Transcending Cupid’s Arrow

Heart beats escalating
And goosebumps tingling.
Mind going tipsy,

Can almost taste the pain.
The love, the hurt, in it.
Brutality hits hard
Bringing nostalgic chills.

Trauma left alone,
The sorrow, forlorn.
You’re the epitome of
All that is felt, atoned.

Pleasure, joy, felt like never before
Expectations met, given much more.
Reminiscent or ventilation
Of everything borne.

Feelings have a voice.
It is called Music.
It transcends beyond even
The arrow struck by Cupid.

Music makes you do it all-
Laugh, cry, bleed, fall, appall.



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.

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.


That warm, pleasant morning
Held great prominence to me.
But my fear wrecked me greatly
I could not succeed.
Yet through my tears I’d seen
Your smiling presence, comforting me.

In the rain I walked
Been given chores to carry out.
Going back was not an option
But I no longer knew the direction.
Yet my disorientation was short lived
As I had you beside me to walk with.

Shivering in the cold
I was bound to fall ill.
The insensitively brutal weather
Showing no respite whatsoever.
But you sheltered me from it all,
Let me feel nothing at all.

Now years have passed and time is my only enemy.
I close my eyes and recall seeing you by my side endlessly.
I can’t be too sure though, if you were an illusion or a memory
It was so long ago, sometimes I question my sanity.
All truths are ephemeral, expecting otherwise is a futile tendency.
Evanescence is inevitable, nothing lasts for an eternity.


Big mass of energy

Holding tight

Churning around




It’s hard to explain

It just wants to explode

It’s fighting its way out

Surroundings aggravating it.

Can’t swallow nor stop it!

Why is life being so unfair?

When finally the crossroad has been pared

Everything seemed to settle in its perfect places

And right about time something appeared.

It wasn’t unexpected but it had a bad timing.

Don’t be a hurdle I said.

It frowned.

Don’t be a hurdle I requested.

It didn’t listen.

My big mass of energy grew

Paining more this time.

I didn’t wanna fight it but it left me with no choice.

Now here it is,

I will speak

I will say


It will listen

It will understand.

It had its time now it’s mine.

I can decide

For myself.

The devil knows not

I look at devil hands,

And do I get scared?

Get frightened and yell,

Or call my best friend?


Instead I wonder why,

They so crooked,.

Under moisturized..

Unkempt; is the devil so disorganized?

Now I think of our similarities,

Huge pride, ego breathing,

I smile and say how right..,

Let me take a picture,

Poetic imagination, go wild!

The devil’s given up,

I guess from all I’ve learnt,

Horror movies or from how events turn,

Is that the best way to combat evil,

a simple problem and stress givers,

Is to comically laugh at their thought,

Because nothing is actually lost,

Even if the pumping of our blood stops.

Either way,

Whether you are healthy,

Or totally drained,

There’s nothing to fear,

Death is just death,

The devil can’t do anymore,

He will be puzzled and ask what makes you so bold,

While all you can do,

Is sigh with relief..

You know it’s better to die,

Than look that wrinkled and old..


Colour pencils,

Blue, green or black,

I draw with them,

I don’t keep track,

Of all the pictures,

And whether I colour within the lines,

I just like the brightness,

Time passes by,

And sometimes I scribble,

Sometimes it’s dark,

Makes no sense,

Leaves a stain and a mark.

Does it matter?

I sometimes ponder and ask.

And when I look back,

There I know might be waiting,

A mess of colours,

Many many shades and paintings.

Well, whatever it is I am glad,

It’s not just white paper,

Unmarked and completely blank.