A Question of Choice?


I don’t understand

That man hurt me

Mum, why is my belly growing?

Mummy, there’s something inside of me!

But moooom, I can’t be a mother

I’m your baby

I’m still a child

What do you mean, Mumma, that they don’t care?

Why do you say it’s not my life?

How was it never my choice?

He chose to do this Mama

But I didn’t ask for this?

Oh, I did?

Alright, I guess I won’t go out of the house wearing a skirt again.



Hi baby, shush, this world isn’t meant for you but I’ll do my best to keep you safe. My mother couldn’t, and it broke her. Her own shadow haunts her. But you, my love, shall be safe. I’ll dress you like a boy.


Is Your Heart Bleeding?

There are scars

Some visible

Some hidden from the naked eye

Red welts across the skin

While others branded on the soul

The throbbing pain subsides

Replaced with a haunting ache

Like a phantasma

Of things that were

And then were gone again

Wounds heal

Bruises become memories

Scars are all that remain

Remnants of a wretched time

Stalwarts of cursed hours

Sometimes I find them redden once more

Not realising I’d been scratching at them in my sleep

In a vain attempt to obilerate them

I wonder if that’s why

I wake up sometimes

To find my heart bleeding

Is the World Burning?

It’s the stars’ fault

I say

Weren’t they supposed to know everything?

And the sky

The blood red sky

Shouldn’t it have stooped?

And the mountains

Snow clad

They should have thawed and cried a river!

The winds

Why didn’t they whistle?

For what you did to me,

The world should have stopped

For a moment

And taken notice.

For what you did to me,

The world should have paused

And refrained itself

from turning.

For what you did on that night

Would take centuries

To make right.

But it didn’t.

The world spun on.

I wonder if that’s why


Your world is burning.

Blood into Ink Poetry Feature : Fault Lines- Varnika Jain

I’m on seventh heaven because another poem got published! Head on over to Blood Into Ink and show it some love. Also, check out other works on there too, they’re brave, undaunted, warrior voices of survival. Each and every one of them.

Blood Into Ink

Fault Lines 3

I wonder when I started to see

Myself as the faults that resided in me.

When did I start feeling I

Lived to be of use to you.

My thoughts, desires, habits and views

Were obliterated with every complaining venom you spewed.

Seconds, minutes, hours and days

I spent devising ways and means

To make you happy and to make you smile

While I kept coming apart at the seams.

I saw not what I wanted to see

I thought not what I wanted to think

I did not what I wanted to do.

And yet, it was to no avail

Since you were always ready to bail

One foot outside the door you’d kept

Just in case I faltered and proved to be inept.

I looked in the mirror and took me in

You couldn’t tell me apart from a storefront mannequin.

Yet, by the time you left I…

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Poem Featured on Blood Into Ink: Why a Poet- Varnika Jain

Okay, okay, I know I’m spamming but I’m beyond excited! Here’s another poem that got featured! Blood into Ink is a very special literary collective that holds a place close to my heart. It undertakes the challenging and inspiring job of presenting voices of survivors. Not victims, but warriors who’ve survived trauma, abuse, all kinds of violence and acts unspeakable. Everytime I visit this platform and read a poem, I grow as a person. My mind evolves. My heart, however, softens and learns more empathy. I am sure you won’t be able to escape it’s transforming effects either. But I’m equally sure you wouldn’t be complaining. So go and visit Blood Into Ink and see the world differently, in a truer manner and, maybe, vow to change it in your own way. Thank you!

Blood Into Ink

Poet in me yet

There is hurt

In measures I’m yet to fathom.

There are pieces,


Which I haven’t yet begun to gather.

There are tears,


Waiting to be stitched and mended.

There are wounds,


Bloodying numerous gauzes.

Despair, you say?

Run and hide?

I’m broken, you say?

What’s there to survive?

But, wait,

I think,

There’s a poet in me yet.

Varnika Jain is prone to having verbal epiphanies in the midst of all the cacophony surrounding her life.  She is a voracious reader, vociferous eater and a vehemently passionate writer. You can read more of her writing at Moonlighting Scrivener where you can find her changing the world, one word at a time.

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Adam and Eve



And ravaged.

When she gathered enough courage

To tell someone about it

She was told to stay mum

To go on as if nothing happened.

To cover up.

To not incite.

To take caution.

To not invite.

Like she had asked for it.

Like her body,

Which she was born with,

And in which she had no say

Was, for all purposes, a crying shame.

They say, what’s in a name?

Well, Adam ate the apple too,

But it’s Eve who’s forever to blame.

Begin Again

Unfinished poems,

Unwritten words,

Unreconciled feelings,

Unhealing scars,

Unmended body,

And an

Unyeilding heart.

This is what you left me with,

This is what you left me as,

This is what’s left of me.

But I no longer need your permission,

Or your censor,

Your approval,

Or your rating.

You cannot make me submit

Any longer to your whims.

You cannot have me punished

For my perceived sins.

So I’ll begin again.

Finish all my poems,

Unleash my stifled words,

Cry out my feelings,

Salve my scars,

Cherish my body,

And gift my heart

To a man who’s worthy

Of my fresh start.