Break My Back Bitch

Break my back Bitch,
As you keep walking out that door,
Constantly reminding me of that glitch
The thorn that is me - yesterday, today,  tomorrow, and some more!

Bitch, break my spine
As you keep running away from my sight,
Stealing line after line that is mine,
And yet, reminding me where I'm supposed to be tonight.

Break my bones Bitch,
Tear my flesh and let my blood flow,
I'll remember you as that fucking snitch -
That black, hungry, ravenous Cassius-eyed crow!

Bitch, take a shot at my brains,
Let them smudge white and red all over the wall,
Take what's mine- dig it out of my veins,
While you dig out those sordid thoughts through each rhythmic call.

Break my heart Bitch,
That's what you do best,
Time, and time again - see, Time's that Bitch,
Who can put me to rest!

- Dolashree K. Mysoor

Watching the setting sun

Watching the setting sen, the mind wanders
About within its realm, 
Unyielding, focused - a catharsis almost. 
No, wait, is it the music playing in my ears?
Cant be! Every note labouring inside, 
Makes me smile, laugh and yet well up inside-
As my eyebrows dance to the music
And my face contorts to bring about different emotions. 

Watching the setting sun, the mind wanders
Where it has never been;
And, where it has been before. 
What spell has she over me? She sings in unknown tongues
Yet, what spell has she over me, when she sings in familiar notes? 
Wide awake in this dark hour, I wonder- 
Is it the song? No, it can't be just that. 
Frustrated, I wonder why this bastard music has a hold over me -
Impure, she defies the rules I have learnt.

Watching darkness creep in, my mind focuses
On her sharp voice, hitting notes as they ought to. 
Not shrill, no! She's far from that. 
Yet, her bastard music takes over the night and me- 
Like a clear-eyed fox that creeps into your house, ravages your bin
For scraps of stale bones and meat. The house looks like a murder scene, 
Yet I giggle, I laugh and I smile at that scrawny bastard- 
While her bastard music continues to play amidst the scavenger's cacophony. 

I shoo the mess-making hood rat out, but she croons on,
I pick up the pieces. I stop, kneel and bawl.
Yet, she croons on. 
My mind wanders beyond known waters;
Troubling, fearful and twisted - 
I pick myself off the floor, wipe off those tears
And allow the moment to consume me - her bastard music!

- Dolashree K. Mysoor