reflections...Her eyes looked inebriated….her senses obscured with desire, the yearning to feel the heat, to touch the almost tangible craze that steamed amid them, to make love, to roll into that one fiery ball as Marvell opines…to be intimate, to be absolute… to be filled with the dews of ecstasy, of youth, of hedonism.
She craved for lust to devour her very existence…for frantic passion to pillage and assault her piety, her virtue, the chastity of her soul…for the bondage of virginity gnawed at her womanhood and men she despised…her felinity was affronted, ridiculed it became a mere object of derision under the callous scrutiny of men.
Now she was liberated, free to taste the intoxicating sensuous wine of ardor, she was a defiant in the face of thousand puritans…she heaved her head to smell the scent of her conquest and the flame in her eyes smoldered the silent spectators, she castrated them with her power to violate.
She closed her eyes to emerge from the wasteland and dive into the nadir of pleasurable sins…




Inspired from a portion in the book ‘ DAUGHTERS OF ARABIA’ by ‘JEAN SASSON’ where a princess in Saudi Arabia indulges herself in homosexual activities a silent yet radical gripe against the horrendous restrictions imposed on women by the self proclaimed fore bearers of the society

written and sketched by ananya chatterjee

I offer my prayers to the vista of life
It rises to tell me the yarn of disguise
The drape it has donned to evade the cries
Of tender follies and deadly lullabies

It seizes my hand and dashes with me
To underworld and over the sea
Where agony is a merciful delight
and darkness is a sane man’s sight

After the sunset I wake up to the dawn
The shadow of night embraces the morn
The smell of pine darkens my mind
It fastens my tongue and leaves me spellbind

Ecstatic with splendor I stand up to beam
The trance seems true not a gleaming dream
I long to return to the start of the ride
I obscure my pain I slain my pride

I am a miracle, but a profligate spawn
A wasted brilliance that fate has drawn
My verve is my might, my soul’s voice
My being is my blessing; a bliss to rejoice


written by ananya chatterjee

The symphony of life is a bittersweet one, but we hardly get the opportunity to strike the chords, so lying back in my bed when I try to call upon my muse it shows its middle finger and asks me to fuck off. I try to find sense in my failure; try meaninglessly to search for that one thing that could inspire me, invigorate me and I gradually end up in perpetual agony of hopelessness. They say desperation is born out of despair, but my anguish comforts me, bizarrely it keeps me sane. I see that my addiction towards that inactive stage grows each time I lose the battle against my dormant vision.
Am I finally losing it or is it that the canvas of life is too dark to be colored by mere words? Perhaps I am too freaking lazy to correct my idiosyncrasies.
A perfect product of this ‘fucked up era’ where my crippled emotion is my only refuge, where expressions become a luxury for I am too goddamn exhausted to play with prosody. I am stuck in an orb…confined in a niche I have carved for myself where thoughts elude my empty brain and aggravation sedates my tautened nerves.

I assemble up to type my hollow words and then I lounge back yet again to leer at my futile efforts…I slither back to enjoy the mirth of oblivion.

written by ananya chatterjee

The littoral view
The sun kissed hue
The sublime seduction
of dipsomania

I elude
the mystery call;
the parlous chimes
of liqueur….or is it the fervent whisper of linnets?



I know not.
I heed not.



I am a nefarious myrmidon
to the forbidden combats in me.
The heady lover of a hussy
ensnared by the impetuous chalice of wine

written by ananya chatterjee