Knowing Me...

My photo
If I say I'm just a teenager leading a life as normal as it can get, I sort of defy what I stand for. Its not all that easy but it has its moments. I like those moments when they come along and they bring with them a significant amount of emotion, which I only began expressing in words at age 7. Since then, its all about the writing. It gets to certain people and some just don't get it! But I think that its important for me to write because that is maybe the only talent that exists in me [not denying the presence of good enough speech to win a few here and there =P] There is little I know and there is much I simply yap about but I make sure that if its really got to be said, it better be said, however in the wrong or right. I feel much. There are lot of things I plainly observe and those are sort of the things that I adore writing about. I'm inspired by minute details and small things that have a huge impact much later on. There is much more to me that most know and many have bothered not about. Not like I want them to. But I'd like to be known. And that's what I think I stand for, being known beyond what is known. =D

Saturday, December 1, 2012


My year starts in January,
all warm and fuzzy and bright.
The days are all so Spring-y,
Calm and cool are the nights.

Spring gives way to summer,
And heat rises to the highest grade,
but just then the summer scorches down,
And all I do is hunt for shade.

I drench myself in monsoon air
and raindrops that incessantly pour.
The weather seems to drown me,
I wonder why, and how much more.

Autumn tries to calm me,
but there’s only haze instead of greys.
And I look around me
upon a world that slowly decays.

As the leaves fall from shedding trees
and all the darkness throngs,
I resolve to spend December
making myself strong.

Strong for icy blasts of air,
Those reminders of the end,
Make me forget that my solace
Is right around the bend.

And so the hopes are up again
for a warm and fuzzy retreat.
But it’s a just a rewound cassette
I’ve been playing on repeat.

I feel all these sensate seasons,
but as each of the other bereaves,
There’s something I’m now bound to accept
That January never leaves.