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…
A mess of thoughts, inked through a writer’s block
I have been trying to write. I swear I have tried most possible means. I have stayed up in the silence of the night, waiting for a muse to drift by into sleepy eyes. I have strayed into lonelier dirtpaths, recluse benches, shadowy trees, pitch dark corners, my bed, the floor, upon a table, under…
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…
