Tag: poem

Will never be the same again..

I will never be the same again.

My bones turned to ashes
with the fire you set alight
My body slumped
tasting nothing like the
sweetness of our nights
My eyes, dark and cold
Not turned to coal,
Rather a damp, deep pit you dug inside

I will never be the same again

For when the fire rekindles,
long after the embers of our love burns out.
When the smile from the heart,
reaches the eyes and dazzles
forgetting all pain of our past.
I will think of you as a messiah,
the one who set the flames,
for the phoenix had to be reborn again.

I will never be the same again.
For I wasn’t meant be
the same again..


An ode

Of all the pain this heart has felt.
It is you,
that hurts the most.
My fingers falter.
Words stop at my throat.
An involuntary sensation grips me.

I have a blood clot in my heart, you see.
The blood that rushed for you.


I no more define myself
as a girl with words.
Rather, I now define myself,
as a woman with none.
as I struggle to pen down
this deep anxiety.
This pain unfulfilled.
This insecurity,
of what I used to be
and what I see myself becoming..
I find myself,
looking.. for words.

That were once my only friends.
that understood the turmoil of my heart.
On a lonely night,
with only the moon for company, staring hungrily.
It is words,
that made me look at it, differently.
I saw the light in the dark.
A dream in the nightmares.
I saw truth –
in the lies that the day was made of.

Words, oh words.
They filled me up..

I would go on a romantic rendezvous with it,
Smiling to myself.
Speaking a language
only we understood.
Occasionally, trying to find,
the depth larger than us.
My lips twitching,
at a revelation..

It is no magic,
nor a metaphor for poetry.
For I know it is real.
It was real –
when the world disappeared around us,
and we waltzed through the chattering crowd.
Laughing and crying.
Smiling and wondering.
Just happy enough, to know..
that we had each other..

We always had each other..

As I sit by myself.
Smoking a cigarette,
watching the embers
burn on my lips.
Nostalgia of the once, lonely nights,
fills my heart with gratitude again..

I no more look for words to give me company.
When the moon stares hungrily,
I no more waltz in the crowded streets,
looking for depth in the meaningless chatter.
I no more laugh or cry,
smile or wonder,
under the starry nights.
I no more look for truth,
amidst the lies..

For I am no more,
The girl with words.
Rather a woman
with none..


What is it about you?
What is it about you, sunset?

Every time under your warm shade
A forgotten question goes answered
All that is lost
All that is about to go
Seems so trivial under your might

What is it about you, sunset?
For, you are a poem
A moment of realisation
You come from the endless mumbling thoughts within
From the ultimate abyss of
For, you are a tear
A silent cry
A painful journey.
You are the end
And you are the beginning.

What is it about you, sunset?
For, it has been a while,
since I felt so alive 

What is it about you?
That makes me realise
Of a life less lived
Every time.

Life, right now.

I am busy again.
Chop. Chop. Tick. Tick.
Work work.
Lets – get – it
Done. Done.

It was day when I left
and I haven’t looked out my window since.
Its already night fall
Past 9.
What a life.
I have none, they say.
I like it.
I like it.
Chop chop. Some more.
A little more. Lets get it.
Done. done.

Tick. Tick.
I sit.
Staring at the screen,
the blue light that its emanating.
All my world,
the meaning, the comprehension,
the joke and the leisure.
Its all here.
And I can see it,
through this blue light that’s emanating.

No. no.
That wasn’t the point of it all.
Was it?

Chop –
No. Wait. Stop!
I don’t want to chop anymore.
Do I?
Don’t I?
Adrenaline rushing.
Click. Click.
Happy – sad?
Don’t know. Don’t know.
Shhhh. I wanna think.
I think?


Tick. Tick.


Fuck it.
I am busy again.
Chop, chop.
Tick. Tick.
Lets get it.
Done. done.

In the deep tresses of my mind

In the deep tresses of my mind,
I scream for a let out.
I scream for a door
in a room full of colorful windows.

In the deep tresses of my mind,
I loathe this dreadfully, pragmatic life.
The dawn beneath my curtains,
this blue world promising me its light.

I rush back in my head,
to years of childhood that are far left behind.
I weep for the grasses untouched,
and feelings forgotten in my mind.

I beg for my freedom.
I beg for a life more accustomed to regrets
than the meaningless applauses,
made for a night.

In the deep tresses of my mind,
I wish for a life lived again-
with less fear in my heart to begin,
and within, a burning fire until the end.

A free world?

Its a free world they say.
A much better world than what it used to be.
They had regulated television
and we have the freedom of internet.
Their sedition was crime.
Ours is anonymity.

Its a free world and yet not, they say.
We are loud and clear
so why are we not heard, they ask.
Change the subject, they say.
Distract with terms and decorated faces,
that mean nothing and yet our attention is theirs.

Who am I to crib, I wonder.
So many things waiting to be sketched from words
and yet no courage to spill the paint.
The voice is afraid
and so the change is yet to come.
They say. They say and they say.
And I put a stop to this.
My pen, my sword thumps on the ground
with a thud not so loud.
And I weep, weep without tears of hopelessness
but foreseeing the tragedy of the inevitable end.

I chose quiet.
Quieter than I thought I would be.
Only words that sum up
and have no meaning stay.
So, how does it matter
if I said something over nothing at all.
The uncanny chains remain the same.