Category: Poetry

The Thing with Distance

Things that distance teaches you
Are not how you start to value: a person or a place

It teaches you
The importance of a small conversation

It teaches you
The joy of small things

It teaches you
To value a shared meal

It teaches you
To be kind even when vexed

It teaches you
To smile a little more, to love a lot more

It teaches you
To be human


What do I think?

What do I think, when I think of us
Wrapped in a blanket underneath the stars
I think of a beautiful poetry
Written in love.

What do I think, when I think of us
In the hot summer afternoon under the tree
I think of words being sipped from lips
Reaching the heart

What do I think, when I think of us
On the darkest of nights, with no light and sight.
I think of a symphony
Spreading chills through my spine

What do I think, When I think of us-
You and me.
I think we are the relics
Of a love story left untold.


Summer chilly night, the moon half-lit
Witnessing a dilemma that life poses.
Half smoked cigarette at 3 had something to say,
about life, universe and everything.
Sitting there quite by the window
It was everything a respite would consist of
But something went missing
The silent tunes buzzing at the back
Some Bukowski to feed the brain and the heart
A big BUT
Stood there staring in her face
It wasn’t the presence of a shadow or a hint of embrace
It was the subtle absence of peace of mind
That was missing
It was big empty cut, a space
A void
Carved right out in the middle of her chest
The smoke coming out of the empty void
Daunting her of the part that went

Healing is a process

Does love really fade, or hide or die or say bye?
Does it really every leave your system?
How do you stop loving someone?
How do you discard those million memories, scenarios and moments?
Do you just delete the pictures that have dominated your gallery and your mind?
How do you delete their existence from your thinking?
How do you wake up every morning and not think about them?
Or how do you train your heart to not skip a beat when you see them pass by and not take a notice of your presence?
How do you not cry yourself to sleep when the pangs of their memories are torturing you?
How do you stop loving someone who has become your second skin?
How do you?

Muses of a long time lover

How beautiful could you be?
You saw the bent lines and kissed me
With all the love you encompass
Beautiful boy, your eyes talk to me
Like no other poem ever has
Your fingers entwined with mine
I feel your bones, i feel you
I feel your skin
Your touch awakens me
The whiff of your smell; it is a sweet melody of your presence
Your embrace.
I am not afraid of letting my pleasures take over me,
I am terrified by the thought
of losing my soul to you.

Looking for my abode- I

When the words you want to live by,
no longer seem to help
Walk outside,
go under the blue sky
Bask in the vastness
Let it guide you home!

My Humble Abode

It has four walls but fails for a roof
Some would say that it is a summer night bliss
But I would rather call it a home.
I dwell without belongings.

They encompass my laughter and tears,
Stolen kisses and broken heart conversations
Corners that let me breath in peace.
I dwell without belongings.

Luxuries like scenic sunsets and posh nights
Is not what it provides.
But it gives me a sight,
A sight to see beyond the city
A city of myriad hues and muses.
I dwell without belongings.

It does not have a door
But it opens its arms to everyone
It knows no bound
For the ones who know:
How star studded sky or the bird etched blue pashmina
Can make your day and night!

I dwell without belongings
In my humble abode.

The one who lived for a night

The bed of wings lay spread
on this bountiful earth.
The moon adorned with the cloud pashmina,
Must have delightfully witnessed some pleasure
Of how they tried, tried with all their might
And flew towards the ball of light: their sun
Believing the night was all they had: their lifetime
To catch a ray of that glow.
With glory they descend into the soil
Making sure their wings embark
The ballad of their struggles.

After Effects

The decision is never about the choices.

It is always about what will you do,
When there is no looking back from the road?

Will you be able to live with it?

You will always be bothered,
Will the inner demon be pacified?
Or, will you explode like a cracker?
The pieces of you all over the place
But never Together.


Why do we write?

Have you ever wondered,

Why people choose writing as a form of expression?

Because the rules cease to exist

In those lands

Where people have believed

A pen is mightier than the sword.


Beautiful or Pretty

Am I beautiful?
or just pretty?
Beautiful, like those snow clad mountains in the distance
And the stream that flows by!
Or, Pretty? The kind where you see the endless sky
In shades of blue and white
And you sigh!
"Pretty, isn't it?"
Would I be the one
with whom you stay for a day and live
Live, like it is your forever.
And at the end you would say
Gasping for breath,
"Beautiful, beautiful, is all I have to say"
Or, Would I be the one,
With whom you spend
Nits and bits of your life?
Here and there we wander,
Finding pleasures in pieces of wonder
Having a Pretty life!


Love is Death.

The most dangerous form of self destruction.

Happily you walk towards your own grave,

Enjoying every minute of the journey.

Love is, will always be, the most preferred way of self destruction.

Being killed by the things and people you are made of.

With smile on your lips and peace written all over your face,

Poisoned by the sweet words poured into our hearts

Now and again!


You exist,
Not in my thoughts,
But in the spaces that remain
Between the breaths.
Between the moments when you take a sigh of relief,
not between those conversations
but in the leftovers that corrupt my brain.

A reminiscent from the past: 21st

Two hearts,

Busy minds,

Nothing to talk about.

Waiting for the clocks to tick!

To hear the bells toll 12,

On this day,

They knew, for the rest of their time

That would be it;

With nothing new,

They decide to be there

For eachother

In the little windows they get from their life.

They decided to be each other’s

Divided attention.

Who Said That Love Was Fire?

Who said that love was fire?
I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent,
The holy essence of experience.

Note: This a beautiful poem by Patience Worth also known as Pearl Curran


Some people are incapable of love!

Love, not for others,

but for themselves.

Obsessed with the idea of love

That it conceals them from reality.

They see not with their eyes,

But with the pictures you create.

Deciphering every curve,

the corner and the nooks,

the little mysteries you plan!

Maybe that is why

Lovers are named blind.

The Aftermath

I am all havoc, buried in my own mess.

Sunrise and Sunset all the same

I have grown all indifferent,

I have stopped looking around.

It all feels like winter; dark and cloudy

But, it has to go and, life has to continue

A rough winter will pass by.

Will I still see you around for summer?

Hankering for that touch

There is this weird kind of hunger that keeps cringing to my stomach

Every time your vibes touch me that travel from a quite a distance

Leaving me stranded with a need, the one that is wild

The hunger is to touch you, feel your skin on mine

To hold you in a physical proximity to me entangled in thoughts

I sketch us, performing an art, the art of expression

When you nudge my hairs with your scarred fingers

Tracing letters at my back,

Arousing an obligation to yearn for more

Your eyes so drunk with passion

Staring into that darkness, it makes me high

The hands have their own say

They create a different story with every embrace

The lips dread me; I might just loose

The sanity constrained

World is encompassed in this little shell.







You create an illusion,  the one that makes me ecstatic

To hide the real you,

One which might just be demonic

You decorate a far fetched dream

And make it feel like it is for real

It is easy to manipulate with feelings and emotions.

So focused on surviving today

You just let all of this drown and make tomorrow a dull place

Your need to wear a mask is a mystery

Love knows no doors and windows

It is all a plain room, white and pristine

We color it with our moments, sketch them

With our experience.

You do not hide, we just share

I feel stranded

And seems like

Love will strangle me in my sleep

Dressed in the form of your illusions

It does not fail to nudge and remind me

“This might be an illusion too, but yours”

It puts me in a dilemma

To trust my love or myself.

You put me where I have to fight with my ownself

Trying to save myself either way.


Guilty Pleasures

You are a friend dressed in a form of a stranger

You chose to be one!

You come to me like a made up story

Trying to hide the truth behind every vowel of that long symphony

Possessing the secret pleasures, you wander around

Trying to make me fall for one.

But, you do not know I want to desperately be carried away

Make mistakes and Enjoy those guilty pleasures

Be mesmerized by your smell that lingers when you breath

The smell is toxic, addictive and vindictive

You just don’t leave a chance to make me feel helpless

Constrained by my own conscious I hold myself, control and try

Not to invoke your thoughts into my provoked mind

Heart has got no say, you have all housed my brain

Every corner shouts your wicked presence

Hungry for those dry red lips

You come near mark your presence

Leave me baffled and vulnerable

You haunt and go away as soon as the morning sun comes out

But, with the promise to come back every night with the moon

You assure me of your appearances

Till i let go hold of myself

You are a dangerous soul

Soul with insane love and passion

Hungry for warmth

You will come again some day and not at night

And then you will never get a chance to come scare me at night.