Poem · poetry

Sillage #1

I met him on a train
I am sure there wasn’t any rain
But seeing him my heart thundered
And I Wondered
Will I rise or will I fall
In to the depths of those pretty dimples
From now on I will try to keep it really simple
We met and talked,
We walked and talked.
We talked at home
We talked on phone.
We talked so much
Because we felt alone.
Coming back to that train,
When we met
His eyes shone.
Words like honey
Enchanted me slowly.
Fictional love entranced me
In to the same kind
I made an entry.
And again we talked of fables old,
Of novels, poems and tales told.
The talks were all that we had,
I know its not an ongoing fad.
He cried,
And I cried.
He tried
And I tried d.
We both became tired.
The thought of ‘us’ became fired.

It was my love
And not his
This was the thing
That I did miss.

Poem · poetry · Uncategorized

The guy.

There’s a guy in my Lit. class,
Who laughs like quite a wild lad,
his preferences are sometimes like a lass.
But there’s no one to his match.
I must say he’s quite a catch
with that smile of his
which can turn you into ash.

Now I let you in on a  sacred secret of ours,
this lad likes a lot of hot lads.
Some of them have supernatural powers,
They can make your mind go really bizarre.
And the whole day we see so many awesome guys.
Still, we can’t find that love of our choice.

Alas! in the end, we go home.
With this despair in our hearts,
To find solace in each other’s  words.

Poem · poetry · Uncategorized




Every corner of my mind is black.

It’s covered with the cobwebs of past,

Pushing and pulling me with haste.

Light is an incomprehensible concept here,

To leave this darkness; my mind cannot dare.

This black night seems too long,

The morning is not ready to come along.

These dingy memories are tugging at my future,

Holding me back, to relish on simple pleasures.

(Image source: google)

blog · confession · note · Uncategorized

On 13 December our National Capital Delhi hit a new high in the rape culture. We witnessed another rape and let it slide away as we sip down our every day tea. What has happened to us? Have we lost all our sympathy and empathy? Why people are still so silent? How can they be? How they don’t feel suffocated living in this world of injustice where anyone can get away with anything? Even I feel ashamed waking up so late. It took me some really alone time to reach the conclusion that the situation in our country’s capital isn’t getting any better. Do we need another huge case like ‘Nirbhaya’ to shake us out of our sleeps? Will the result of this trial be the same? It’s democracy right? So shall we expect justice this time? Will there be changes?

A 17 year old boy is old enough to rape but not old enough to be receive punishment. Why? A lot of questions at the standstill with only a few answers in our heads. Don’t you think it’s time to ask some of them to yourself and find answers to them.Why do we ignore such things? OK, not totally ignore but it just shakes us for a moment and then everything goes back to normal.Don’t you think a person’s life needs a little more attention than that. Well then who am I to blame you? I will also be the same, after this post. A trance in which I wrote it and my morning will take me out of it.( In which I leave a lot of things unsaid.)

Poem · poetry · Uncategorized

If you ever tell me.

If you ever tell me how to live my life again,
I will stab you with my pen.
Those words will straight go to your heart,
And will make you bleed really hard.
What better way to make you cry?
For the one who makes me miserable and
does not let me try.
I know I am being cruel but you are –
fuel for this feudal.
If you ever tell me how to live my life again,
I will stab you with my pen.

Poem · poetry · Uncategorized


I had already fallen in love with far too many postage stamps When you appeared on my doorstep wearing nothing but a postcard promise – No, appear, is the wrong word… Is there a word for sucker punching someone in the heart? Is there a word for when you’re sitting at a bottom of a rollercoaster And you realize that the climb is coming And you know what the climb means And you can already feel the flip in your stomach from the fall before you even moved? Is there a word for that? There should be. You can only fit so many words on a postcard Only so many in a phone call Only so many into space Before you forget that words are sometimes used for things other than filling an emptiness. It’s hard to build a body out of words. I have tried. We have both… tried. Instead of… holding your head to my chest I tell you about the boy who lives downstairs from me Who stays up all night long practicing his drumset. And neighbors have complained… they have busy days tomorrow, But he keeps on thumping through the night Convinced, I think, that practice makes perfect. Instead of holding my hand You tell me about the sandwich you ate for lunch today. How the pickles sit so perfectly with the lettuce. Practice does not make perfect. Practice makes permanent. Repeat the same mistakes over and over. You don’t get any closer to Carnegie Hall.. even I know that. Repeat the same mistakes over and over. You don’t get any closer. You never get any closer. Is there a word for the moment you win a tug of war When the weight gives And all that extra rope comes hurtling towards you? How even though you’ve won You still wind up with muddy knees and burns on your hands? Is there a word for that? I wish there was. I want to say it When we’re finally together on your couch And neither one of us with anything left to say. Still now, I send letters into space Hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down And recognize you from the description in my poems, And he will place a stack of them in your hands and tells you, “There is a girl who still writes you She doesn’t know… how not to.”

From one of my favorite poet and an inspiration for me to write- Sarah kay