I’d always noticed how you immediately threw away anything that you didn’t need anymore. It could be a ball of paper, a pen that temporarily went out of ink- they’d meet the ground, and they became useless to you.

I didn’t want to be something that’s useless to you. I should have taken a cue then. I should have stood up and left the moment I realized you were making me fall in love with you.


Of Endings & Pursuits

Endless anticipation,

Infinite terror;

Gripping a little life

She never knew such fear-

On feeling uncertainty,

Of such immense scope,

Of such large possibilities,

Yet she didn’t lose hope.

Clinging onto her optimism,

She kissed her fears goodbye,

Dwelled on an arcade of fortunate events,

Her heart would still ask why

& how she was so convinced to believe,

An inquisition raised, will un-freed

‘let fear consume you and eat you away 

until circumstance reassures for things to be’

Humbled the girl sprang onto the wish of her heart, for she

Gazed onto her future,

With absolutely nothing to hold her apart,

From the agony that seemed imminent now,

Her heart she supposed would soon begone out of her chest and start.

Yet, the equilibrium restored itself

A string of unlucky mistakes had followed suit,

What remained now was a lesson learned in time,

And optimism over fear:

A pursuit.

Last Night

I don’t know when I drifted off to sleep last night,

feeling alone, dimmed lights;
A mind haunted
By the thoughts of the past,
And a mouth silent
Speechless with the grievances of the heart.

I don’t know when I drifted off to sleep last night;

It was cold
And I felt the sensation of your body by my side;
Alien arms hugging me
And my comfort cushions, your proxy .

I don’t know when I drifted off to sleep last night,

Dizziness overcame
And I forced myself to let go for the first time-
So I plunged into the unconscious,
Where you knocked the door; atrocious
the Circumstances were, as you raised a storm;

Wake came, but with an overwhelming terror,
Shutting down, the lids of my eyes giving up-
But you remained, forever lit;
In the folds and crevices of my poor disdained heart
Begging attention,
my kleptomaniac,
conquering my sanity from the start.

Last night, now I remember,
Maybe my recollections are farce;
For the experience of you felt like a hallucination
Doubters would say  real was mixed with false.

But I was enchanted by your scent
Blinded by the spark in your eyes;
Cast by your spell
and fascinated by the sheen of your light.

My kairos, when we were both laid side by side,
That was when
I drifted off to sleep last night.


While finding myself, 

If I’m the destination,

Then the people I meet

Are the maps that lead me 

Onto the road 

where I’d discover myself again

Finding the new pieces of a self

Embracing them, beginning again.

Fixing into the jigsaw, 

the pieces of a self previously unknown to me,

Unlocking just in time, who I am supposed to be. 

And if you believe 

That people are homes,

Then these homes are places where

Some of my deepest secrets and mysteries are laid,

Temporarily at rest 

Waiting, apparently

Desperate that they don’t fade.

Anticipating and hungry

For some attention and love from this soul,

Each home calling out for me

To trace a map to it and open it’s door.

The Occassional Futility Of Speech

I’m going through a sudden transformation, and it is not even close to alchemy.

From a sunken wreckage I’ve turned into a full blown crisis. The going to sleep at dawn, waking up into early afternoons, the minimal eating routine, being mute and morose, finding myself unable to move- my and feel tied up, my vision is clouded, and there’s a blockade of rationality in my brain.

Perhaps its the blurred vision and the loss of cognition that has incapacitated my speech. What I speak lacks the expression of how I feel. I feel too much and in such detail and depth, that i often find my vocabulary lying prostrate in front of my feelings.

The word ‘sad’ or ‘morose’ would never show that every part of me has given up, and that the rock that has been callously sitting on my heart shows no apparent signs of movement.
‘Hurt’ can never be perceived the way I feel it- as if a pair of claws were grasping my heart and extorting all the blood from it.
‘Pain’ is an understatement; how will ‘pain’ ever describe that i feel every inch of my skin burning without any apparent fire?
How would anyone understand that by anxious I mean not only butterflies, but a tough knot in my stomach that seems to be tightening every second? That the gulp in my throat doesn’t seem to get down?
It would be too easy to say that I cried, but how do I explain that I screamed my lungs out and wailed until my voice went numb?

I don’t know. I don’t know how to use what words and when because it seems futile to even attempt to make someone comprehend what I’m going through. It’s the fault of the language and I know that not only me, but others like me are grappled with this situation that none of us can seem to get off.


A cry for help
Would do no good-
When the tears dance behind her eyes.

An attempt to be merry
Won’t summon glee-
Emptiness beneath lifeless smiles.

A deep breath
Would hail no calm-
With trembling hands and mental qualm.

Behind a mask she would dwell,
Draped in the veil of satisfaction-
A soul starving for help.

Dangerously damaged
Yet a survivor-
The fearless need no instinct.

An embodiment of passion
She once had loved deeply-
Soon to accept, it’s unfortunate ephemerality.

Tastelessly sick and broken down the bone
Travelling from sweet to bitter-
Surrounded with a halo of sour.

From everything to nothing
A bland and insipid life-
Gliding down into depression,
wasn’t such a nice ride.

A grim figurine, tramping helplessly
Carrying herself with relentless suave;
Her masked countenance,

Her escapade.




I feel distant from every human being, be it blood relation or not. It feels like I’m on an island with a sizable population that speaks only a certain language; they converse with each other effortlessly and I’m not able to comprehend one word because my language is completely different. It feels as if I’ve landed in a completely opposite dimension- a dimension where I can see, feel and listen to people but not respond or contribute in to their interactions at all. I’m a vessel that is full of ideas and thoughts that I know don’t fit anywhere else except for my mind, that is why I often find it useless to share them with someone else. I feel like I’m a bow and arrow kept amidst the open field during a spring in the first millennia- I’m completely useless because then the early man had not attained hand dexterity: he does not know of my existence.

It’s hopeless to feel so much potential in you, yet feel so inadequate at the same time.

I’ve always believed that life is an echo- you always get back what you give. I’ve loved people and devoted myself to them completely, why do I not always get it back? Why do I end up feeling detached?