Death is in the air

We’re in the middle of a pandemic. We’ve already lost over 500,000 lives and still counting. There are areas where number hasn’t even been taken into account yet.

On a parallel side, people are also dying of diseases or heart attacks or what not.

In the past one week, three people I know have died. True, I wasn’t close to any of them but they were present in my memory. I knew them personally. I had months of my life attributed to their memory.

And now, I get to know they don’t exist anymore except where I have given them space.

I don’t have words to share about them. I don’t know what I will tell their families. I’ve been where they are and I know how they feel. Death is another name for irreparable loss.

A loss which is felt so deep within the self that it cannot be measured. It is unfathomable.

It gets me thinking about how pointless every fear we have, apart from the fear of losing someone we love: a family member, a friend, a colleague.

We can just sit and think about the tragedy, cry a few tears and move on with life. What else can we afford to do?

Moving on feels like a betrayal to them. How would you move on from the death of a friend whom you saw grow up into a beautiful person full of life and potential.

All those possibilities gone to waste.

Their parents, who invest in their children, what are they holding on to now? The mind reels when trying to gauge the extent of the situation.

The next step is denial. We deny the tragedy, we refuse to register it in our feeble minds and it is then that we breathe easy, that it becomes easier to sleep at night.

Ignorance is bliss, it’s true. And that’s what we choose to be able to get out of bed everyday and do the mundane tasks that status quo has laid out for you.

Pointless tasks, that have no value in the larger scheme of things.

Time is of value. It is a priceless commodity which doesn’t come back. I wish I had made more effort to be in touch before we ran out of time.

But we’re out of time. Do people turn to stars after death? Is there a slight possibility that you know how much your absence means to me? Maybe I should have talked more, been involved more. I could have. But now it’s late.

Death is in the air. I smell the sourness of your loss in every breath I take and it hits my at the back of my throat where a lump forms every time I think of you all.

And I remember that we are as vulnerable as any creature here. And no matter how, we’re all going to die.

My only consolation is that maybe there is something good after death. Maybe this world is the pit of darkness and death is the ushering of light. Maybe you’re in a better place. Maybe you’re now at peace.

I hope.

I want to be free

Be kind, and set me free, I think as I drown in my stories

Freedom from my thoughts, as voice words through tales for I don’t think I have what it takes

Nature isn’t my Muse, I struggle to fix the broken bond, what invokes thoughts me in

Was it light or was it you, a dark canopy of darkness, smooth as velvet cutting me off, soaking me in hatred

I am the kite let loose across the sky, ruffled in the wind, with no destiny in mind but the mud beneath

My wings are cut, my back is bent, at the mercy of the strong air currents

Is this the freedom I longed for, is what I wondered as the air carried me around like Alladin’s magic carpet.

What was on my mind?

Most of the times, I bury the memory that ignites a piece of writing and over time, I reframe the cause and innovate the reasons and find my new relatables just like a third person reader.

I was going through old pictures and I came across a diary page I wrote back in 2018.

I’m intrigued what inspired it.

Train of Thought

It is times like these when I want to stop, hold my breathe and refuse the stench of reconciliation pass me by

It’s like running into a crime scene and leaving footprints around

To be found

A train starts from an abandoned station and the thoughts keep on getting on with no destination in mind

It’s an exhaustive strategy, run round in circles, temples buzzing with the crowd, it’s holiday time maybe

Wish I had locked down my demons for this, vulnerable as I am, it does not do to dwell on the past

Cut the cake today, it’s your freedom at the cost of trust, wish everyone luck who will find the charred bones, of one razed to ash at the altar of deceit.

It’s not enough

Love is not enough to feed your self respect, it’s enough to make you believe

It’s never enough for either or maybe both, when ideologies clash, differences bloom

If it were, we’d see more of romance in “happily ever after” moments

If it only were, love would turn beasts into princes

Sleeping corpses into fairies, but eh

It doesn’t matter anyway, love is bound to ruin, to corrode the very essence of humanity we so strive to preserve.

Put a pin in it

Finding the figures, the statues, epitome of excellence in their eyes

I wonder

Where are mine, if everyone had a few, I had none.

Looking around for context, I find

Put a pin in it, lest I forget

All those who stood up for me when I wasn’t even mine

A stranger in my own self, they recognised me and held on

A scrapped knee, a torn soul, it’s all the same until addressed

I did find the figures in life, and I lost them too, watching a film, scene after scene

The end is yet to come but I hope that I find more to give me strength,

To be the building blocks that I fear I have to complete before the film ends.

When You See Me

It’s been a while, no one has knocked, I stand alone in the valley of death

A gimmick, a closed window, a breathing graveyard

Just opposite to the house, lays my will, my strife, as if defeated under the countless stars

No one is witness to the end of an average life, just decay is what you see

When you see me.

For a friend of a friend

Loss is like a horizon, always within reach but never achieved. One never reaches the end point. There is no end point to this mindless darkness of an abyss. Where horizon takes a break with the night and disappears from the naked eye, the naked soul is always exposed to the rawness of that emotion. Loss.

Loss is an emotion we’ve all experienced in someway or the other. A misplaced toy, an indifferent friend, the abandoned love, peace? We’ve all been there. And it’s horrible. Nursing our wounds, mixing blood with tears, we stand with hope that tomorrow will be better. 2020 has proved that one cannot rely on that thought anymore.

If quarantine taught me anything, it’s the unflinching constant existence of the privileged class, who whiled away time until the world was safe and normal again.

Safe and normal are two things this world is never going to be. Don’t look at me for hope. I carry a deep rooted resentment for the optimistic. So, abnormal is the new normal. And if truth be told, it’s the most ironic phase of life.

This phase taught me that there is no point in racing to reach the top. There is no top. We’re on a flat graph, steadily moving towards death while life is what happens in the meantime.

We’re in the waiting room, waiting for our name to be called. And it’s something that scares us all. Death. Death is a companion of loss. They go hand in hand. Ask me. I’ll tell you.

A friend of a friend fell in love with an ambitious man. And as we all know, love is followed by heartbreak. A deep cut is yet to heal. It’s festering, leaving scars. Never to fade, they will stay as a reminder of the futile reasons the pain was inflicted. Like a saw, it felt the soul split in half. It’s dramatic! You think it’s dramatic but that’s my job. Im a poet. I see the world with intensity of emotions and interpret it dramatically. You laugh? Yes, because you lack depth. You’re not worthy of me, she said. And the story of loss ends.

The feeling never ends. The world is going to shit and the shit people are making it worse. No one wants to die in peace. We all know who is making who suffer. I’m making me suffer for some stupid sadistic reason. I hope to get over my thick skull which has stopped being reasonable and just get on with waiting.

Do you remember Waiting For Godot by Samuel Beckett? There is no other play which depicts us so accurately as that one. I wish you’d understand what I’m trying to say. Loss means a sense of emptiness, a void for the thing that was lost. And I’m waiting for Godot. I am hoping Godot won’t show up and I will still wait for Godot because the world is getting worse and I’m just riding along the wave.

Companions of the Night

Shadows, silhouettes, and a worn-out soul wander into the night with no destination in mind

On the brink of losing all sense of reality, these companions find comfort in their adrift ship

Desolate roads, empty thoughts, one foot after the other, tread along to God knows where

Anywhere is better than here

In their heads, they find relief, if they have one on their shoulders, do they even have bodies?

Love, they talk of love. It’s funny because they cry when they tell me, with broken hearts and empty smiles

Hearts that are abandoned, hearts unclaimed

Beloveds are scarce in this part of the universe and lovers too many

Some of us are destined to die with time at hand aplenty

It’s funny, I tried to rhyme, what logic will you find on this page?

I talk of fantasy and magic and deserted streets. I speak of fairy tales and happy endings

Never have you heard of those influenced

Horrors unveil as I yearn to get my words immortalised


How will the heart start loving again when betrayed more than once?

Where will it find the courage to hold on when the fires have been building for a long while

It’s time to get out and go and save the skin, but it won’t leave for the sake of loyalty?

How would you ask that heart to survive the onslaught that is brought by the careless and the needy

Circumstancial love, thats the enemy.


In the moment when you drown yourself in the music from a playlist made years ago

To drown the memories that haunt you from recent past, which disappeared like the sky

To drown your broken heart, which makes you spiral out of control every time it beats

To drown the self that once stood tall but has now failed and finds solace at the rock bottom

Comfort Blanket

This is not another poem about a random emotion picked somewhere

It’s not a rant, nothing to vent about, no life grudges this time

This is just encore, a thought, a fleeting expression of mutual trust and comfort

In days when one ceases to feel human enough to get out bed.

The story starts with the bed, a comfort zone, a peace treaty, although temporary

Then life comes knocking, and pulls you out of the door and into the cruel world

Filled with mistrust, misfortune and misery

A rainy weather, and a drenched hopeless someone

So, be an umbrella to keep them dry, as much as you’re capable, promise you will try

Be the comfort blanket, welcoming and warm, block out the draught of the cold winter months

Be the cooler, on a hot summer day, and the ice cubes, refreshing the drink with every gulp

Find small moments to be happy, there are many to find fault in them. So be someone’s reason to smile.

I repeat, this is not a poem, it’s a fleeting thought, a kind thought in a harsh world.

Maybe the quarantine got to me and I lost my mind.

This advice isn’t for those who got their heart broken, they can harbor their own boats and find their comfort blankets.

In Time

Like fluid, time flows, from mine to yours

Oblivious to the wrinkles being caused, it dips into the vault of memories and wreaks havoc

Steals the precious ones, to show off in the museum for Gods to goad

Fodder for the soul, ticking time bomb reaches the doorstep and bam

You’re on your way to hell.

Your time stopped and mine began, a lone treck, up the hill, by the cascading waters of immortality?

Laughing out loud, no.

It was a desert, made of shattered dreams and hopes, with no shadows and plentiful Sun

And I was asked to be thankful for the bountiful harvest

Of poison, pain and purposeless existence

In time, I learn, I sow the seeds, to reunite and sync across space and time

Link in turn to hope for release, for a life cycle to end and another begins

I’ve stopped making sense years ago, so if you find your Muse in this tirade, find me again and I’ll let you

For God is my witness that I’ll wait for you, until the sand runs out of the broken hourglass and I flow with the wind, like dust

Meaningless and unnecessary.


You will never know the cause, why I die everyday

Like a phoenix, I rise

Through the ashes, this day, to live and breathe the absence

Words don’t suffice, so I use them, over and over

Death, an old companion, sings with me

Songs of despair, of longing

Laments and separations, death, a kind companion

Filling the gap with dread

Beyond the stars, where you’ve gone, I wait on this side for my turn

To meet you halfway, in the valley of love, to mourn

The loss I bore, for years till the skin peeled off my face

And the last breath left my body

I remembered you, and I still do

Mark my calendar to that fateful night when the angels took you out of my sight

It’s silly that I still hold a grudge, that I still feel the sting

All the empty hugs, and all the loving words falling deaf to my human ears

I struggle to live each day as though death didn’t touch my soul

That death didn’t write my calendar for me, marking the day when you left me

To papa,

You’re still being missed.

Vile (Censored)

Because I am scared.

They are vile, they are wolves, they’re … … …

In my home, they … , they … , leaving … of trauma

I’m their meal, and my kids … … … on the side

A … A … A … and my blood …  mixed with the soil, … … …

… … … digs into my back as I arch forward in pain, my pain, not yours

You watch for you paid … to see the circus … … …

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

The … … … on your chest as you clap … …  for those who will turn on you next

… … … which seems to be lost in the cries of the mothers, their wails pierce … … …

Heartbreak … … …  hopes shattered, and dreams sold cheap

Cheap is the life of he who must not be named

… … … who die in nameless graves

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

What … … … others called him hate, he knew nothing but loss


No matter how hard you avoid those memories, they find a way, like virus, corrode the present, taint the moment

Your memories are like black ink, splashed across a crisp white shirt

Like mud, that gets stuck to the soles of the shoes on a rainy day and wouldn’t get off unless dried

Like the cringe of the coward, the lies of a deceiver, too crude to hold on, too memorable to let go

And yet again, those memories stain my pillow, you owe me those tears shed in solitude

Those tears are like a river, a water fall, unending, and my sorrow unyielding, time had stopped, my wounds didn’t heal

Your words are the knives, getting sharper with each moment I stay, each moment I pray

For some peace of mind, some closure for my feeble heart but as time passes, the rain lashes on

I keep changing pillows, keep throwing away boots, keeping hoping the pain would subside like a low tide

But I fail, to keep the memories at bay, to abandon the hurt I feel from the one I love,

I fail to love the loneliness within, and I fail to smile when I should, to embrace the life I was promised in exchange for my patience to let go of what you held dear

Or so I thought.

Save me

Over the shoulder, I watch if you followed me down the path

Turned the curve, with me, did you?

I wondered where you’d lost your way, what roundabout took you from me

They say affection is poison, running in your veins, weakening the heart and tearing it apart

I wonder why I care, even when there is no you, nothing to remember, no one to remind me

The path laid out, has to be walked on alone, one step at a time

But there is fire in my blood and I taste it on my tongue

The betrayal, I feel to the depths of the drama that you don’t know I’m capable of

Trust ran too deep, and your love was a paper cut

Caught me unaware, fickle mind, give in too easy

I imploded, to the sound of Katy Perry’s fireworks

Lighting my own pyre, ablaze, the flames catch me and as I burn

The poison runs free, and in my pain, I remember the words we once exchanged

That life will go on, that love will find it’s way to heart, to heal

You did promise, you wished me well aboard the separation wave

But never did I know, that there wouldn’t be a heart left to save.

Kind Quarantine

There are four steps between the bed and the desk, cover them in two

The desk is where work happens these days, typing away the words, and the bed is the place to die for the night

A buffer zone near the balcony door, from where the warm winds of the desert come for greetings

The building opposite is always bathed in sunlight, with growing shadows as the day grows old

One, two, three, four

It is this building that is the view, unchanging, unflinching, undying and the balcony inaccessible

A picture of quarantine, a kind, privileged quarantine.

But a mental block, something to fight for. Sanity, paranoia, claustrophobia? New company to keep

The pattern on the wall is random, but when observed for long periods, a pattern emerges, a trip to limbo

Focus, and zone out, its a cycle, every day, not to break down and give up.

Bad thoughts, not far away, nostalgia has replaced the teddy bear used for cuddling

A horror tale, a kind quarantine.

Learning from the past

I found this in one of the posts from 2015.

While I don’t want to bring attention to that post, I will share a snippet that impressed me in 2020.

“I learned the importance of family, of blood ties. Earlier, I used to believe that anyone can be family if you wish to make them but that is not true as people are as transitory as water in any container. Family is the only security blanket one has in this world and they will never abandon you. That is one thing that is given and does not change unless of course when death intervenes.”

Seems legit given the current situation.

Stay safe, you guys.



You can leave, and never look back, but stay a while, let me catch my breath

Witness is the Sun, and the Moon and all the stars, we all waited for the moment to pass

Dragged out our courage to stand and look, stare into oblivion of a repetitive cycle

The day and the night, is all that I can live by

Stay a while to see me grow, to see me cut my roots and sow

A new harvest, for the summer next, when all but pain will be forgotten

You can get your oasis then, when I have my bottomless well

To drown, to thrive, or just to sit by

Hold my life in my hands, rather the hand it over

Like rust, I wince and crumble, and stay,

my feet, unused, obey.


Isolation, a slow death, circling the drain, little beings

Lost, powerless and desperate, hoping for life

Being lifeless still, existing in a pointless loop

Mechanical, behaviour, tanking will

The world is closed, nowhere to run

Where one house is burning, ten are burning still

Mankind, timid, ruthless nature taking its course

Finding ways to sustain, killing the virus within

Life in the times of Coronavirus

Sipping apple juice in a long, cylindrical glass with a narrow mouth, wearing baggy pants and an over-sized shirt, hair still wet from the mid-day bath I just had.

It’s the nth day of the self-quarantine I have been under and time has taken a backseat. Its as if time isn’t moving at all and yet it going way too fast without being made use of.

Life has come to a standstill. Taking a stroll has been limited to a visit to the balcony door; cheering people on, making heroes of ourselves for saving lives. #Controlthepandemic.

WhatsApp Image 2020-03-28 at 7.46.44 PMI cannot speak for everyone, but I can say that its a privilege that I can sit home, and still afford my meals (at least for now). Who knows what the future will bring? A recession? Loss of jobs is already on the rise (read it somewhere) and how far are we to fall before we begin building again?

Its a question of when not if. But this time, where will we end up?

I’ve always made a mockery of philosophers but now I understand where they bring their ideas from. I’ve had many ideas ever since the lockdown has begun. Many ideas are stemming from an utter lack of distraction which I consider my constant partner in life.

Distraction and denial.

But the buggers have left me alone with my thoughts this time. March (26) came and went. And I was still thinking. I am restricting myself to spare a lot of people from a lot of pain. But will anyone restrict themselves for me?

Moving on.

Writing has been an elusive exercise. I want to write so much and yet I don’t know where to begin. The point of this has been lost on me already.

While I’ve been wallowing in self-pity, there are many who are struggling to make ends meet. The world is a mess and I seem more organised than most. What does it say about me? Have I been selfish in my grief?

Have I been selfish in my grief, running after one thing and forgetting everything else in between? One thing that I could not get, and letting everything else slide? I’ve been luckier than most, that I survived and I moved forward if not on.

Coronavirus is like a wake-up call for all of us. We need to “Carpe Diem” this shit once the crisis dies down.

I, for one, want to travel. Travel so far and wide that I realise how little I mean in the bigger circle of life. That I am not the end of the world and not the beginning; use the word “I” a little less maybe. 😛

WhatsApp Image 2020-03-28 at 7.49.44 PM

Now, the reason why I started this post, to begin with:

Lost in Tide

It has been easy, to breathe, but difficult to live

What is life but a whimsical tale of woe, for me, and for those who are lost

Are they lost? Or am I?

It’s an unconvincing world, with ungrateful people and a lot of heartbreak

One leads to the other, and on and on the gyre churns, I recall some poet once said

That when things fell apart, there was no one to hold the fort

We are all lost in the tide, that once rose, and took us all in.



Her eyes have lost the sparkle, like the fading stars at dawn

Death of the darkness, her wrinkles come to light, with every smile, an underline,

She dies as the Sun rises, also rise the scars

Trace them with me as they tell their tale

Here is where she used to break skin to laugh, not a polite one, but a snort

There is where the lines would form where the tears would fall down the cheeks into the hollow of her collarbone, collecting.

Somewhere here you’ll find the scratches, of harrowing times, leaving their mark

If the world was dying today, you’d be in my thoughts and if you were to tell me to go alone,

I’d sit on the doorstep of my dream house where once I had fairy lights and green drapes hung from the hopes of tomorrow

Love has long been gone from life, not many regrets to counter my strike, would’ve tried to stick it through, had it been otherwise

Life in the times of corona, a hateful time to be alive, but can salvage from the moments that one can hope to survive

The Marketplace

Spiralling bird with failing wings, like a shooting star, zooms across the sky, whooshing past the eyes filled with wonder

Making wishes of love and laughter to an imminent end, laughable.

Fear gripping the heart, held on for dear life, useless wings fluttering in the wind

Life happens when you’re stuck in office, living someone else’s life for them, carrying the baggage

Life happens on Instagram profiles, stories shared, scrolling down to the deep end

Life happens in heartbreaks, and losing the one who could be for the one who used to be.

Endless, tireless, days go by, every day a new struggle, a new mutiny to survive

Hearing your story, I feel for your heart, I do,

Heartbreaks come as easy as oranges in a busy market square

And I paid for mine, a heavy price, somewhere down the road, you did too

Walking deeper into the market, more broken hearts up for sale

And never could I decide where to find my broken heart, to love.

I wish I was Braver

I wish I was braver to take on the words that you put across to me on an ocean of hope and dreams

I wish I could tell you that life has been mean, and I was bullied into this attitude that the world so cruelly calls out as pessimism

I wish it would have been easier on me, so I could be the whole person you would have wanted me to be

I wish I wasn’t so scarred, that even my soul has scratch marks on them, when I tried to break free one lonely afternoon

I wish things would go back to the way they were, when life was in bloom even before I knew what life was


I didn’t invite her, she came over and when I tried to resist, she put her foot in the door

I backed off, and ran to the stairs to make it to the confines of my rooms where I thought I would be safe

Had I known she will follow me there, I would have just stayed

Failed, I failed to keep her at bay and slowly, she creeped into my very skin and I was immobilised

There was no help, I was under attack

My mind wandered to one sunny afternoon back home, where the flowers always used to be in bloom

The huge garden would greet me with open arms and I would hug the trees who grew up with me

Tippy, Tippy, top, which colour do you want? And off I’d run to hold what I held dear

Someone knocks and I snap out of it, I’m alone.

Was it a dream? Was there someone lurking under the bed or was it in my mind?

A nightmare of a feeling, sinking my soul within the murky waters of doubt


Writing a Love Song

Tracing the curve of your back, as you arch your way to heavens of glory

Streaming in, rays of the Sun, fall naked on your tummy, as I watch the dust facets sparkle as you watch me

My eyes cover the length of your legs, tracing the edges with loving care, down to your toes, which you stretch every now and then

Your face tells me different stories of the past, which you survived, each wrinkle a medal, an ode to your sufferings, forever made immortal

Worship in my eyes, I look at your hair, cascading down your shoulders and on to the white, wrinkled sheet

Oh how I long to write my song of love, for you, if only you’d see, if only you’d known

That words fall short, when the time stretches in the absence which is felt when your warm hand isn’t in mine.

Leap Year

It just occurred to me it’s February 29. One extra day of existing which comes once in four years.

While I appreciate the extra time I get to spend on questioning my existence, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony of this day.

If only I could, I would use this day to be more aware of who I am.

I’m inadequate, I am incomplete, I want to be more than what I can be

Leap years are special, they said, I see nothing but another day in one year. Eh. It’s all in the mind, I want to have February 29s, every day. If I could.

There isn’t much thought provoking thoughts about leap year, much is yet to be said about the extra time.

I’m still glad that it came and I would be sad that the day is ending, only because it was a Saturday.


Hands express, tell you when the words failed

Hands convey what the heart is yearning to say

Moving through air, slashing through, rapid movements, depending on the mood

On and on, they went, wordless, voiceless

Saying what was never heard and never will be

Lost to the vibrations unless you see.

Hands, lying lifeless by the side. Spent. Done saying what you didn’t want to hear

Dejected, they never woke. It was the end of the road.


I wasn’t born into this.

This is a result of constant efforts.

Cosmos working on its masterpiece.

The Sun wasn’t always so bright in your eyes.

And the Moon wasn’t so far from its silvery light

There wasn’t missing, a twinkle in your eyes.

It is all in my imagination, now that it’s a myth.

The grass wasn’t always so brown and dead.

The roots didn’t always recoil inside.

And the birds weren’t always so afraid to chirp on the tree across from the yard

Where you sat and watched.

Memories fading, you began the descent.

The fate was turning it’s wheel and your head was spinning.

A spiral, the staircase, and a bottomless pit.

I wasn’t always like this, I am a subverted image. Everything that you are afraid of

I’m the anomaly, I exist in the shadows.

I corrupt like virus, and you break like an outdated program.

Memory Game

You can play the memory game

You can cut off all ties, forget my name

But I’ll remember you, fondly

All the days and all the smiles, all the lessons and all the tears

I’ll hold dear, for my smile, when with you, used to be real.

Prisoner of a Broken Mind

Usually it starts with a thought and end up as a few lines on this blog.

Not much thought goes into writing. No revisits, edits or changes. It’s not worth going back.

However, it’s an important day tomorrow. It’s February 15. Once a day of joy, it’s a reminder of a loss we once suffered, the sting of which doesn’t seem to abate.


Flowers lose their scent with time, the clouds shed the rain and move on, the day trespasses into the night and life goes on.

What doesn’t change is the horror which seems to raise its head from time to time, reminding me of the futility of all my efforts.

Life lost, altered, and became a burden, breathing slowed, more laboured, I knew death had come knocking

Panic, I stand by the door, hooded figure in mind, pushing me aside, it was not my time yet

Around, it looked and zeroed in, that one, it said. And gliding forward, took his hand in my mind and beckoned him to follow

Screams erupted around me, was it me? I couldn’t tell, there was a ringing in my ears and I did hear one last draw of breath before darkness took over.

Just like that, in my mind, my world was blank.

What would I do with career discussions to be great, a big house and a fancy car. All this faded away as soon as the darkness took centre stage.

Since then, it’s been a struggle to remember, to try and keep alive the spark that once lit my home.

A memory game, a battle already lost to time and age.

I will fight against the odds and I will remember but at what cost?

Someday, I will make peace with the absence that I feel, someday I will find that missing piece.

Every action stemmed from that empty corner which I yearned to fill with your presence but you were gone. I called but you were far away, separated by a thin veil

One which I couldn’t break, were you being held there or was it me on this side, a prisoner of my broken mind.


I have thoughts and thoughts have meaning, meaning makes me wonder and wonder makes me cringe.

Transient feelings woven on a bed of lies. No, not lies, but hope, a benefit of doubt.

It’s haunting to relive every day the pain, the pain that I try to evade every day

Its haunting to see, that you could live without me. Anyway, it’s all up to fate, in the end we are nothing but names

Past comes knocking one day, and I didn’t open the door. I’m afraid to see the eyes that once were full of love

Now stare at me, empty, telling me I’m replaceable.

It’s Rude To Intrude

Like an intruder, love comes into your life, unannounced

Rude to intrude, it steers the wheel away from you

And just like that, you’re in the backseat, watching your life pass you by

Smiling as you keep giving in, bending further, till your knees hit the floor


Love doesn’t come into your life, it’s thrusted upon you

Here, carry it, hold on to it and until you feel it multiply like virus

And soon, your cells are little love cells filling your heart with a false sense of fulfillment

A lie coated with your favourite milk chocolate wrapped around a crisp cookie.


Love sticks together, it cannot be split

One emotion for one person

I’ve never had it

For it was for you, always for you

Loving self, what is that?

I never knew what I could give until I had given it away

If I love you, I cannot love me

So to love me, do I have to let you go?


To all the betrayals I faced, a goodbye

To the memories, I bid adieu

Done with the soppy attitude, I take the power from you

I will be free of the invisible shackles

Metal sliding on metal, I will break free

Walk into the sunsets, towards the horizon, happy or not, but the misery will end.

The Last Breath

It’s painful to watch people love, see them gushing and caring, laughing and hugging

Reading in books about romance that doesn’t exist anymore. Writing letters on fading paper

Carving out words of love, and find memories, it’s brazen to see the affection they share

And even more painful to watch them love afar, someone who doesn’t want them around

It’s brutal to watch them wait, wait for something or someone they’re never sure they’re going to meet

And yet

The real tragedy is hope. Hope for a better tomorrow, keeping the flame alive, and burning.

Smiling through tears and living in agony, hiding the pain behind a frozen smile

Unflinching morale, they say it’s love. It’s more like a last breath before the current takes you under

Befor your lungs give out and water seeps in, and before you hit the floor of your kitchen and bleed out

It’s the last breath love forces out of you, because the beloved couldn’t care less whether you’re a part of the bigger picture or just a wallflower.


Likes leaves in Autumn, like birds from their nests

Like footprints in the sand, like the Sun on a cloudy day

You left, never again looked in my way, a solitary existence

I marched forward, not paying heed to the naked tree

Turned a blind eye to the abandoned home, long gone

Didn’t look back at the lost prints, a sign of your presence once felt so strong

Never looked up at the sky again, for fear of being trapped in the endless grey rumours

That you once stemmed from the same stream where I used to come to drink.

Musings coming your way

I don’t claim to know much about life, hell, I don’t claim to know much about anything really.

I have most of my days, drowned in my own troubles, with my head stuck in the sand.

But I am reasonable enough to know that you need to cherish what you have because life is unpredictable and may take things away from you without warning

Good health, money, fame, people who love you?

Every single thing you have, don’t lose it just because you have eyes on something that is farther away

Grass is always greener on the other side.

I learned it the hard way. And I’m still trying to find my way back.

I’m not lost, I’m just reluctant to agree and accept and move forward with a clean slate.

Life is too short and too meaningful to let it go to waste. Hold those who love you close for there are many who are deprived of it.

I’m loved. And I want to love and be alive and not just live.

How do I overcome this overpowering belief system that I have developed based on the tragedies of my past?

How do I break free and hold my head high and call myself a survivor if I still struggle to get out of bed due to lack of motivation to live?

Someone I Once Knew

If only you’d said what I wanted to hear

I may have been relieved of the pain, may have been delivered

But it is not to be, I have had to lie

Hide myself from you, because you don’t seem to be you.

A shadow of someone I once knew

It’s a tragedy, its a farce, it’s something that has finally gone, at long last

It’s irretrievable and it’s not okay for you, I still grieve, I still care

And if it weren’t for my ego, I may just have dropped to my knees and washed out the garbage

Were it not for your cold skin, I may just have had a smile on my face

Seeking some peace, if I ever asked for help, you’d refuse and smile and tell me it’s nothing

It’s nothing to you, it’s something to me and it’s more than what I can handle today

Right On Time

Like a clock, right on time, quickly scrolling to a point, I wait and hold my breath as the page loads

I see, sigh in relief, as I mark the day and the attendance of a view and am satisfied for the day

That something is in my favour, that swimming against the stream will pay off someday

And I see and count again and stare at the map, as I trace my fingers along the edges, like it’s your face

Somehow, in this desolate existence, I find my solace.


See the bodies swaying to the beats, see the blood running on the streets

This blood is not going to trickle away, this blood is not cheap

It’s a price, a price we have to pay for the bigotry of our leaders, here to stay

Slit the wrists, turn protectors against the people, choke the very fabric that keeps us together

Choke everyone.

But there is always one rat that will nibble on the net and set everyone free

Call us rats, or anti-nationals, as Shakespeare says: What’s in a name?

For the one I am standing up for, I am the angel to guard their honour

In any attire. Strip me of everything, I’m still a human

But it’s not what you see.

True Love

What comes after heartbreak? What is left after an unrequited love?

Loving each other without possession, loving despite the distance, despite the heartbreak

Keeping faith, not letting go of the whisp of yesterday

A high kind of love. A test of time. True love.

Of no use

You are a distant dream, a fading memory, a silly old crinkly paper rolled at the foot of the bed, not of use

A river, that slowing makes its way, through the ragged mountains, valleys and into the stream

Your memory carves out my mind, like a saw, it curves it’s path, roughing the edges

I watch in torment. Silent in my plight, like the petrified child in the darkness of the room

Screaming into the pillow of half-woven words of love, unrequited

Unbent, and unbroken, I still stand tall. Appearances. *Shrug* what can I say so you’d believe me?

I’m a sad, ragged doll of no use. Just like your memories, stowed away into the corners of my mind, of no use.

Death is a friend

Life is hard. Circumstances are harder. What is it that life is leading us towards? I often wonder why we go through suffering if death is inevitable.

Death is inevitable, it’s coming for us. And why are we so glad for a designated end?

Why, for some of us, is death a form of respite, promised at the end of a dark tunnel?

Death is a dear friend for whom we are waiting eagerly, watching, hoping for a quick withdrawal.

And to think, one person or an incident can drop you a whole level and make you beg for release

Life is a punishment to those who are aware. A burden to bear.

Rip apart the soul, see what’s inside and tell me if I’m lying.

I’m bent, wings clipped, an empty vase, that I wish I could fill.