On Missing You.

No, none at all.

That burnt smell from your body after spending too many hours in the sun,
That scar from a paper cut,
The pile of dishes in the sink,
That bad haircut,
Stains on a glass table,
Graphs and Numbers,
Roofs of asbestos,
Hanging of dream catchers,
Flickering of live wire,
Abandoned terraces,
Wet sneakers,
Footprints on the wall,

None at all.

Did you somehow have a faint memory from any of this?
Nothing needs to mean anything all the time.
Pulling out of focus, and holding ourselves by ourselves.

I realize, no,
there is no meaning at all.


Thought 28. About every damn poet ever.


I dont want to write.
I dont want to write
About love
and the things it does.
About heartbreak
and what never was.
About pain and hurt,
hearts covered in dirt.
About the ‘color of your eyes’,
and your ‘lips on my skin’
About how ‘instead of looking outside,
you must look within.’

About romanticizing and eulogizing,
faces, events and places.
About even and odd spaces
between two people or
pretension of insanity.

About women,
About souls,
About how they feel used
for looking like dolls.

About sex
and intimacy,
the throes of passion,
and how even that,
is another form of

About anxiety
and depression,
About painkillers
and obsession.
About things that kill
me from the inside,
about how most of the things
are really those that affect me
on the outside.

I don’t want to write.

About ego,
and psychoanalysis.
About how only you end…

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Epilogue. #series

He came to my office. Cologne and desperation filled the air. “How may I help you now?” . Without answering, he placed himself on the opposite side of the desk. “We both don’t work here. You’ve already made yourself at home?” . “Yes” I curtly replied.


AJ looked at himself. Blood dripped onto the carpet. He tried wiping it on his crisp khakis. Maroon stripes trailed in aggravated straight lines. It wouldn’t leave his hands. Blood reappeared His hands now stained in maroon, he smelt the distinct smell of iron. Taking his hands up to his nose, he slowly took a sniff. Blood was now on his nose. He wiped it on the curtain. Opening the window now he looked out. Lovely suburban neighbourhood, fences, flowers, landscaping, SUs lining the street. Then he saw something that froze him completely. The black Lexus slowly moving by the road. As if looking for something. He knew exactly what it was. Him. He heard the dripping. Sometimes one drop, sometimes two. He quickly swished out his phone. He wished he hadn’t. He got a call immediately. From G. “But will I get caught? Are you sure you’re protecting me?… You knew every single thing I did?… Am I going to be punished?”. He quickly got off the phone as he heard Sheryl walk in.

“Hey are you ready yet?.. You look great in those pants! Come on now.. Let’s go!” she exclaimed. Wiping his hands once more in his pocket, he takes a quick glance outside the window. All clear. He still smelt iron. He hoped Sheryl didn’t. He would have to explain himself to G.

Thought 27. Metamorphosis (of a year)


This was an idea suggested by someone very important to me. (Jellybro,this one’s for you!). However, it took me an actual year to write about it simply because the nature of topic lends itself to such variations in meaning. Whatever I write lends itself to your, the reader’s subjective imaginations as well as mine. Allow me to attempt.

Metamorphosis. A keyword I come across when I think of its meaning is usually ‘transformation’ – mostly in appearance and/or function. I don’t mean to make this purely intellectual or scientific or even that serious. But as a writer, or someone who writes as much as she can, ‘metamorphosis’ is extremely important.

Metamorphosis occurs on so many different levels to a writer. For example, there can be extreme transformation in the way one writes. Although I would like to believe in a gradual change in the way someone writes, it has often…

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Short #2.

There is a constant need for distraction. I write this from a place that people come to be such. Our minds require to be busy. With people, music, food, something. We long to be doing something and yet we find ourselves focusing on nothing. Short term attention spans. To even know someone else, forget ourselves. Like a phone that begins to lag abit after a years use, we refuse to be patient with people we know.

We long to be doing something, getting ahead, going faster yet reaching nowhere. We long for some destination and we do not focus on our path. There is a constant need for distraction. There is a need to be busy or appear so. To appear like we have no time to spare. If we dare be so with others, how about ourselves?
Even while we sit alone, we require to be entertained, to be stimulated. With our phones, with ourselves. There is a restlessness inborn. We are tired and fed up when we have reached where we have. The destination seems dry and the journey seems arduous and futile.

We require to be distracted. To be drawn away from this reality we live in . To reject or be entirely oblivious.  Something needs to ‘happen’. And soon. All the better if it is to us. We need to reach somewhere. With someone. With something. Like life is a huge reel of accomplishments. Like every day in life is set up with a series of destinations.

Nothing scares us more than ambiguity. Nothing scares us more than nothing. Being nothing. Doing nothing. Everything needs to be clear, concise, put in stone and steel and paper.

Short #1.

“Book your flight to Istanbul now!”  says an ad. Like some cruel joke. It hasnt even been a week since Ive deleted you off all my inboxes  and erased all our history. Virtually of course.

Priorities lay scattered like the papers,
the letters we wrote to each other.
Three calls in, we confessed shyly how we liked each others voices.
Five calls in, you told me how I was a woman of your dreams.
Eight calls in,  you slowly, hesitantly confirmed my worst fear. You belonged to another woman. Why was it my worst fear when it was something I should have just expected? Not any more you assured me.
But there was a child. I pretended to be completely alright with it. “I wasnt judging you at all darling. It doesnt affect me. You are important”.
I held back my actual reaction to when I was alone. I didn’t want to lose you so soon.
And I naively thought, neither did you.
And isn’t the easiest to lose someone virtually? There is no physical proof, evidence, process, nothing. The other can cut themselves away just so. Sign out.
Isn’t the very lack of physical evidence the very reason for you to… prioritize?
You seemed relieved, happy that I was a fresh change from your dreary life. When you told me all of it, every day, I patiently listened. Staring into your eyes through a screen. As did you. For minutes together, we stared and smiled, reading each others minds. We knew exactly what we wanted. We quietly whispered. We quickly fell into a routine. Texted each other during daylight. Calling at night. Worrying if the other wasnt online. Wondering if they read our messages. Wondering how it would be to hold the other person, to make breakfast for, to love. In our daily lives, we began searching for things that would remind us of the other person.
We began …
“But we havent even touched each other”. Priorities.
And then suddenly the screen appeared. You saw your reflection on your screen.

The screen.
It stopped being real for you.
I stopped being real for you.
I became someone else, somewhere far away.
“But we haven’t touched each other.”

 I replied. “Priorities”.

I left you just as I came in to your life.

Log out.

Dim Myself.

I will dim myself.
Out of your life.
Slowly, surely
Without strife.

I will dim myself,
quietly tip-toeing on.
I’ll show myself out
before you notice I’m gone.

I will dim myself
Completely dark.
In effect, you will see
My mark.

I will dim myself 
From your love.
Search for me later
when you feel it is enough.

I will dim myself
just because.
My footprints are not seen
in your heart at dusk.

I will dim myself
Until you value my light.
I shall reappear like always
to kiss you goodnight.