Rya Ray







hungry for
homes between
the ridges of yours,
visit your palms
but don't stay,
just like a guest
who knows
when to leave.
Your fingers
know passageways,
to the strings
in my heart.
Of  you, I spin the yarn.
Of you, I become.

Katiya karoon.

4 APR AT 19:58

Someone looks at you
and then you feel
songs being poured
into the emptiness
between your ribs.


2 APR AT 22:21

Time is slipping
like sand
from our hands
And I'm still willing
to sing a song to you
in the middle of the desert,
hoping that maybe
the wind will awaken
the same song someday,
only, with a different sandstorm.

Voices in deserts and you.

28 MAR AT 20:04

In a poem 
and a song
both short
and long,
in a life
or dragged along.
I like how
no matter
how time
gets spent,
there is always
this silence
in the end.

Zabardasti rhyme karaya.

24 MAR AT 0:25

Growing up,
we've been learning
how to lie.
Like taking airplanes
and saying
we can fly.

Yours truly?

21 MAR AT 7:58

The last time
I wanted to
hold a hand,
I did not.
I've seen
how that went.
So next time
I feel like,
I will.
to find out
it'll go
the same way.

Chit bhi teri. Patt bhi tera.

17 MAR AT 1:10

Honey, I think
all that
people like me
try to do,
is tiptoe out
while there's
still time,
in the hope
of becoming
memories that
don't hurt much.

Risk management.

16 MAR AT 0:36

Truths twist
when they
change hands
and mouths.
Be careful,
from where
you receive them
unto yours.

True or False.

13 MAR AT 21:13

"Don't tell me it doesn't matter. 
I just told you how much it does."

I chronicle 24 years of being fat. Link in caption.

It’s taken me a lot of time to be able to write this. I don’t know what I seek to achieve by writing this. Maybe this is a selfish rant. Maybe this is an attempt to make people understand what goes on the receiving end of all the weight-related bullying. My first memory regarding discovering I am fat is that from my classroom when some boys thought it was a good idea to use wet chalk to write ‘MOTI’ on my chair when I’d gone out for recess. I tried rubbing it off with my palm. It didn’t go. As a child, you do not understand shame a lot. I did not understand what was the big deal about me being overweight than other girls in the class. I came home and asked my mother if it makes me ugly. She told me what any mother would have. She said, “Not at all. It’s the inside that matters.” The next few times I brought a question home, I was met with different responses like “It’s all baby fat. It’ll go away.” and “You should not listen to them.” It gets really difficult to not listen to people when they are saying things into your ears. I had got on the school bus a little late that day and all the window seats were taken. So I went and sat next to a guy from my class after asking him if I could. He was asking something about class from that day when another classmate looked at him and said “Koi aur mili nahi bagal me bithaane ko? Iske saath baithega? Utha moti ko!” Next thing I remember is being pulled by my arm off the seat. I resisted. I didn’t get up. I looked at the friend and when he began to push me off the seat, I resisted harder. I welled up after a while and got up myself. By then everyone around me was laughing. I don’t even remember crying after getting home. I just grew quiet towards them. I understand that we were kids back then. Maybe if I were to meet these people now, they’d probably have learned not to behave the way they did. I am certain they’d be nice to me and slightly embarrassed about their behavior. I hope they are reading this. Read the complete note here: https://m.facebook.com/notes/the-broken-clock/chronicling-24-years-of-being-fat/1988011114673603

12 MAR AT 18:02

Dear Girish,

I've been meaning to tell you that I think you've ruined the part of me that could invest efforts in any man. My reaction to affection is to run. My reaction to indifference is to run. It's been weeks since I've been waking up more tired than I was when I went to sleep. There's so much grief that's spilled over in fits that I can't tell the difference between wanting to scream and wanting to stay as quiet as possible. Someone told me yesterday that I'm too available. I think he's right. I'm out there, ready to heal what seeks healing and love what seeks love. I've forgotten the last time someone touched me out of love. It's always felt like people were looking for a release, a cure, while they crushed me with their hungry palms. I've forgotten the last time I wasn't scared of beginning to like someone. So yeah, that's how I'm really doing.

"You're too available."

11 MAR AT 6:38