Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Five

Krishna appeared, from the edges of the screen

And his eyes were a blood red.

The avatara of Vishnu cursed me with the curse

That finally left me how I now am.


He wrenched the gem off my forehead

The emerald I had been born with

And the blood poured out,

All over my face and pulsated

And formed a sore.

He condemned me, to roam the earth,

Alone and in pain,

With this endless blood shedding off

Until the end of the age.

The kaliyug, ends now, and

I send these words forth

And I hope they speak of, my repentance

And how the Gods are never truly fair.

They ended a life, that I made them pay for,

Fully knowing I deserved,

My death,

And instead that dastardly God,

Did not let me die,

The price I had to pay, for a guilty conscience,

Was my quick death

And immortal, I wander the earth,

Trying to salve the pain,

Trying to forget, I wander the earth,

Hiding, hiding from the rain

Trying to forget, I wander the earth,

Trying, and trying, to change.

Link: Part 4:

Part 3:

Part 2:

Part 1:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Four

My father had taught him, that mantra too,

And he responded with the same

And soon, we knew, with the end of this fight,

The world would never be the same.

The Gods fell upon us, and pleaded us to,

End that bloody war,

And Arjuna remembered

How to stop, the meteor descend into Earth.

My father had not taught me

How to stop the Brahmashirsha and I did not know

What to do.

I directed the brute force, of the astra

On Abhimanyu’s unborn child,

For then I would end, the entire lineage

Of the Pandava five.

Link: Part 3:

Part 2:

Part 1:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Three

As night fell, like a guerrilla

I snuck into the pandava camp

And in that tent, in that darkness

I found life.

I was in an anger that I could not myself control

And my sword fell upon

The cradle

Where tiny babies lay.

Yes I knew. There were tiny, innocent children

Sleeping blissful sleep,

And killing the brothers was not enough,

Their children also had to go.


I left the tent, with a bloodied sword,

And finding not the brothers, fearing their wrath

I made away into the night,

And in no time, the brothers descended

Upon my quarters, to challenge me for a fight.

That fool, Arjuna, my father’s favourite

Shouted at me in anger,

I looked into his tearful eyes,

I calmly lifted a blade of grass,

And spoke a mantra that ordered the skies

To rain on them their wrath.

Link: Part 2:

Part 1:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Two


I was alive, and when reproached, they told me

That Yudhishtira hadn’t lied.

There was also an elephant

That held my namesake

That had been killed in battle.

He had shouted, that blasphemous white lie,

That “Ashwatthama, the elephant was dead”

And my poor father,

Gave himself up, and let his blood pour, red.


The anger that bubbled, within me then,

I cannot put into words,

I believe that I wished, the world itself

To end and take everyone away,

For the so-called good men, the bloody pancha-pandav

Were liars and thieves and crooks

And I knew then, they deserved

More than just their deaths.


Is it okay, to lie in war?

I really do not know,

But a single unjust act,

Can be replaced by another,

And this truth I believe to be so.

An eye for an eye, an ancient saying,

I set out to wield.

A word as a sword, a hilt of gold,

I sheathed into its sheath.

Link: Part 1:

Part 3:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter One.

“Ashwatthama is dead!” came the cry,

And the tone with which, this lie

Was spoken, in the midst of war,

I will never forget.


People can’t hear me anymore,

And I’ve screamed and screamed

Into the light, hoping my voice will be heard

But here I stand, condemned to this darkness,

For a sin I will not be forgiven.


This age, draws to a close,

And with it comes my death.

So I will these words to flow

Off the voice of another,

Into the realm of man, to tell him

It was never in my control.


My father, I remember,

Heard the cry that spoke and sealed my death,

And he got off his steed,

For I was his son, and he now believed me dead.

That bloody, godforsaken fool,

Yudhishtira, the so called Dharmaraja

That goddarn son of the God of Death,


To kill my father.

To kill his dear guru,

The man who taught him everything,

The venerable Dronacharya

Because there was no other way.


And I watched this blasphemous act,

Take place, and saw all the light die from

My father’s eyes

Before he fell among the dead.


(Hey y’all. This is a five-chapter series told from Ashwatthama’s perspective. It’s an ancient mythical legend from the Mahabharata and it explores many aspects, such as Love, Loss, Revenge, Death, the Passage of Time, and a numerous more. I will be posting the second chapter tomorrow. This is to give you guys some context, the Mahabharata is a legendary war between brothers, the Pandavas and the Kauravas. It’s a classic story of the good over evil. Within this epic tale, Dronacharya was the teacher of the Pandavas but he was forced to support the monarch the Pandavas chose to defy and he fought against his own proteģes. Killing him, was impossible. Ashwatthama was Drona’s son, and the Pandavas faked his death, to catch their acharya off guard. This poem is Ashwatthama’s revenge, narrated as he would have seen it.)

Link: Part 2:

Posted in death, love

Another Macbeth

To Château D’lf
Another Macbeth
I must say, before you take
Me away,.
That first of all,
I killed her.
I confess. I loved her.
I killed her.
They aren’t all too different, are they?
I will never
Forgive myself
For what l just did.
You can lift me
Hoist me on your shoulders
And cart me away
And I shall not leave that home
In yearn for my Monte Cristo.
For I repent, at your feet
As this pool of blood,
Her blood
Surrounds my being.
The lights dim
As the shutters drop
And the people rise in laud.
Hands slap each other
And justify her death.
And I wish I could smile.
For I couldn’t hurt her.
Not in life.

Posted in freedom


You stand in between the valley

And stare at the sun rising on

The horizon stretched out in

Front of you.


A bird flies above,

Screeching its screech across

The sun rising,

And the lake behind you

Glistens with the dew deposits

That flow off the grass you stand on

And simmer over

The water body behind you,

Where all these birds and animals,

Stoop themselves down

And take large drags of

Their morning drugs.


There’s a tiny chair,

Right there

And you sit down now,

To watch the sun,

Fix itself on the sky

As you feel the cold of the night

Wash itself away.


Your legs fall up

On a table-top kept

In front of your chair

As you drain your tiny

Cup of chinese tea

To its dregs,

And set the glass down

Next to you,

The thunder explodes above you


Kilometers high

And you close your eyes

To the tiny raindrops falling

Down on the ground,

Mixing with the dew drops

That still flow from the grass

To the lake

Where ripples form,

Now more pronounced than ever.


And you fall in bliss

Until the rain stops

And you open your eyes,

To the rainbow stretched across the sky.


(Art by Anushi Bhamra)