Someone who listens

This week’s tale:

I stroke his beautiful hair, and ask him to go to his shed, and he does.

At least as a horse he listens to me, I chuckle to myself.

I wonder if he will remember what I did to him this week, and hate my being a witch.

three line tales week 96: an Iceland pony in the snow

© Sneha P


One day that changed everything


One hundred meetings with you

didn’t matter to me once.

I was blissfully ignorant towards you.

Until one day, I began to see things anew.

One look into your hazel eyes,

And I fell in love

a love that would for a lifetime suffice.

One hug was all it took,

to put together my broken pieces

One harsh word was all it took,

To make me see you vices.

For I burnt day and night to make you realise,

it was okay to feel things, okay to embrace the sunrise.

However, I am out of fire, and your heart is still made of ice.

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

Stuck in a loop

Here’s my entry for this week’s Three Line Tales


I stood there looking into your charcoal eyes, as you took a half-reluctant step towards me, the leaf crumbled beneath your feet, I apprehensively took a step back.

You slowly but swiftly picked up something and shot an arrow right at me, sucking out my life force, before I could run, I wonder if you realised that it’s me and that we were destined to meet again in this lifetime, only for you to destroy me completely….again.

This time as a cruel hunter apathetic to the agony of a beautiful deer, in the previous life as an indifferent lover, impervious to my emotions.


© Sneha P [Rights Reserved]


The apartment is dark. I find myself walking barefoot in the quiet living room, every footstep makes a creaking noise. There is an eerie quality about the air. A sense of doom,  lurking around. As if someone is watching me.
I find myself in the guest bedroom, staring at a pool of blood. As I gasp in horror, I move forward to see the source of the blood, a dead body.
I wake up to a shrill voice roaring somewhere nearby. I can barely make out the words in my half conscious state. The soft cotton sheets and the embrace of the blanket have held me prisoner, I cannot escape their embrace even if I wanted to.
I know I must finish the dream.
I am psychic. Well not a professional one,but a damn good one. I see dreams that predict the future. The crazy part? I don’t know which dreams are predicting something and which ones are just due to my overactive imagination.
At first,  I thought it’s just like deja vu or something, but then the instance became way too much to ignore. Now I pay close attention to every dream I have and even try to keep a journal that I scribble in whatever parts of the dream that I can remember. Usually it’s not much.
This dream could be important,  I must see the face of the body.  I can avert a potential murder maybe.
The voice is now coming from right above my head, the source of the yelling is my cousin Lara. She’s crashing at my place for a few days, if the definition of few days is 5 months, rent free, I might add. I honestly didn’t mind it at first,  but then began the random  parties,  loud strangers, cigarettes, alochol followed my hours of me cleaning up the house after drunk teenagers leave it in a mess.
I wake up, annoyed at Lara for having interrupted an important dream.
“What?”I snap at her.
“Make me some breakfast, will you? ” She says in a commanding tone.
Before I can gather my senses she’s out the door. I gulp down my anger and proceed in the kitchen.
The nightmare has only just begun. I see that she has spilled a bottle of red wine on my new manuscript. I was supposed to show it to a literary agent today. Annoyed I ask her who did it?
“How the hell do I know? You mustve left it lying around carelessly” she taunts.
I clench my fists and take a deep breath and count to ten and start chopping up some chillies for the omlette. 
“Why are you all worked up?” She spits out between mouthful of cornflakes.
“It’s not like it’s a real profession anyways. I mean you could write another one of these Personal diary crap” she giggles.
I tightly grasp the knife in my hand, I know how the dream ends and who’s body is it without having seen the entire dream yet.

Idea of Love

Often we fall in love with the person we imagine someone can be, a possibility. 
In a way we fall in love with our imagination of someone. The character we want them to be. More considerate, more outgoing, more expressive maybe. We fall in love with the perfect story we want for ourselves.
Sadly, people aren’t designed to play a part in your story. Often,  the people that come into your life shape your story, they make it unique, different from everybody else’s.
Other wise we’d all be stuck with Prince Charmings and Perfect Princesses.
Wouldn’t that be a tad boring?
I mean not every girl is a damsel in distress. Not everyone wants to be saved by someone.
Sometimes, people just want someone to stand by their side in the journey of self discovery.
Not everyone sings and dances with birds and animals (as often princesses are portrayed to be). Nor does everyone have a sweet loving nature.
People are imperfect, that’s what makes them special.
People are filled with passion, a little madness, a little extra temper sometimes. They can be a little naive, a little persnickety, a little cold at times.
But if we were all perfect, we’d be easily replaceable. 
So if you can’t accept someone for who they are but want them to change because you see a world of possibilities with a changed version of them, I don’t think that is love.
Love is when you’ve seen what they can be, the good and the ugly, what they can and cannot give you and you still look at them the same way.
Love is when you know their flaws but you know how to handle them. Love when you miss those little things that annoy you at times. Love is when you know no one else can make you feel the way they do.
Love is when you can be anywhere but you’d rather be with them.

Copyright ( c ) Sneha P [ Rights Reserved ]

World Poetry Day!

Hello there reader!

I think it is a sort of mandate that I write a post on the occasion of World Poetry Day (21st March,2016) as decalred by UNESCO.

Firstly, let me take this opportunity to just say a big thanks to all the poets out there  for putting their beautiful, chaotic, dark, real, grumpy, melancholy thoughts into the magic that is poetry. For exposing their deepest thoughts, ones they wouldn’t say outloud. The world would be lost without you. Seriously. Want to know why?

Well in my opinion if you manage to save just one person today, if you manage to make one person go – “Hey, I didn’t know someone else had similar thoughts!” or “So glad to know that I am not the only one who feels this way!” you are in a way helping the lost ones, one person at a time.

There might be days when you might wonder if anyone is even reading these ramblings that go inside your head (I do too! Err, I hope Someone is reading this). There might be moments when you feel too hurt to write, because writing about it, only hurts more on some days. It makes you feel that emotion you have been dodging, feel deeply.  But write anyways, I know I do.


I think that’s what poetry is to a poet.

Because, somewhere someone might be awake at 2am in the night, scrolling, surfing, searching for something that helps, something that will make them feel anything, or something that they feel but cannot articulate. And when they stumble across your random musings or carefully crafted verses, they might just find what they were looking for. The feeling that they couldn’t describe is suddenly manifested, articulated and their emotions dissected (in a good way) and YOU are the reason why.

Also, write because the world doesn’t make sense without it. How else do you cope with this world? Write because it hruts, write because it doesn’t anymore. Write because the world will change a bit with every word your pen spills.

I have read this quote in a children’s book called The little prince by Antoine de Saint- Exupery  and it has stuck with me since.

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”


And I feel that poetry is language that the heart speaks. The language that manages to transport you into a world where words are magic. They can soothe your soul, calm your nerves or break your heart into pieces and still leave you wanting more.

Now there might be people out there like me, who dont know the first thing about what an  iambic pentameter is, but still manage to touch hearts.

Poetry is anything that speaks to the heart and flows from the heart. Here’s wishing every poet and reader a Happy World Poetry Day!

I’ll end with a quote that I happened to read today,

“The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven; and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name; such tricks hath strong imagination.”


PS – Your poet friends might not make sense at times, their mind being the beautiful chaotic mess it is, but hang on to them. They may feel a little too deeply at times, the vehmence of their emotions may scare you but remember, its a part of who they are. It is what makes them such a wonderful friend, they feel a little too much. ( But hey, who defines too much after all?)


Being a woman is something that cannot be articulated into words.
People often relate it with being compassionate, kind, nurturing, forgiving nature. However, with time the adjectives have changed.

I read this somewhere –

The idea that women are innately gentle is a fantasy and a historically recent one. Kali, the Hindu Goddess of destructed is depicted as wreathed in human skulls. – Naomi Wolf

Today women are breaking stereotypes in all areas. Be it choosing unconventional career paths,  making lifestyle choices that are unorthodox,  speaking up about issues that were earlier discussed in hushed voices or putting themselves and their needs first, without any feeling of guilt. And why should they feel guilty?
Before being a daughter, sister, mother or  wife, they are themselves first.
An individual with needs, Dreams,  hopes,choices,  opinions  and aspirations.


Happy Women's Day

There were times when women with strong voices and fierce opinions were looked down upon by society, they still are to some levels, but that has never stopped them from marching ahead.
What kind of a world do we live in where if a man’s bossy,he has a strong personality. Where as if a woman is bossy, she is a control freak?

They say –

People only fear what they cannot understand.

In my opinion, that’s why strong women are often criticized. People have a hard time dealing with change. A changed society where women can speak up for themselves without being judged.

Often people talk about liberation of women from shackles. I say liberation isn’t some big moment that we should await.
It could be something as little as letting your daughters/sister dress the way they want to, or work wherever they want to. Because to begin with, who said they needed your approval?
Or something as simple as changing the basic stereotypical views held in our mind.
Here are two ads that have managed to deeply touch me. –


This one is about breaking gender stereotypes and starting to do so at the very basic level.



When did “like a girl” become a bad thing?


I had read this one statement by Indra Nooyi

Women can’t have it all.

I say, why not? In my opinion women need to stop feeling guilty for wanting it all. Nobody will judge a man for staying at work till 12 am, or traveling the world leaving his family behind, but God forbid a woman should make the same choice.

Once women embrace their true self, once they decide to be unapologetic for who they are, nothing stands in their way. The illusion of a patriarchal society will be lost once the veil of ignorance is lifted.

This women’s day, instead of just wishing the wonderful women in our lives, let’s do something that will actually make a difference in the lives of all those beautiful women in our lives.