Sleep, dear human

young flesh, older dust of stars dark, open wounds and glimmering scars. a plexus of eccentricities normalized with words, breaths escaping, counting backwards- You, dear human; the shallow of your cheek, the depth of your deep, collapse tonight in a listless sleep. catch your breath, as you fall in your head, when you're alive in the…

A day in March, and thoughts of you

In this month of March, when spring should have been, I'm half blinded by the sun blaring into my face. And yet beneath strands of loose hair, hazy brown in light, there's a smile radiant inspite of the heat and exhaustion. There is an absence of wind in this static day, but the entropy of…

Heavens, I can’t believe.

As a girl with sparkles as bright as stars and secrets as dark as black holes, I had devoured on wonder and intrigue. I fed my insatiable appetite for the Science of Being and the Science of Becoming with the words you spoke from the depths of your own universe of awe. You inspired me…

Thinking a bit about this…

Eversince I was a little girl, I've dreamt of a day when words I wrote would adorn someone's bookshelf, when I would a hold a book I've myself authored. Now that I'm not little anymore, my dreams seem far fetched and whispy as the clouds. The sheer amount of people who write and are read…

I dream 

​I dream, I dream of  pretty things and darker places  Dream of formless people and well known faces  Visions shut deep and closed inside I dream often, by the night  And think of muses and tales with open eyes in daylight  Many a dreams I own  In this awry head of mine But none as…

On sadness and grief

Isolation is a crevice in my head, where my thoughts like to dwell and dawdle when grief seeps. Grief seeps, it doesn’t pour. It does not pour like the rain- heavy and dark, then clear and clean when the sun moves out. It seeps slow, smooth and soft. It fills in like the kind of…

Dreams 

​Quiet nights be our witness,  and starry skies  do see,  This night would listen, and so would many,  that are yet  to be,  The little tales of charm we seek,  woven with  moonbeams, Of how we loved and unmade ourselves  in our  living dreams.

A little post of gratitude

I'm on a train, typing this bit out of an overwhelming urge of expression. But unlike my recent posts about being on trains and travelling, this isn't about me, or my thoughts and muse.  It's about this man sitting beside me. He looks like any guy aged somewhere between 25 to 30, spectacled and fairly…

The many years

Through the many years  that played between us, though the many years  that lay between us-  . I see glimpses of my joy in things that make you smile, The more I look, and find of you I see myself for a while. . Maybe, today  I can say  I see the reasons, to your…