Shweta Bhat   (Shweta Bhat)
1.8k Followers · 89 Following

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Joined 3 October 2017


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Joined 3 October 2017
8 APR AT 0:17

Thirty five
Not gonna lie
I'm so high
In your garden.

Mid-thirties
Life unleashed
Yes, more please!
Another shot.

People say
Hey, no way!
That's too late
For abandon.

Not to fret
Don't forget
No such thing
As forever.

Fleeting time
Shifting sands
Though I'd like
To forever be

Thirty five.

-


6 APR AT 22:37

Dance like a fascist feminist

Grab your own breasts and other aspects of your sex before anyone else gets a hold of 'em.
Spread your legs, Gyrate your hips to the rhythm that your mama never taught you.
Close your eyes to this world. It has nothing to give you.

-


6 APR AT 22:22

Yesterday
The planets could see
The country light up
In a barmecidal display.

Without the canopy
Of sunlight
One might assume
Progress

Or a fair leap to Divinity.
On the ground, many wait
On the labour of some. We wait
For the damage to be undone.

-


4 APR AT 23:50

things I miss the most right now
aka
little littles

the inside of your elbow
watching your beard grow
the subtle whistle out your mouth
after the incoming roar of your snore

notes left on the side of pages
dirty ditties, wisdom for the ages
the way you lose games, the stages
of you coming to terms with changes

your maddening habit of counting
pennies while burning money, pretending
we're Bonnie and Clyde, we're spending
our frizzy hair in the wind, unheeding

you sleep - your faint eyelashes
below - those dreamy glances
like tennis players, two dancers
pirouetting to several places

the things I miss the most now
how do I contain them all, how
of all the tears I allow
yours are the bitterest, somehow

-


4 APR AT 0:49

Sheila

I remember I was eating chow-chow
In my living room, watching TV trailers.
One dance number after another, shimmy and sizzle,
Staccato bursts of masculine hoots and whistles
I remember the way twilight bathed the living room violet pink.
I remember the quiet tinkle of metal
Mother making chai in the very same steel vessel
That was a gift at her wedding thirty-six years ago.
I remember the faint smell of spices,
The bit and crunch of a peanut in my mouth
When she came on air.

(Full piece in captions below!)

-


2 APR AT 23:58

Okay, I give.
My cards aren't great right now
And frankly, my bluff could never handle
Your eternal denial
About the well-being of our bond.

For you,
You're still at the stage
Of diving into fresh-smelling laundry piles
Instead of folding them.
Of using wine glasses to drink more water.
Of arrested development
And while I find you cute
Now a child in my embrace
Your actions are cutting my lifeblood away.

And so, for my own sake,
I fold.
I cannot be your mother forever.
Go look after your selves or perish in your own need.
Either way, I'll be fine.

-


1 APR AT 22:16

Who am I, you ask?

I am the forgotten deity, one of thousands
Left behind by white men who couldn't understand
Divinity in savagery.
Demonised by high castle hunters who burned
The devis at the stake.
Cut away from convention,
Too large to fit in civilized boxes,
I roam the edgelands
Free for now and for ever.

-


4 FEB AT 0:01

I will draw first blood. 
It doesn't matter what does the trick. 
Rivulets will begin to flow down,
Birthing pain and frail hope, 
Hope that I will smear on my face 
As a declaration, war cry
That I will not go down quiet, 
I will not rust in peace. 
I will only be dragged heavily
Kicking and screaming into nothingness.
I have done it before
And I can do it again.

I have bled before
Created new homes and paths. 
Burned and glowed and exploded
Into a hot soup of stars and moons,
A whole world borne of pain,
Deep in its complexity, awesome in its detail.
But what is a world? I can do it again.

-


3 FEB AT 23:58

So I prick my fingertips
On anything, everything that works
Nails, needles, sharp tongues
Cutting opinions.
I prick on wooden spindles
For good luck,
Trying to wake up from
A thousand year sleep
I haven't yet fallen in. 
But I could. Anytime, you see.
This has happened before.

-


3 FEB AT 23:53

First Blood

My fingertips are feeling numb
And I know what comes next.
Soon, my hands will turn cold.
They will begin to fade.
They will vanish, my makers
My thinkers feelers creators,
My agency givers will be gone.

The malaise will then spread to my body
And settle just behind my nose,
Because all this world cares about--
My face, my empty smile will remain. 
My teeth will be the last to go, dissolving
With little hisses, sputters
That no one will take note of.
I know what happens next,
It has happened before.

-


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