Curse The Ends That Never Meet 


Words are not enough to voice, the tragic noise I feel inside

Maybe I draw a picture to soothe, the nerves that never sit still 

I pick up the pencil and a clean sheet of white paper 

And I think. 

Words fail me, but my hand moves 

And draw parallel lines, the paper ends, and yet the lines go on 

In my mind’s eye, I see them moving

Cutting through me like butter 

Sharp, coal black figures, constant 

Moving, traversing the paths I dare not dream 

Curse the ends that never meet. 

There Are No Happy Endings 


We are born to die, is what we learn as rule of life

Death gives life its meaning, or else we are all being fooled by the no-show Godot

Ever turned the page to what comes ‘forever after’? 

Ever heard of something called fate!

Driving Peter Pan of Neverland to hunt you down to take your heart to feed his soul off your own

All the pixies and the fairies and their dust won’t make the pain go away 

Locked in the tower, sitting on your neck. 

The pain only mounts as the years go by 

And its that time when you know why you were born 

Its the time for death to you as its own 

For none shall escape it, for we are what it is. 

Desperate Soul


Catching on to something which is less than a whisper

A whimsical fancy, a spec of imagination 

That something, somewhere might just click 

A happy ending to a forever after 

Or is there more to the story than pages being written 

How much longer can the writer count on the word bank

Desperate souls, eat away at rotten things just to get away

And fate tempted like Rumplestiltskin says 

“I know a desperate soul when I see one.” 

A Plight Of A Child


I wrote this piece years ago and while I was going through my drafts, I found it. Wow. It has actually been quite a long journey since 2003.

Hi everyone,
Today I want to confess something which I had buried deep inside my heart. It is a memory, a very painful one.
Let me take you back to the time when I was in 4th standard section B. My form teacher was a very good teacher when it came to academics. I respect her equally today as I did when she was my form teacher.
I used to write from a very young age especially poetry and I had started developing a little confidence in my writing. Just as a 11 year old would be excited to know what others thought of her writing, I was also excited. Since a teacher is the epitome of intelligence for a young mind, I thought I would show my teacher my poems and she would tell me where I stand.
So I went upto her table, kept my copy in front of her and told her that I wrote it. I still remember that she read two lines and started laughing. She threw my copy across the table at me, laughed in my face and said ” yeh kaun pade ga?”
Imagine my shock, disappointment and hurt that my teacher, my idol said such harsh words to me, a 11 year old child.
Dejected and discouraged, I thought that my teacher was right. I didnt know how to write and so as a result, I stopped writing.
But I started writing again in my 6th standard. And went on progressing thanks to certain teachers ( whom I wont mention as I dont want to compare my teachers. I love and respect each one who has ever taught me), I got better and better.
That memory faded from my conscience mind but was resurfaced a few days ago due to an incident which I will share in my next confession.
This memory hit me so hard right now. And it made me cry. Today I would like to tell her that despite being a good teacher, she failed to be my guardian, my guide. She failed me at a time when i needed her support the most. She broke the heart of a small child who wanted nothing but appreciation from her. It wouldnt have hurt to just pat me on my back and say “you can do better”. I swear it wouldve made my day. But no, you were bitter and cruel. You gave me a scar that I will carry for the rest of my life.
I used to look up to you
Yet You failed me.
You were my idol
Yet you crushed my hopes when I was a child.

 

 

 

Heart Cries Foul


I write to console my heart, that cries foul in the face of adversity

That knows that life is limitless and unfair throughout 

Dragging through the rung, the mud, I wish to learn a lesson or two 

But what for, if my final destination is death itself?

What do I strive for but gentle, supportive company 

To hold hands with, while sitting in the waiting room. 

I am waiting for my calling, but I am restless too. 

Words are over my head and my writing is leaving me behind 

Everyone is leaving me behind. 

I may be a bit slow but God knows I try 

I always have, to match the pace 

To turn the corner at the right time. 

And yet I see you merging into horizon, some four and a half hours ahead of my sunset 

And the internal struggle, to keep calm. 

Nothing works. And so I write to calm my heart which cries foul at the adversity of life. 

Filling the Gap


It’s a wide hole, left open by the absense

Of senses, of feelings and of everything that was you

Now there is infinite space, a space no one can fit in. 

It’s a limbo, a giant churning gyre 

Spinning head, I try to lower myself in 

To decorate the gaps, with your memories 

To fill the void, with my empty words and a wounded heart.