Everyone thinks Lyra is pretty.
Her beauty fell off her high cheekbones,
And landed onto the soft cushions of her full lips.
They weave tales with her DNA,
And sew their hearts with strands from her braided hair,
While I look on puzzled,
Not understanding how they don’t see,
With each push of the needle,
They also poke a bleeding hole,
That stains it’s natural colour.
Don’t misunderstand,
I love her…but,
All I know is that when I rush to her room,
For sanctuary,
Her bed is warm and inviting,
But she isn’t there.
Her vacant stare catches my breath,
But not in the way,
It would a lover looking at her loved one.
Her smile is devastatingly sad,
Because unlike everyone,
I know her.
I know how beautiful she actually was,
Behind that porcelain prison everyone praises,
That not a minute ago,
She looked outside her window,
Watching the pieces of her soul fly past her,
Into the night,
As she waited,
Waited for her heart to return,
While she stood there,
Dying slowly,
In the arms of such insanity,
Only longing could design.


Poems and Worlds

How mundanely simple the world would be,
If everything was as analogous as a poem,
If people were really like flowers,
Sweet even when crushed,
But more often than it is,
It’s not.

The question of survival

Gimme some time,

Let me see the rain fall,

I don’t know how to ask,

Of something I have none of,

I just want to see,

The drops fall, from my window,

I know these questions may be important,

But there have been so many,

It feels like my life is being sucked,

Regardless of my decisions,

The child inside,

Is begging for resurgence,

It’s funny that I have to choose,

Something that will help me live,

When I can’t even let go,

Spend some time on my own.


So please…

Gimme some time

I want to see the rain fall

Maybe today is the last

At least I know I’ve lived some.

To the Desert Winds

Don’t go away, dear wind,

Stay here..for just some more time,

The fire burns hot,

In these deserts,

The days are as slow,

As our mouths are dry.

Sand is the earth,

Where not a drop resides,

Why don’t you bring me some?

Just a little..for my dear sweet sisters,

They are too young to know,

What it feels like to be bitter,

Clear or littered,

Gold or white,

If it’ll quench our thirst,

Then it’s alright.

My brothers hope to dance,

As they do in them pictures,

We hope to grow old,

To work like these misters,

But I realize that death is more real,

And that more like mama’s fiction.

Goodbye dear wind,

Farewell for now,

When you come back,

Bring some clouds,

I may not see the rain,

That’ll fall while I sleep,

But maybe it’ll be enough,

To allow them to weep.


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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The fragrance no longer diffuses.
The smiles no longer spread.
Humanity is no longer humane.
Everything comes down to wins and gains.

Being selfish is habitual.
Altruism cannot exist.
The ubiquity of fakeness
Has its pinnacle embedded in genuineness.

Being an ingenuous kid is accepted well
But growing up seems to have something misspelt.
Because with age comes experience where
Solid bonds and chivalry is a rather alien affair.

Naïve it is to remain true..
To what you feel, to even be you.

Cold murder

I have forgotten how to feel.

Everybody is talking about the stranger they fell in love with, their best friend’s birthday, the chill of the rain, the warmth of their blankets, the tension in a traffic jam, Adele’s hello, the grief of breakup, the loss of a loved one or the destruction of flesh and blood.

But I have forgotten how to feel.

Give. Give. Give and only give. Take? (404 error) O greed! Take a holiday.

My hole is getting bigger and it’s losing the locus of control. I’m dying a little bit inside every time a girl is raped, a poor man is attacked, a black man remains unemployed, an orphan sleeps homeless, a pregnant woman dies of hunger or the mankind is bombed by another man.  It’s deepening, making it harder for me to recover.

Left in the cold I’m numb now, I cannot feel anymore.

What had I even asked for? A night under the sparkling stars, the tranquillity of the beach, the blessing of the sunrise, the heat of daylight, the silence of the forest, the calm of the sea or the trees on earth, which was all, already provided.  I had trusted and given the power to withhold my identity and put into words my desires but u chose to induce that power into those machines to destroy my name.

I’m left with no choice but to summon my death before morality loses its value, ethics turn savage, chastity surrenders to pleasure, honesty evils minds, justice has no balance and humanity forgets its identity.

I’m no more.

…..said my Soul.

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.


Existence (Picture 1)

They came, they went but never knew where.
Millions of steps were created to be trodden
As they walked it faded away.
Yet frozen in time,
Leaving the memories behind.

Thoughts are big views are small (Picture 3)

Ones thoughts are always huge but when it comes to the practical aspects the society suppresses it because men are made out of Greed- the greed of love towards GOD. The Thoughts of the creator are huge but the views of men are small, making the distance as an illusion.

Who do you think you are (Picture 2)


So many coloured faces,
Painted to beautify.
It is Black, not the colours
Black is Beauty
Where the scars lie.