Lethal Life


They say I cheated.

That I was supposed to die.

That I’m not supposed to be here.


2013-07-19 11.40.05


I was a product of violence.

My conception, a burst of agony.


I was that tiny spore

that wanted to bolt,

find itself a new place,

away from the muck.

I propelled myself

defining a perfect trajectory,

Pushed deep

from within

to get away,

as far as possible.


My arc led me to travelers

long journeys to sandy deserts.

At first dismayed,

I soon learnt the ways…

I waited patiently.


Unceasingly, I held on to dear life

that threatened to escape.

I held on,

defenseless and vulnerable

to the rays of the sun.


Would I even thrive?

Would I be allowed to?

Would there ever be a flourish of little heads around me in a little magic circle?

The enchanted circle?  Would it happen?

The rings of family, the circle of love, the burgeoning of lyrics, the poetry of life?

Or would I encounter only arid lands, unresponsive and cold under the blazing sun?

Pure rhetoric. I’m sure you know the answer.

Not in a million years.


So I nestled in the thorns of parched land

I lay dormant for years,

dying a little every day

in the scorching heat

and the freezing anonymity of it all.


I built layers around myself,

protecting the remnants of life within

sheltering brazen hope

never gave up.


My optimism was repulsive, even to myself…

did I not know enough?

Hadn’t time in the grooves,

among the others,

taught me the merits of giving up?


Close my eyes now?

Have the darkness close in?

Never wake up?


My dream began to die.

A little.

The life in me fell asleep,

despite my craving to come alive.


The tales I had heard in the past,

the promise of warmth and moisture,

the muggy atmosphere which I needed to thrive,

all an unbelievable dream.


Let it be this way.

Oh, the bliss of letting go.

Floating away.

I was a spore, after all.

I knew best how.


I found myself in lush greenery again.

The afterlife?


This life.


Don’t ask me how it happened.

I don’t have any answers.

Maybe it was destiny.

Maybe it wasn’t my time yet.



All I remember it was painful.

And I don’t want to revisit.

I won’t.


So I found myself on this damp log,

I put down roots

shot branches out

reluctantly at first

then lustily.


The others watched.


My intrusion unwelcome.



For they were the privileged shoots,

the original inhabitants of the log,

the ones born with a ready musty log

to receive them.


I was the intruder.


The buzz kept me awake.


For some time only.


I learnt to shut my eyes and ears to them,

did what I was good at…



I survived.

I watched.

I waited.


For I noticed the others

being cut from their stalks regularly.


Not the ones too close to me.

I remained untouched.

Would it be my time?



I heard whispers

‘No, not that one.’

‘Do you want to die?’





I found great beauty in that word.


So I still stand.

Even a dog comes sniffing,

takes one breath and turns,

loping away in haste,

breathing in fresh air

with greater alacrity.



Meanwhile I keep my eyes and ears open.

I am totally aware of my surroundings.

Blissful that I am toxic.

Exultant even.



So, that’s why they say I cheated.

That I was supposed to die.

That I’m not supposed to be here.

And just maybe, I cheated death.





Hey, I’m still here.

Deal with it.



33 thoughts on “Lethal Life

          1. vicky

            good things deserve to be appreciated and whatever I said isn’t something that I said for the sake of saying it .. these are words from the heart 😇

  1. I totally love the nonchalant ending at the end: “Hey, I’m still here. Deal with it.” 🙂 POISON! birds shriek, dogs shy away and people crinkle their noses while I laugh

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