Finding faith in crisis

I was not looking for it.

I mean, I was living my life, rather, whining through life

Hoping that things would eventually fall into place if I worked hard enough… if I persevered enough

Maybe I would get all that I wanted.

I was not looking for it.

It came to me in the darkest of caves that I had built around me.

I thought about what I needed, I hoped that I thought I would be needed, that I knew what I thought I needed.

But I did not know.

I was aiming in the dark and I was hoping to strike the target but nothing came of my efforts.

Because I was not looking in the right place. I was not looking at all.

I was hoping that things will fall into place, but they never did.

Because I didn’t have what I thought I needed, in order for it to work.

I was not looking for it.

It came to me at the bottom of the pit when all hope had abandoned me.

When people I thought I knew deserted me, when my safety net was torn and when I fell from the top

I was not looking for it. It came to me,

And I found a reason to live.


They are vile, they are wolves, they’re stuntmen, they’re drama

In my home, they hunt, they kill, leaving scars of trauma

I’m their meal, and my kids are what is being served on the side

A bullet, a shell, a grenade, and my blood, mixed with the soil, they tromp with their boots

Three-inch heel digs into my back as I arch forward in pain, my pain, not yours

You watch for you paid the ticket to see the circus of my life, apolitical

They hold the reigns, they hold the ringmaster with the whip and now with each slash, I dance

The naked dance of democracy on your chest as you clap and clap hard for those who will turn on you next

My land, my land, my land which seems to be lost in the cries of the mothers, their wails pierce the air with longing

Heartbreak in the eyes of the father, hopes shattered, and dreams sold cheap

Cheap is the life of he who must not be named

Animals are valued more than these men who die in nameless graves

Buried one winter night, away from the mother’s final embrace, laid down in the cold ground, wondering

What he did to deserve such and such while others called him hate, he knew nothing but loss.


Left behind

Why are you so slow to catch on, every time someone waves you away

Move away, my friend. That is not your space, not for you, never was and maybe never will be

Why do you latch on as if life depends on it? There’s plenty of spots to choose from, plenty on pillows to cry on.

Move on.

If you were asked to take a walk, take that walk, choose that turn that drives you out of harm’s way.

It will be okay.

There is no shame in rejection, it’s just not your place to belong.

You’re your own, in your own and maybe someone will accept your space as their own. And it will be beautiful.

So go away, when asked. Don’t cry, when pieces don’t fit. You’re bigger than that, better than that.

Being left behind, the pacing doesn’t match.

Wired wrong

I am wired wrong. When I see how other people live, behave and tackle situations, I feel inadequate.

Not because I am any less capable. 

I have run away from graveyards all my life. By that, I mean an unresolved issue, a totally blown to the shit scenario, something that has burnt to a crisp and cannot be recovered. 

But until I reach that point triggering my flight response, I fight. I fight until my fingers bleed and my back bends backward. 

I am not known to give up easily on things/people that matter to me. I would say it is all about tipping over the edge moment when I give up.

I wish I gave up long before. There is no point in struggling to hold on. There is no one or nothing out there worth the effort.

It’s a solitary existence for me.

Wishing you well

Under attack, I sounded the alarm and forged ahead, through deep mountains, I emerged victorious into the land of the sands

Dunes welcomed me, the golden dust was refreshing, offering a calm sense of self I had not experienced in months. I embraced the lull with a sense of relief.

I was finally home. Healing thus began. I was whole again. Golden threads entwined within me, and I was content. 

In a way. 

There was a calling, a whisper that made me restless, it was calling me across oceans I had yet to conquer. Apprehensive, I tried.

Doubtful, but the mad heart did not relent. 

And so I fought, and I fought hard, I took off from the Dunes and landed in the never-ending forest. Little did I know I was heading into a trap.

And now as I stare into the abyss of destruction, you will take what meaning you can, from the words that I write, no longer making sense

Hide, I will, from the world, for it has betrayed me, despite my caution, it turned the tables on me.

Calling me trust, turning my faith to dust, blaming me, throwing consequences into the mix of jittery conversations

I refuse to entertain bullshit, I had forgotten who I was, my core is dark and you made light of slumber, now no longer dormant.

No longer will you set eyes on the setting sun, no longer will there be a respite from the pain. I will wish you well but no more.

An empty mailbox

Granted I’m free of all constraints, free of all bonds.

Granted I don’t need much from anyone, granted I’m my own ground

But did I really not deserve even a single letter in the mail. So many wishes to count the rest of the year

Favours, asked and showered, but when it mattered most, a no show

I often say if I die, many will cry but now I doubt myself.

The empty mailbox speaks volumes of where I stand, not enough words or effort to jot down on paper and send it across

It’s just a couple of dollars and you didn’t have enough to spare for me.

I want to understand but it is just so pitiful.

A mailbox empty of any wishes from people who claim to know my best.

That was the dream

Cradling hope, she told me to go fetch life for she’s wanted.

Take hold of the steering wheel and drive to the edge of the world, that was the dream.

Is she even halfway there? No, she still sees the shadows of the monsters. Outlast the dark webs, outlast the fear of failure.

That was the dream, brought to its knees by blanketed grief.

A ripple effect, a painful gasp, it was all or nothing and the transfer was full.

So much so that nothing was left at the end, razed to the ground. Is this a goodbye? Are we at crossroads?

Life has a funny way to apologise for the mistake of the other. Carrying the burden for you, I blame myself for running away.


Every time I travel, I get this pain in the centre of my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I live through it, hoping it would end with my journey. And most of the time it does.

The ache never really leaves. It throbs and festers like an old wound, come to say hello to a lost friend. That’s me.

I have been running my entire life, passing milestones like seconds and yet crossing eternities in between. Getting fooled along the way, that I got me covered while living with my heart on my sleeve.

It’s funny how open I’ve been to the world. And how I’ve been plotted against, subdued to a point where I lost my voice.

I hear you, and yet I don’t listen to the voice of reason, to back off, to let the world know it’s enough.

Walk away now, with what is left of courage. And hope that you may never find yourself in such a pickle again.

Not unlike Sisyphus

With heavy eyes, I slip under the covers of my escape for I’m done for the day.

Fooled enough people to stop the flow of questions. Yes, I’m alright!

Day unwinds and so do I, like an old coil, hot from the heat, loose from the beating.

Took it all, with a smile, now I crawl away from prying windows, into the shadow of my dim, weak night light.

I promised tomorrow would be better, the sun will rise with more rigour.

It’s come a full circle, I start with sunsets and bleed yellow.

It’s never what I expect, it’s worse when it’s even less. It’s an empty vase that I got to fill.

A terrible, consuming task, not unlike the rock of Sisyphus.

The pillows cut across my neck, as I toss and turn, static electricity shocks my finger tips as I stare at nothing.

It’s not what I asked for, it’s not my cup of tea. It’s not been a meadow of flowers, it’s been a death wish.

Heartache was served to millions before me, nothing new from what I hear. And now after my three course meal, I get to sit through dessert.

Meaningless efforts, useless manipulations, a sieve through which all logic passes through and what I’m left is the residue.

End of the story

Hands shake as the pen meets the page, my love. I’m about to write our story. I finally found my end, buried in time that had now come to pass.

Time is a funny thing, never on my side, never in my palm, forever away, lurking in the promises of tomorrow.

Today, despite the pain and the longing, I wish to end the torment we bore, until, hunched over your own vomit, we found some dreams

Sensible dreams were they, I thought, as I collected the pieces till make the art, words fell short but today I made up my mind to write the end of our story.

Invoking raw emotions, laying bare the soul, drinking from the cup of immorality, I seek solace in my own empty arms, longing for a breath not my own.

And finally, be as it may, accept defeat at the hands of fate. I do not wish to fight this battle. Sometimes in life, it’s harder to give up and know when to step aside for the light to step in.

Through those windows I once gazed upon your presence, once flickering and now gone.

Old doors and windows

Come in, if you want, there is no one holding the door. Be careful as you cross the threshold, I can no longer guarantee that it won’t fall on your head.

Come in, if you’re bold enough, to let the wind cross you as you enter, chilling to the bones and residing comfortably. You see, there are broken windows all around.

Come in, if you’re not afraid to cut yourself from the shards of glass strewn across the dusty, matted floor. The peeling colour of the walls may dampen your mood but I’m sure they’ll do what needs to be done.

Come in, if you’re not afraid to dust the old bookshelf that now stays untouched and ignored, no one wants to read poetry anymore, poetry which is the food for soul, no one believes in it.

Come in, if you’re a seasonal visitor, making a temporary camp as storms rage nearby. It’s a shelter for you, a safe haven if you will. For me you’re the west blown leaf, lost its path long ago, seeking solace in empty pots and pans, crying through broken windows and doors.

Oh, okay

So that’s the end of my story folks, thats where I let go of the rope.

I have come far but I’m turning back now, the road ahead isn’t my path.

Knowingly I tagged along, hoping to find what I’m looking for. But it was all views that belonged to someone else. And I was extra baggage, not wanting to fit.

“Oh okay,” they’ll say, “if that is what you want, we’ll want the best for you, even if that makes you lose your heart.”

Introducing Unid

It turned a not so talented Unid into an artist. The art came from within, somewhere hidden beneath the every day chaos. Something so deep that Unid didn’t know it was even there.

And thus, picked up the pen in gold and silver, held the black canopy and began writing tales of sorrow

Long letters, curves and lines, Unid went on till there was nothing to retch, an empty stomach and an emptier heart

Unid cried, and the ink washed away any trace of the misery transported to the black canvas. And so it began again. Not satisfied with what was done, Unid began again.

This time, it was colours, all kinds of them, confined into flower petals and long stemmed roses. Unid hoped to cure pain through paint.

But failed, yet again.

Unid waited for her desire to come, to smile and hold the door to the outside realm, where the sun shined and love bloomed in meadows, only heard of until now.

Where the black canopy would give way to blue skies, a day of summer, a day of romance. To turn Unid into a poet.

Till then, to drown away woes of separation from love, Unid turned into an artist.

Air so dark

There is a melancholic air of unrequited love about her

As if the world has fallen down, and it’s fallen on her back, it’s bent, it’s breaking

There’s tired written all over her face and she knows she cannot stop

Wish if she might, to stop and take the back seat but the drive is manual and she has to keep on

The tank is half empty, and her soul has left her body, it’s all strings to show how things work down here

It’s relentless, the machinery, she knows not how to stop. The misery keeps engulfing her like feet stuck in quicksand

There is an air of yearning around her that is quite misplaced, for things that cannot be, for wishful thinking

Scenarios that are lies, misunderstandings of the meanest sort, cruel in the name of honest, is what she faces day in and day out

Pearls were once what are now stones, as they take steps on the clear, calm lake, that surrounds her lonely self

Laughs, she does and that is all it takes to make it through another day, a party she never was invited to. Staring from the glass windows into the warmth, from outside where it’s snowy cold.

The winds are cruel as they whip about her, as she runs towards the bus that threatens to leave her on the sidewalk, every few minutes.


And there are certain days when I feel upset. These days are marked into my calendar, and I know that during these days I will feel a surge of emotions. But today, one of the most dramatic days of my life, I feel nothing. I feel empty and I’m afraid I think I may have forgotten what it was like when they were alive.

It’s a sad day today and I have no lines to offer in condolence towards my loss. I would say that it’s okay, that I’m only human and I forget. But I did not forget. I remember.

But I no longer feel the creeping grief, I no longer feel anything. And it’s making me feel guilty that I do not feel sorrow. I feel numb. It’s like my mind, which often sees them through my dreams, has stopped arguing with me. And has gone into denial. So much loss, so much pain. How much can a heart take?

People don’t make it easy, adding their scars too, selfishness etched into the very essence of relationships. It’s okay. We’re only human. I explain.

How do I start explaining what I no longer feel? The loss of a loved one, a best friend. And how many times will you look for a shoulder to cry on, when people have become something more like a subway train, coming every few minutes and whooshing away, trembling the ground beneath my feet.


It’s when the skin starts shrivelling up, the layers turn to each other for warmth and slowly you lose the feeling in your fingers, that’s when you know.

When your back starts to ache, rigidity of the cold, when you try to stretch but the body doesn’t give, that’s when you know.

Each breath, vapourising, inhaling, turning the lungs into fixed bats on each side, and now you’re immobilised, that’s when you know.

I’ve seen too much horror in this lifetime and yet I’ve been told, it’s just the beginning, much more is yet to unfold

Shivers run down my back as I gather courage to tell you all how this peaceful breath is so precious and it won’t be here again

The world has seen wars, torn countries and all that come with those lands, apart and yet here you stand, talking of a tomorrow which may never come

Call me what you may, I see the stark reality of the burden we bear, to keep it real, I wish you’d seen it all in my eyes

But no matter what, words fall on deaf ears, eyes that seek the horizon, chase rough winds and ignore the harbour that protects

It’s an adventure for you, for the spoils of war are yet to stain your naked soul.


Age is clueless of the mercy brought by the eyes that seek the glory of the Moon

I see it and yet it does not yield to me, squinting, I’m blind to the charms of the orb now that I’ve become ripe

The Moon what once was passage to your heart, now lies distant in the dark, starry sky, lit but not quite.

Silent, it seems to ask for release, the Moon is my prisoner and I am it’s slave

I follow it’s course as it catches my gaze. I see not the ground I walk on for my eyes are on the prize, that I see but cannot really.

Ashes to sight comes with age, the Moon that grows fond with each cycle, and I that wans as it rises up in the dark, dark night.

Dipped in history

Cosy corner, set apart from every thing distasteful, comes from the present and is saved for later with ribbons and tape.

History. Like honey, it’s addictive, I watch through reels and reels of people frozen in time and in awe, I cut the tapes into clips

Recording, labelling and marking the years gone by, reporting of people long lost to time.

Some are grainy, some are new, some load fast, and many down the server at last but they all come together to show a picture of what once was.

The same streets we walk today, to the corner by the end of the green road, I believe, is what it’s called.

Like bees, we gravitate, seeking knowledge from the archives to learn lessons hidden away under clouds of dust, labelled from time to time.

The ride home

I’ve been told that I’m walking on a path which is not meant for me.

I walked anyway, believing I’ll manage the damage when the time comes

Rushing into fire has always been my undoing and now I pay the price

It’s fire within my belly that rages and burns the veins and as I feel the sting, I am reminded of every misstep taken.

And there is this wave after wave of regret, burning bridges to hearts that seek out mine, if any.

Now I’m blind to those who seek compassion within my eyes, empty orbs staring into oblivion, reminiscent of the days from the past

It’s a script I have to learn and unlearn. It’s a tedious task that I must master for the sake of all that I am worth

Not much, it seems, in the eyes of those who matter. Maybe the eyes are wrong, I wonder.

In the hope of finding that dynamite of a drill, I will keep going no matter the hail storm wreaking havoc

Breaking my doors as I try to shut them, it’s an uneasy ride home.

Half picture

When everything you know is proved wrong and your struggles mean nothing because you have achieved nothing,

You thought that you’re putting your investments in the right place, you’re giving it all that you could ever give

But it amounts to nothing and that’s where everything falls apart.

I have understood and I have learned and I have failed over time.

Now they come back like a ghost and I look at their silhouettes and am reminded what I lost

A part of myself and not the person themselves because they chose to go and I chose to stay.

I stayed because I did not have the strength or the courage to leave. I had to go through the burns, I had to go through the pain in order to gain some clarity.

Through all of this, all of the pain and the sorrow, a bubble was made around me, not a wall.

It’s because they always burst the bubble. But if I had walls, I would be safe or so I thought.

I’ve spent months trying to figure out where I stand and every time when I think it is making sense, it moves away, it becomes transient, it becomes shallow, it becomes a whisper that is lost in the dark.

There is no Halo, there is no light, there is just me waiting in a dark room. I’m not looking for a savior. I’m not looking for you.

I’ve always been alone and that has been enough because I never betrayed myself. I never had the intention of being broke.

What I’m left with is what I’m working with, it’s a half picture that nobody wants to take home.

Passing storm

The oven is pre-heated and I am ready to cook the last supper. It’s finally a goodbye, the end of the road for me. With you. As you’d anticipated and I watched in dread. Ticking days off calendar boxes until the day of the end. For me. With you. And be as it may, I was prepared for my half-baked pie to be spit out in disgust. Food analogy seems appropriate for self gratification and condemning myself to a heartbreak I have never experienced before.

It’s gory, it’s dark, it’s something that I see but do not understand. I agree with most of the logic you put forward but did those arguments ever stand between us, I often wonder. Decode why you’d want to leave, why couldn’t you just stay. Why indeed.

Maybe I’m not the perfect fit, maybe I’m not the lost puzzle piece, maybe this was how it was supposed to be. And if, and only if you’d stayed to give me another chance to prove that it is worth saving, I wouldn’t have believed you.

Lies is all I see, a trap before me stretched indefinitely. I willingly hang myself at the altar of your games and I play into your hands, like clay info potter’s wheel. Why don’t I just break the wheel, you ask. I stayed of my own will and I’d choose the past of thorns again, maybe try to do things differently. Play by the cheat codes, the pirate way to go.

If only I had the tools I need to unclog the drain. Let the murky waters pass so I can see you for what you are.

A passing storm.


A deluge of happy thoughts can drown you, remove you from reality and make you go bonkers

You’d think the world is a perfect place, with sparks flying every time the wind hits your cheek with a smack!

You wouldn’t wake.

Happiness creeps up on you when you’re oblivious of what’s happening and then it strikes, it incapacitates

Paralysed you realise, that you’re insecure of this blissful state of mind, for its transient, it’s bleak, it’s a weak moment of relief

Until the truck hits you, sending you flying across the country to a land well known

You had just visited a couple of days ago and now you’re here again, accompanied by your worst nightmares

Happy place

When you’re banished from your happy place, when you’re told to pack up and move

Never to return to the winter land of dreams, I say you agree to a last dot on that text. It’s open, it’s clear, it’s as dark as it can get

Turn to yourself, you’re your happy place, and if ever things may shift in gravity, that’s okay too, but come back home for warmth they took

Come back home to find your peace, come back to your happy place, in your heart, it resides, not any place away from.


The worst part of life … Is believing in the person who made you question your existence

Because she said … And you believed like a fool, playing the tricks and their monopoly

And I said … Don’t do it for it’s clear as day what it means to play and you’re not cut out for it

Then we both … Saw as you crumbled to the ground, even the last will left your body, in despair, you chose to let go.

Never saw each other again.

You were tired. I understand that. You needed to go. I understood that. And you were meant to leave me here. I was counting on that.

The worst part of life … She knew but didn’t stop. You knew but you couldn’t stop. And I witnessed it all. And mourned.

Canada skies

I look at you and it warms my heart, who knows why, what are you to me, it’s not been long, it’s been now and now

But what I know, is you warm my heart, I could step back and I could bring the redness home

But it’s the lukewarm waters that get to me, send a shiver down my spine and I know it is not what I seek

I deserve better, of the tulips that grow along the path I walk by, to find you. It’s the Elmo, lying sideways by the last step of my neighbour’s street.

It has to be more than a shrug when eyes seek your face, from morning to evening, at every turning point. Call it fantasy, I call it love.

But it will die if left outside in the rain. It needs more than a less-than-willing hug, just to ease the restlessness and not the pain

What I need is more than what you’re capable of and that is okay, I deserve better from the universe, fate has to be kind to me some day

Bending my back to reach your standards is not the answer I want, I wanted to reach the skies until the world looked small with your arms wrapped around me, in assurance.

I thought I knew what I was doing

The summer I witnessed reality was hard to live through. A bubble of ignorance had burst and laid bare the plight of what I couldn’t understand, even if I tried at that age and time.

No one called, and time passed and, as is decreed for the human mind, memories dulled and faded, making way for newer experiences.

They weren’t great either but nothing I couldn’t live through every year, but lightening struck and took my keys

Got locked inside my own cage, my own prison in making, years passed, time took a toll and just like that, I aged years ahead of time

Now the mirror is kind to show me love, self love or hubris, who can tell anymore?!

And as you watch me struggle through life, it’s easy to blink, it’s easy to forsake my beliefs that tend to shake your core.

It’s okay, you’re afraid, I will step back as I always have, for it doesn’t do to seek lukewarm bonds when something better will come in time, with patience

I thought I knew what I was doing and it would have been great had it worked out, but you see, reality has no conscience.

It tears asunder your heart and lays bare the secrets that you locked away, for the world to mock, see your shame, see you for who you are.

Halfway Home

It started as a trip to the stars but the jump fell short, I think.

It’s okay, that’s life and go on to dismiss, what I felt, what you felt, what was a halfway house

Dreams are not reality and why we escape into them, is one to escape life

I am.

Like a train wreck, I ran into the wall, came to an end, the journey which was promising to start, of spring, of blossoms, so white and warm

But alas, it’s Autumn, when I open my eyes to you, it’s red, it’s brown, it’s dark and it’s not my crown.

What I hopes was a fairytale is just a chapter meant to forget, I’m the child who broke the vow and it’s a form of temptation to redeem self, which I rejected on behalf of you

And now I stand alone, again, right where I began, hurt. And yet, no reason to be, no explanation is needed, is all I could say to pacify the dying crowd

Dispersed after the spectacle, witnessing my foolish prank, believing in the trick that it was a gift, gutted into confetti, surprise!

And just like that, I find the truth, hidden behind closed doors in the wake of a light, a book than I so wanted close.

Cracked Windows

It’s a solemn day that I imagine you’re here,

I tell you of the days you missed and of the days I missed you.

We’re here together in my dreams, finding solace in a companionship that has lasted long

Faithful to the end, our friendship did thrive but fate had other plans

It’s your birthday and I want to write something for you.

Remember you everytime I turn the page, your words ringing in my ears

The laughter to brighten up rainy days

A ray of sunshine streaming in from the cracks of my tinted windows.

Picture perfect

There comes a moment in one’s life when the picture becomes complete, the last puzzle fits and you get to see what all it’s been moving towards, all the plotlines and all the drama, it all meets at that picture.

Gazing at it, you’ll know why what happened in the past and how you overcame the good and the bad to be where you’re meant to me. I’ve felt it and so have you.

I often wonder where the power comes from, something to cherish, something to live by. And it all comes together one day. And you’re filled with an immense sadness, like regret?

I wouldn’t know, I’m still looking for missing puzzle piece. Life doesn’t make sense until I find it. Till then we binge on food.

I don’t have many thoughts these days. I don’t think anymore. Day in and day out, there’s a creep on my balcony as I watch over my shoulder every time I take a turn.

I get a dreadful text message that has my coordinates. And I wonder when the torture will stop, when the harassment will stop.

This world does not belong to me, I do not belong to it. We’re strangers sipping red wine in the backyard where you hid your funeral. I attended. And so did they.

I felt sorry. They were there for free lunch, I believe. I prayed for your joke and I hoped it’d be a dream that I wake up from, holding water, not wine. Holding you, not divine.

I see incomplete pictures and I wonder if they’re beautiful. I hate that they are. You see it too and yet you don’t look at me. I’ll be your picture if need be.


I’m at the crossroads today, one I had been looking for a long time.

I am alone, just as I’d anticipated and just as you had warned me.

The path that I followed was harsh and the one that I will choose is hard.

I remember what you told me, I remember it with every fibre of my soul.

You’re not an inspiration, don’t mistake my words

It’s a lesson learned, to stay clear of the essence of you, remotely connected.

What I found endearing, was a red flag of toxicity, until I tasted it on my tongue

And how I burned.

I’m a phoenix, I rose from the ashes to a new beginning

What will you turn into when you burn? I wonder.

It’s March already!

Can you believe it that two months of 2021 have already gone?

It just struck me today, while I was minding my own business, that we are way into 2021 and it’s no longer a new year. I am yet to make the mistake of writing 2020 instead of 2021. LOL. I seemed to have made enough mistakes to remember what to write now.

But that is beside the point. Time is flying by and before you know it, there will be a couple of grey strands of hair sticking here and there and you’re wondering where the “green salad days” were, that were promised?

Just like the forgotten prince that was promised in Game of Thrones? Remember Azor Ahai? Yes, I am still mad about the ruined storyline. No, I will never get over it.

We are still wearing masks and I don’t see it changing any time soon.

Anyway, thoughts for today … I want to be … What do I want to be? I honestly have no idea. I used to … Once upon a time but now … It’s a haze. It’s nothing.

I want to go back to Existentialism that I once read about, brush up my skills on Kantian concepts … I’m sure I’ll find them more relatable now.

What about Nihilism? I could get down with that as well. Once I know how much I know and relate to, I’ll share my thoughts.

Watch this space, folks … Or not.

Overthinking February 15

Today, I was asked to write about what I think, it could be anything they said.

Anything? I thought.

Usually, I always have a penny for my thoughts but, at the moment, my mind came up blank, like a printer without ink, spitting paper

I wondered what I could write about. Anything, they said.

Anything? I thought.

I’m afraid to voice my thoughts. They’re too grave, too dark to share, an odd look inspiring words will spill what sanity I hold

It’s an important day, it’s an opportunity to declare, what I have always wanted to say. But do I speak into the void? Do I speak my mind?

I’ve been saying the same things again and again, now they’ve lost meaning and yet I can’t stop, like the runaway train, crossing through valleys, cutting through mountains

Again and again, the agony doesn’t go away. What mirage is this? Why, even after so long, do I find myself right where I began?

Never moved an inch, imagination it has been, life until now and the reality is stuck somewhere between the pages of a diary I may once have filled with ink that I have run out of.

So do I take a pencil now, and write? Anything? I thought.

Happy birthday, papa. You’d have crossed 60 years by now. We’d have celebrated with a cake and candles, maybe some balloons and lots of wishes for your long life.

Life gave up before we did, sometimes I think we still wait for you to come home, announcing as you would, voice resounding in the hallway.

I’d rush downstairs to see what you’ve brought for me. Chocolate truffle again? I’d eat it with happy thoughts.

Happy memories, with a sprinkle of bitterness. Years have passed but nothing has changed. Except everything, and yet nothing. The pain doesn’t leave me, the longing doesn’t go away.

But most of all, the nightmares are here, they’ve always been here. Sometimes you’re in them, and sometimes I’m alone. And sometimes when I cannot sleep, I overthink and over eat.

I’ll go to you when the weather is nice

I’ll go to you when the weather is nice. A good story. A calm, slow paced romance mixed with reality and a bit of stretched drama which doesn’t get overbearing.

It’s warm, ironic because it’s cold season in the narrative. And it makes me feel warm. Interesting storytelling technique. Really good looking actors playing deep and complicated characters.

I would half wish to have as boring and amazing life as depicted in that story. Life would be fun if I was watching it in 2D, I’d be safe in the seats

I’ll go to you when the weather is nice is a story about longing and one-sided love that stays hidden inside the heart of a boy who turns into a man without ever confessing his love.

It is a story of a girl coming to terms with her reality and complicated relationship with her family as well as finding love in a long lost friend who had always been watching from the shadows.

It’s about a domestic violence survivor and a defence that goes way too far. It’s about accepting the mistake and paying the price, lawfully and lonely.

It’s about betrayal of a friend by a friend and the hope that they can make peace. Sometimes there is nothing to salvage and in that moment, it’s best forgotten for the sake of all those involved. It’s a tale of learning how to forgive.

It’s a story of a mother who accepts a child not from her womb, gives him a home and nurtures him into what he is today. It’s a story of resilience that is a gift from the support of family. It celebrates love.

I have started to re-watch it a second time. It’s just like a lullaby. Soft, well spoken dialogues and deep, deep feelings of complex characters comes to play. It’s a reality mirroring the drama and I love it.

Remember you

Yesteryear was something, I tasted poison that I didn’t know I had in my veins. And if you don’t believe me, watch me dry up like dried mangoes, ready to be jarred and barred.

Believe me, if you will, that I have forgotten the direction your wind took that summer, when I followed suit, eyes on the kite, fluttering in the wind

The wind was on my side, it seemed, holier within, and it was good until a point when it was not.

I did not want to hurt, I didn’t choose this. Now I pay the price of someone else’s vice. That is okay because it’s you. And if you had remembered, I walked miles in your name. But that’s okay.

Now I walk for me, and have come far, but I have forgotten what existence is. Won’t you be a doll and come home, to remind me what I wanted to forget yet couldn’t let go.

If I saw you somewhere, passing me by, I would stop and stare, commit you to memory of a feeble mind, asking for a solution

I often think what I would say if paths did cross, I am sure I will regret it to the earth’s end.

The fog has descended into the night, dark and moist, see it, taste it on my skin, it’s cold.

Reminder, of the void inside my heart that bleeds without a wound, hurts without pain, flutters when it feels your wind

Never felt so lonely than today, never felt so desperate for some news, I wonder

Why is my nose elsewhere, when I can’t even see the path laid ahead, funny how distraction worked too well, enough that I forgot myself in my quest to remember you.

Let’s bargain

I do not know many heavy words, I may not know what I think is right but speak these words out loud, you may begin to understand

We can give value to human life, we can take it away, it is our legacy, it is the order of the day.

Growing up, you saw what we saw, and we were all scared

You were afraid to speak up, we were afraid to break.

Surviving is a skill we all learned when we were wet behind our ears and yet saw what left trails of trauma

You continued to watch in horror as darkness engulfed us all, we continued to scream as hell ruled supreme

Screams echoed across the moutain tops as the white snow turned crimson, it’s a beautiful world you said, heaven on earth, you said

No blame, O powerless being, you are being threatened and held hostage as you roam the streets, tweeting sorrows about the bloodied, defying land you so cherish

Meanwhile, being culled, like camels in a desert, shot for being too many in a land too valuable

So put a price on me, if you can, and see if you get what it’s worth. I will be watching too, as you put your soul into the bargain

Which part of it do you intend to forsake and what will you take along to the grave, I will stand by and watch all the wealth you accumulate.

I know not many phrases to impress your mind, but I know enough to say that the land you molest is divine.

Saints have laid down to rest under the shade of trees, prayed for the innocent, and atonement of greed

It’s a land we’ve torn asunder and it’s the land we betrayed.

Who are we but mere mortals who can only watch the fires burn, it’s not us who can defend the turf

The new dawn will come, the reckoning that was promised, the injustice will be dealt with, the tables will turn.


Every day, like a death toll, counting wings, clipped one by one, holding close, like clouds soar, raging on, the fires burn

After the rainy season ended, it felt like anger would brew and spill like lava but it was calm

Like looking over towards the horizon at the beach, while laying in the sand, soaking in the sun

It was quite as the fires subsided, with nothing but ash, yet something survived still or so I thought

We’re born into debt, we’re born into a sentence, to serve till the day we end.

And that’s how we invented hope, hope. Hope. Hope. I hear it ever so often from the mouths of those who believe.

I believe, or so I am made to think. Do I?

I fail. I was born to fail and I keep failing. I tell the truth of what I feel, the others call it kufr.

So, we all live a lie, collectively, consciously, lying to ourselves and others

Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Steal from others what doesn’t belong to you and call it fair, is what you do.

Avenge and burn the grounds around so nothing remains for you’re destined to lose. So lose everything anyway and let not them tell you “I told you so”.




Letter from I to you

I first thought, I’d write you a letter, that I would wipe the years and clear my head and write to you.

Dear you, I would begin, and go on to pour out my heart for you. But the pen wouldn’t move.

I want to ask, have you been well? Do you ever think of the past?

Does your morning sun smile for you? What about the wind that caresses your skin?

Do you walk by the gardens and sigh for a tragic love, like I do?

Did you change much? I dare not ask about me.

Every day, I fight the thoughts of you, they cling to me like perfume, a lonely scent of the morning cold

I have thought and thought of what I’d say if I ran into you on a random day

Would I hold my head high and walk by? Would I stop and greet you with a smile?

Would you recognise that battered face, I wonder. I hope you don’t. Forgotten memories are the best ones to keep.

Life has shrunk into a bubble of hope, no, longing for something, of memories that once used to be reality

I would write to you and tell you about my days and how hollow are the nights that even the velvety darkness doesn’t comfort

Sad love, one that never stood a chance against the fair and just world, naive and foolish king gave away the kingdom for his love and we fight for trivialities

It’s supposed to be a letter from I to you. Could you be I or could I be you? Don’t overthink.

Falling petals

There is a window by the door and if you look through, you’ll see what I love to call a fall

As you fall with me, I ask you to look further down the rabbit hole, whizzing past the images that you ignored last summer

One by one, as you look through, the window grows taller as you are being written down

Let’s fall together, tumble through words to make sense of the world

I’m not so sure if we’re in the same one or are we somewhere else, a place where I get to call you my own

I will not deny, I will get caught by you watching me watch you, with the wind shadowing your every move

I could say, we are romantic but isn’t tragic more fitting, for nothing is real

An inverted mirror. A ceaseless call for escape, evasive of punishment, with you, without you

Like petals falling, as Autumn draws near, moments pass and down they fall

Like us.

Memories: Pet Society

I do not recall the exact year, but maybe it was 2008 or 2009 when I first logged on to Facebook. To make friends? Lol, no! I was a nerd. I wanted to play a game that Facebook was hosting during those days. My sister used to play and I was hooked watching her play. So I wanted to try as well.

I remember using my yahoo email ID to make an account. I do not remember my first profile picture but I remember what the first thing I did when my feed was set up.

Pet Society.

It was the game that got me to Facebook. Of course, it was followed by Crazy Taxi and Farmville. But Pet Society was the real deal. During those days I was a Twilight fan and of course, I named my pet Bella.

Bella was a lucky pet. To this day, I don’t know what breed or what kind of animal she was. But my guess is a bunny. Anyway, Bella had a two-storey house and it was fully furnished. If I didn’t log in for a few days, she would have flies around her. Hahaha, the game was pretty creative.

No matter what, people never believed when I told them why I joined Facebook. I don’t know why it is important. But I remember that game very vividly. I was invested the same way streamers are invested in their games these days. I used to do it way before it became cool.

But what is the point of it? This memory. Trivial … Not important but it was a milestone as well. Fleeting moment in the long stream that is slowly winding down the mountain to meet the ocean somewhere.

Marking it as my own. A coping mechanism. A distraction. A denial filling with inconsequential moments. Glorify the common, the dismissive ones.

A year later, they shut it down. It was a personal loss that no other game similar to Pet Society was able to fill. I play scrabble these days. Meet me in the battlefield someday, guys. We may end up becoming friends.

Lol. I doubt it. But what the hell. 😆☺️

Love, was it?

Life is walking towards me, riding the air, closing the distance in between

Death is walking towards me, surely and constantly, with a purpose it seems

And I, watch and life and death walk towards me without tiring

But why does my heart flutter? What is it that I am hesitating?

Could be the end of all that I know, an existence of compromise?

Could it really be the end of me? Or a new beginning?

Love, was it?

Endure, maybe I will, for the sake of what comes next

I shall greet them warmly, shake hands and be on my way.

It was hidden in the smile all along, and now I see

What was a puzzle, now I know

This walk is what it was all about, this moment is why I lived so long.

The tears that fall, from the heights of her eyes, into the depths of her face and collect into her collar bone, I see.

A sad spectacle we all witness, as I contemplate my fate.

Love, was it?

There is a chill in the air, winter is settling in.

Where will I find my cherry blossoms?

A promise made to meet when the first snow hits the top of her head, soaking into her hair like white fairies

I would witness life and death.

Memories: Diaries

I have been writing as far as I can remember in life. My first diary that I remember having is signed by a nine-year-old optimistic bundle. I.

The diary was fancy. Dad had bought two, one for me and one for my brother.

It had a blue cover and four coloured page sets that divided the diary for different purposes.

The first section, blue, was for my poetry. The second was for prose.

Third section was for art and fourth is too dense to recall.

I signed it with what handwriting I had then. To be honest, it was not that bad. I may have published something about this diary some time in the past as well.

*Some five minutes later* here you go … I found the post.

It is a special diary. I have kept it with my as far as I can remember. I wrote about everything on it, there is even something about coffee and tea. 👌🤣 I envy those thoughts.

I still have it. Although, I don’t visit my home anymore, I know it’s there in the top drawer of my desk which used to be right next to my bed.

Now the desk must be in the attic. And so is my childhood. A vague cloud hanging on top of my head. A memory. A good one. Before all hell broke loose.

Since then, I have had many diaries. I’ve written a lot of stuff. And stored them in different pages. I used to have a travel diary, a poetry diary, a diary to write my novel ideas in. And to everyone’s surprise, I also had a hate diary. Although, I had to get rid of it because it’s too dangerous to have such thoughts on paper. I never started another.

I have a special relationship with my diaries. I had one which I started in 2007. It was a calender journal of sorts. It was beige or brown in colour. I don’t remember exactly.

It had my first 100 poems I wrote with all seriousness of a budding poet. With time, it became heavy with words I was too young to carry but it bore the burden well.

Years went by, and 2011 was the year when I started writing on this blog. For a while, I coordinated between my diaries and this blog. But ultimately, digital won me over. It’s convenient and accessible.

🤷 guilty.

I never was the ‘Dear diary’ kind but I always had more than three to write in at some point or the other. And they never started with formalities.

No honorifics. Nothing. Brute, angry language for a long time.


During school, in my sixth grade, we had a class project. It was to make a glass painting. For someone who is not very artistic, it was a great opportunity to make something that could be displayed.

It was an exciting time and I was excited. I specially had glass cut and made into squares so I could paint different things on them.

I still remember using tracing paper to jot down the art. And copy it using the glass paints and outliner. It was not that difficult, even for me.

I remember being proud of it. I remember flaunting the new “skills”. And I still remember how on the day of the exhibition, my painting which was that of a bunch of grapes, slipped from my hand and hit the concrete of the assembly grounds, vertically.

It broke just like the screen of an iPhone breaks when it falls vertically on any surface. Irreparable damage. The painting was lost. And I had half an hour to go for the exhibition.

What a loser.

I remember crying in the line as we were being herded back into our respective classes. It was winter time. The chill was in the air and I was hugging the packet which had my broken shards, now useless.

My teacher’s disapproval, my disappointment and disgust at the clumsiness, it all pooled into the pit of my stomach and I was sick with it.

The day went by, and I was made to dump the now useless Shards of my masterpiece into the dustbin. It was dangerous.

And so was I.

I made other paintings afterwards. They were all shown across family circles but none made it to the exhibition in that sixth grade class.


Starry nights

Poets over the time have romanticised sleeplessness with so many emotions that a lot of literature has focussed on the unrequited love and lovers’ dilemma

A simple, realistic life scenario doesn’t sit well with the fantasy world of fiction writers. Am I being scornful? Maybe.

Or maybe I’m just irked at the fact that it’s already 4:36 am at the time of writing this particular line and I am far from sleepy. What injustice is this?

Aren’t the eyes tired of staring at the world, spewing enough hatred around that they want to claim the darkness too?

Urgh. It’s frustrating. I wish I could sleep soundly and wake up fresh for once, without a headache.

Count sheep they said, fool your mind they said. Nothing works for the stressed mind for its filled with stuff even I don’t understand.

The post was supposed to be in third person but I’m used to adding I everywhere.

Yes I am experiencing lack of sleep and I blame all of you.

Starry nights, I see stars from this part of the world. Tiny ones, flickering in the distance. But where I come from, it’s a dull haze, all day every day. People have forgotten what stars look like

Looking for stars there is like squinting your eyes at the TV without glasses. Lol. Guilty.

Hence, here I am … Not sleeping. Hating on the world for ruining the mood, for fantasising sorrow into the star-studded nights of the Middle East.


Brazen and rough, coarse to touch, dry to feel and suffocating to breathe

Fighting to escape, yet clinging on to save, a lifeline, a prison to stay in

Lately, the restlessness

settling into a comfortably uncomfortable phase.

It sounds funny, even while thinking this particular thought.

Uncomfortable in my own skin.

It irks me, this skin that I wear and wear I do, so comfortable and snug

You couldn’t tell us apart, this cover and I, every day, and the night

Sleep, no, toss and turn, while sweating underneath

Icky, not okay with what is for a prisoner, sentenced for eternity into this skin, comfortable and snug

The skin keeps the heat in, the cold out. Uncomfortable under the collar

Scratching, collecting under the finger nails, disgust.

Leaving lines of red, like rays across the sky during sunset

Colours dance, the sweat breaks and there go the fireworks

The source of the end, where the darkness lurks