Knowing Me...

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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

Wednesday, May 14, 2014


A wind flares the flame,
A gust leaves it cold.
The fire hisses out in the water
That waits to drown her.
A rustling of leaves warns her
Of escape, of life being lived.
She, reading the signs wades,
Through the treachery,
and swims.

The shore has thorns that prick
And rest unclean, drenched in blood.
The trees tower over her
And sway in welcome.
A bird in the distant skies
calls out her name in a song,
That she sings back, and silences the woods,
Only to go on.

The end of the cliff, beneath
her tender feet, is still.
The wind starts up the fire
Again, and with smoke
The skies crowd.
She leaps across to
Infinity that lies in the abyss.
The wind howls, the bird shrieks,
The land quivers at the edge.
The treachery still waits to drown her,
And instead, receives her parting kiss.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

IN and OUT

Thank you, Gauri Saxena. This is for and from you.

Breathing is living.
Breathe, and you're alive.
You're a small speck in
a large universe but
you're still alive
just as long as you breathe.

Forget that the world is watching,
but remember every day that
you're always a part of it.
Forget that there are battles to fight
but not the fact that your right to victory
was etched in stone
the day you chose to start living.
Forget that there is anything
that is worth loving more,
caring for more, cherishing more
and making more your own than yourself
but know, deep down and on the surfaces,
that you are what makes your world
turn full circle - its all a pattern.

You may never find a basis or a
ground to rest your feet on,
but there is always a pillow
to crash into each night.
You may never discover the meaning
of life or existence or faith or truth,
but there are joys and sorrows and pains,
trials and tribulations, waiting
to work you into their design
with every swish of the brush.
You may make mortal memories
that you can never rehash or lay
claims on their immortal existence
but none of it matters -
just so long as
you never forget
to remember
to breathe.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

2 a.m. Phone Call

Today we’ll call it death
death of the night.
The television still rings in her eyes
the neon lights deafen her still.
Past the point of no return.

She smells in the air
the hope, lingering.
She’ll sleep in an hour more.
She’ll kill another minute.

Knives of iron-clad will,
and soft brushes of the wind
to finish off the top coat.

It’s done. Or so she thinks.

Maybe there’s another battle
somewhere on the horizon.
Maybe she’ll chance another duel
and get her way with life.

With a caress and a touch
a soft balmy kiss comes crashing down
and the evidence swept
under the menacing moon.

Maybe she’ll chance upon rebellion
of the coffee and rust underneath her skin.
The silence is within
but the television is still on mute
and she says she didn’t try.

It happened. And today
she’ll turn mass murderer
serially killing
all her nights with a whiff
of a dice-rolled fate
and the shadows of the light.

It’s the dead of night
and the night is dead.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

A Good Day

It is a good day
to look at life, unbungled
Free of traffic jams
In the concrete jungles
Full of spring air
and summer freshness.
It is indeed a good day
For life.

Its a good day to figure
Plans for today and
dreams for tomorrow
Hope for rain
and not its companion sorrow
Its a good day indeed
To figure ourselves into life.

Its a good day
to chronicle the big disappointments
Half assed efforts
Some missed appointments
Death, war, destruction
everything in between
Its a good day indeed, to be

And yet let it not be seen
For these good days are
Often few and far between
But when the last one comes
and let it be today that that should be
Because today, we're ready
Not to break down and cry
but to smile, shrug, and with a sigh
Accept - c'est la vie.

Sunday, March 16, 2014



Do you think if you didn’t know
that a border lay in between
that you could tell apart
these grass green fields?
What’s theirs and what’s ours?
Which is this side, and which is that?
Pat came the reply, no.
And I don’t think I should want to.
We were one once,
and I think just that knowledge,
for now, should do.


They gather in hoards,
everyday. Come hail or heat.
They smile and take their seats.
Men and women apart,
resting in one giant beating heart.
Their hands move to the beat
of the drums and of
the impending retreat.
they go back in memory
and shriek in agony,


It’s there. It’s right there.
I could almost step over
and be a part of them.
All these years, it has fascinated
my brain, and I,
have only thought of going there
but it’s only now that I
have come close enough.
Why don’t you, she asks.
These lines were made by us
no one wanted it, yet
everyone chose to live it through.
We were one once,
but for now,
this reality will have to do.


They chant away to dispel the threat
they chant away, unified breath.
They know what they think.
They know how they feel
but do they know what they do?
another war seems overdue.
The other side is silent
and with each passing minute
Their wishes turn violent.


The ceremony of it all – pristine
and a voice rises
I feel a pang of pride
and I stifle the pain
there was a loss then
and maybe tomorrow
will show some gains.
I can’t see a thing, she says.
She blames it on the height.
We were one nation once,
and now, in ceremony we fight.
She still has no clue.
This oblivion, for now,
will have to do.


The wild dance contrasted
with calm and composure.
The pomp and show undercut
by silent spectators.
while they jumped and shouted
and slogans they cried,
the ones stuck in the middle,
if only for the while,
knew that the two sides
were one whole once
but in that fanfare, they know,
they couldn’t reconcile
even if they tried.
They and I return,
slightly shaken, mostly subdued
that land is another, far off one,
and for now, this truth
will just have to do.

Thursday, March 6, 2014


Straight jacketed by memories,
I feel frozen;
Held in time like a culprit
Guilty as charged -
Awaiting judgement.

There crawls a familiar friend.
Scuttling across the sands,
each grain jarring
Against those iron pincers that
Wrench my heart from its cavity.
I feel dislocated
I hear a distant crunch
I see promises bleed out
I smell the rotting wilt rose
I taste failure
I taste heartbreak.

But it was a good run at the wall
My thoughts haemorrhage
And all I feel are tears
Swallowed whole by empty sobs
But it was indeed
a good run at the wall
I felt a brick move.

Monday, March 3, 2014

Dedicated to friendship, to love, to life.

Yaaro se saji mehfil mein
Dilbar ki kami mehsus nahin hoti.
Chand lamho ke jashn-e-bahaar bhi
Juloos se kam nahin hoti.
Kami reh jaati hai toh bas waqt ki,
Zindagi sametne ki chaah nahin mit-ti.
Baatein ankahee si jo thi kabhi,
Woh faaslo mein bhi mehfuz nahin hoti.

Kisi roz bichhde jab yeh yaar,
Afsos toh hoga humein khoob sahi,
Un mehfilon ki taadat zameen bhale chhu le
Uss jashn-e-ishq ka junoon mit-ta nahin.
Zamaana yaad rakhega
Yeh nashemand sohbaten bemausami,
Sukoon mein kisi din laut jayenge hum wahaan
Jahaan masoomiyat sawaali nahin hoti.


Bune the kayi khwaab jo
Lehero ki gasht mein jhool gaye.

Jalaayi mashaalein armaano ki,
Waqt ki dhund mein jo bujh gayi.

Baandhe ummedo ke pul kabhi,
Kismato ke bojh se jo toot gaye.

Beej boye the rishton ke jahaan,
Woh manzar bhi humse rooth gaye.

Kuch  kahaaniyaan suni thi,
Ansuni si jo ab ho chali,
Shuruwaato ke kadam bhi
Haalaato ke aage jhuk gaye.

Socha, haalaat sawaar lenge inn bachkaane haatho se.
Haath toh baalo ke atkano mein hi ruk gaye.

Thursday, February 27, 2014


Caution -

They splay out the risks
one by one
in swift lines and
the finest print.
You know it all
but you do it anyway.

They feel at ease
nestled in the comfort
that, at least
they did their bit.
You go ahead
and undo their doing.

Somewhere, in a dark,
and dangerous corner,
a mind is at work -
exploring mayhem,
exploiting confusion.
And you just sit there
half-busily turning the pages.

Someone somehow knows
your secrets.
They gnaw at you
and you hope for a sign.
The signal goes amber
and you speed off.

Tomorrow, around your remains
that they discuss in headlines,
you'll hear them all say
"I told you so!"
But you took that plunge
and everything that followed.
Except, you weren't there
to see it through.

Statutory alarms go off
and you snooze them one by one
In your inertia is
your biggest move -
you dreamed of doing it all
but you woke up.
Can you do it anyway?

Tuesday, February 25, 2014


Touch and let go
Let go not to set free
But to bind
To cage
To withdraw.

There is a passion
that consumes me
Makes me want to stretch
The fibres of time
Not to enlongate
But to snap
To break
But I stop.

There is a fear
That protects me
From what comes after
The split I want
The pain
the hurt
The anguish
The loss.

There is a wonder
In this tussle
Of wanting and waiting
To see what works out first.
in The struggle
The release
Or the stillness.

There is a beauty in this
In this moment of tension
Exhausting and excruciating
With every impulse
Yearning for release
but we wait
We disengage
We unleash
Only to resist
for a while longer
before it all begins again
To collide
to crumble
To spark
Only to cease
Only to make
room for more.

Thursday, February 20, 2014


Aaannndd I'm writing again! But I've taken a turn to speed down the road of Hindustani poetry. Pardon the misuses of language if any are spotted [insert quip about poetic licence here].

Tumhare naino ke jharokhe se
Mujhe apna jahaan dikhta hai,
Haqeetaton se kahin door
Ek aalishaan makaan dikhta hai.

Badalon ko cheerta woh chaand bhi
Mujhe adhoora sa lagta hai
Jaise lahu luhaan kitabo mein
Ek panna kora sa jab milta hai?

Uss mein ab hum rang bharenge
Khwaabo ke pardo se ab yeh manzar sajenge.
Tumhari baaton ki lehro par
Ek chehekti naav sa mann lagta hai.

Aaj main apni si hoon nahin
Par ek kal mera aashiyaan lagta hai.
Sapno ki duniya mein basa
Ghair bhi ab apna lagta hai.

Koshishein laakh ki thi ab tak
Manzilein kachchi si lagti thi
Par tumhare labho se tapki adrak bhi
Kyun mujhe mishri si lagti hain?

Keh doge tum paagal humein
Ki pal bhar mein humne sansaar rach liya hai
Pal bhar mein hi sahi
Tumne khayaalo ka manzar sach kar diya hai.