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I put pen to paper after 2 months and a small poem was waiting to be written.


When my eyes get heavy my dreams awaken, 

In the space between daylight and slumber realities are shaken, 

In the morn, again, my soul is taken.



Writing Again




My happiness hampers my poetry

For who wants to think


of deeper pains

when one has learnt to forget them?


But dejection waits for its moments
just below the skin


and here I am writing again,

my poetry. 

Lone Bodies


Lone light in my eyes,

the end of the mud path.

Lone sound of my shoe

drowning in a brown puddle.


Lone dance on a stage

from a practised mind

Lone dance without a stage

from an euphoric heart.


Lone clicking of the tongue

killing the violent silence.

Lone blinking of the eyelids –

we are only slaves of our bodies.


Lone stretching arms

in protest to the routine

Lone book flung on the floor

same letters, same lines, same spaces.


A lone pen writes,

no one notices.

I see the lone wolf cry,

but no one notices

the same painful roar

strangling their voices.


I had posted this poem a while back but I felt like going back to it and fixing it. So here it is again, all better 🙂

If I could…


This question really intrigued me. I decided to make a list here that I’m going to add on to whenever I think of something. So here goes:

1. I’d shout out from rooftops everything I really feel. Gut wrenching truth – not so much about others, more about myself. Something along the lines of, “I know I hurt people sometimes and then feel guilty about it and it kills little parts of me and that’s why I keep looking for things to believe in. At the sametime, I know I’m a good person and I know myself and believe I’m cut out to do something that’ll really make us think better. But sometimes, it’s hard to be completely honest with yourself and let go everything that doesn’t support you.”
This is only random blabber, but something along these lines. Declarations of love, hate, insecurities.. everything. I’d put it all out there for the world to hear.

2. I would live the 24 hours doing anything that my heart desires, for 2 reasons. i. to feel what it feels like to not think at all and just act. ii. To see if I have the courage to really live like that (I fear that the boundaires we think are outside of us, are in wayyy too deep)

3. I would spend every awake minute with people I love. Not that I don’t get to do it otherwise, but if I’m gonna do everything my heart desires I’m going to be around people who mean everything to me.

4. I would spell out my true feelings of love, discontent, hope etc. to people I love to see how they really feel about me.

5. I would send anonymous letters to all the politicians and people who can make a difference asking them to man up, to do something about our country – it would be blantant truth written in the hope to shake them from their selfish selves. Since the day will be rewinded, they cannot be traced back to me. =)

6. I would sing all day 😀 This is a good time to tell you that I’m not a very good singer but I still love singing. If my day was to be rewinded, no one would remember how I made a fool of myself.

I can’t think of too many things – which is a good thing! It means I already do things that I really, really wish to do! #win.

What would you do? 





It rained the night that I was born. It poured, it thundered, the sky was merciless and the streets were flowing rivers.

I was born premature, like the early monsoon. There were no incubators in the nursing home, and there was no way to keep me alive without one. No car could be driven on the streets. Some people made rafts, my mother said, but what raft could be given direction in flowing water?

The roof began to leak. The slow monotonous dripping of water was a lullaby to my ears, but it stirred panic within everyone else. The water had found a way in, and if it didn’t stop, it wouldn’t be much time until my bean-sized lungs perished.

My parents prayed for the clouds to get drained. The rain stopped when I was three hours old and spared my life that night.  The water that flooded the streets went on to unite with the sea.

The angry raindrops on the night of my birth made a twenty-five year old woman evolve into a mother, a protector.

*          *          *

I grew up to love water. I would sit on the windowsill of my room and put my ear to the glass to hear the sounds of the roaring water that dragonflies carried on their wings, the sounds that the wind carried despite their body-less element.

I would float in the sea, letting the waves give me direction. I would swim underwater with my eyes open till they stung. I would stare into my red and black eyes, watch them water, and blink to feel the warm tears escape.

Like siblings – we loved and we hated, we hurt and we healed and we came together and we parted.

*          *          *

I wonder if the water will take back what it spared that night. I wonder if it’ll make me happy that my eyes won’t burn and my body won’t wrinkle.

I wonder if it’ll rain the day I die.

I wonder if I’ll fight when it swallows me.