

Surreptitious climbers noiselessly creeping along the parapet sidle away hurriedly

When your satin fingers wickedly graze my fiery skin

An avalanche of wispy dayspring-blossoms burgeon amid your ardent foliage

Warm sun streaming through your skin tassels me

Pulling up me short and my heart skips a beat

An effervescent medley of joyous seasons

Softly coalesces with mellifluous arabesques of flute

Photo courtesy:

Published by Smita Ray

Originally published at on April 11, 2021.

Smita Ray

I am a writer.

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