what if my centre of gravity

starts to interfere

with that of the skies and the seas

and can no longer be explained

by the proven equations,

would I still exist?

would you as well?


“Why is it,” he said, one time, at the subway entrance, “I feel I’ve known you so many years?”

“Because I like you,” she said, “and I don’t want anything from you.”
Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Are You There?

I thought

it was time

to make up

with the woman

in the mirror,

so I uncovered

the rusty old

full length mirror,

only to find out

that she still

was not there,

but I could not

bring myself

to mirror her…

I stand there,

year after year,

and wonder if

she, too, waits

on the other side

of the mirror!


“Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend.”
Elizabeth Gilbert

Image by Wolfgang Claussen from Pixabay


Another you

By day,

Flautist by night.

Briefly a song,

Now this.

Full moon,

Not a soul

To howl at it.

A white flag,

Phantom itch.

By the river

A sound’s amiss.

Not ever that,

Always this.


“When it comes to the past, everyone writes fiction.”
Stephen King, Joyland


Three short poems centered around my favourite punctuation marks. ☺

I. Interrobang

Should you be alarmed

If a question mark

Openly declares war

Against an exclamation mark‽

II. Colon

I like to make lists,

And explain myself,

But there is always

A subtle warning

Before I embark upon

Such expressive discourses—

It is the subtle inflection

In my voice

Along with the audible,

Anxious rumble

Emanating from my colon.

III. The Full Stop

He is not writing

His own book of life,

Because he erroneously

Believes that he only

Has one job—

To put the very last

Full stop.


Image by Daniel Roberts from Pixabay

Lost and Found

to lose yourself

in the pages of a book,

someone else’s strange,

immortal world,

is not that unusual,

for the real

magic happens

when you find

yourself in there.


I captured the featured picture today while enjyoing homemade dalgona coffee and reading Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevesky, translated by Constance Garnett.


I went out for a walk today, and was taken aback by the strong smell of cigarette smoke in the air. It reminded me of all the sufferers of Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease I had encountered during my short time as an intern at a Pulmonolgy Unit. Smoking is one of the many things about this life that I have a hard time wrapping my head around, but then again, we all have our slow poisons, and maybe this isn’t any different! We can always try to counsel and be supportive though. While consuming our own poisons we forget how much it hurts to watch the ones we love drowning in theirs! We could be hurting other people. The poem below is my attempt, feeble at best, to try to make sense of it all.

I feel it spreading

within me,

a cloud of thick

black smoke;

what a privilege!

to be sitting

on the rooftop,

away from the eyes

that judge,

and yet be exposed

like a nerve!

the shame

that self-destruction

is supposed to

bring is masked

by the agony

of one organ

dying a painful

death, and its misery

spreading unlike

a wildfire, slowly,

a little too slowly,

consuming everything

in its resolve

to not be

the only thing that dies-

I light another cigarette.


A Day Off

A little update.

It rained here yesterday. Rained a lot actually. To the point of it being scary.

I finally bought a good cell phone. It has nice features, and was not too expensive. The old one was even out-slowing me, and had developed battery issues. I decided to spend a little from my savings. Isn’t that what we save money for anyway? For good phones? My conscience tells me otherwise.

I took a day off work to study, but did not get much studying done. I cooked, cleaned and organised a few things around the house instead. It was a productive day so I decided not to beat myself about not achieving my study goals.

Chocolate, coffee, and popcorn have officially made it back on my grocery list. Just another reason to be grateful for the changing weather!

It is beginning to feel like Fall here, which means that it is hard to stay awake for long. Naps in this season are the best kind of naps. Somehow. Dreamless and restful, all thanks to the nice weather. You wake up feeling refreshed, and then a few hours later, some part of your brain begins to slow down and you stand there looking wistfully at the bed you had just left a few hours ago. You cannot sleep all the time, but fantasizing about it can be equally rewarding. So when your friends ask about your plans for the season, you can happily reply that you’d just be inside napping, and encourage them to catch up on sleep too. We are not supposed to have raccoon-eyes all the time!

Have a great season everyone!🙂


with all the means

to over-share

at our disposal,

it is no longer about

the first person

you tell a good

news to,

it is all about

the person

you save from

the bad news now,

by choosing not

to hit “upload”.


Letting Go

I find myself

Uncurling my fingers

To release

The imaginary butterflies

From my

Quivering hands;

The locked drawers

In my mind

Rattle with unease,

Clearly disturbed

By the very act—

I am letting go

Of everything

That was not

Even there to begin with.


There could be whole antiworlds and antipeople made out of antiparticles. However, if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands! You would both vanish in a great flash of light.”

Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time

Image by HeungSoon from Pixabay


Two short poems:


I am glad

that there are

things that money

cannot buy;

what if we

could buy memories?

some of us

wouldn’t have many;

not the ones

that would last anyway!


I try to imagine you away

but you are too real

so there you stay;

it is awfully nice

in my rabbit hole anyway.


“The only problem with seeing people you know is that they know you.”
Brent Runyon, The Burn Journals

Image by WikiImages from Pixabay

Life in Food


No more.

Moved on from white.



Little, sweet, sticky memories.

Soft drinks.


Grew up with effervescence.



Chocolate; a way out.



Money was finally around.



Found solace in black.



Green; fix things now!


Right Here

I may not be

a great friend,

for I don’t know

how to rescue you

from self-doubt,

but I make sure

that you never

feel invisible

in the crowd

by being the one

who is all ears

without you

having to shout-

you never do.


“I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that’s why.”
John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men

Image by JackieLou DL from Pixabay

The Laundered Days

I am folding days

As one folds

A bucket load of laundry

On a hot and humid

Summer afternoon—

Not careful

With the creases,

Too detached to look

For the missing

And the matching pieces,

Yet trying to make

Peace with the tedious

Rhythm of it all,

While disregarding

The growing pile

Of washed,

Unvaried minutes and hours

That could crumble

Any second;

With no end in sight!


*Reposting because it never stops feeling like this!

The Subtle Beauty

I am friends

with September—

to gaze

at the lilac sky

just before

the sun comes out,

and to feel

the afternoon air

getting thinner;

to stir

ginger and honey

into the evening,

and to scoop out

hazelnut ice cream

for dinner,

to toss

and turn at midnight,

trying to retrieve

a tender moment

I don’t

quite remember.


Image by Rudy and Peter Skitterians from Pixabay

“Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last year’s mistakes had been wiped clean by summer.”
Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose

No Complaints

When you feel

Like you are

On a train

Nowhere near

Its destination,

As it goes through

One unlit tunnel

After an unlit tunnel,

Yet somehow

It puffs out smoke

That smells like

Melted butter,

You can’t complain.


“You can’t be brave if you’ve only had wonderful things happen to you.”
Mary Tyler Moore

Image by anncapictures from Pixabay


Three short poems toying with the idea of being or feeling disconnected:


my heart’s aflutter

as I knock on the door,

and it resonates

like never before;

he might not be there,

but I am not sure,

for a knock this sturdy

should be hard to ignore,

unless you don’t want to

be friends anymore!


I shall have to miss

her yet another call

I am, after all,

lost in the rhythm

of this drawn-out fall.


as I clean out my desk

I can hardly gloat-

most of the people

in my life

have been nothing

but a number

on a post-it note!


Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Checks Out

The musician leaves

Without a note

And nothing ceases,

But his presence.

Maybe there was

A lyrical warning,

Or maybe it was

Just life which

Kept happening in

The guise of the way

Of the world,

Or stopped happening,

All of a sudden,

Without any reason.


Odd Apples

This world

Keeps an eye out

For all those apples

That tend to fall

Too far

From the trees,

And lets them believe

They’re good enough

For the pies,

Well, at least

For a short while,

But then bottles

Them up,

Only to put

Their then reduced

To shoddy


On the shelves!


The Grey Sky

The sky gets murky every afternoon these days. A few heavy, grey clouds appear out of nowhere; stay for an hour or two and then disappear into nothingness. Rainfall has been scarce in our part of the world this summer. It is hot, humid, and quite difficult to breathe with two masks on! Yes, the virus is still managing to find hosts here on top of everything else! It turns out, our personal-grey-clouds, unfortunately, are not great at pulling off disappearing acts – they have been here for quite some time now.

I am beginning to lose sight of the bigger picture. With so much going on, and nothing going on at the same time, the void is becoming difficult to avoid. It had begun as fear for life, not particularly your own, but of those you love, but has now turned into a strange, apathetic feeling. You want to rid yourself of such a feeling, but you are not quite sure what that entails. Maybe we already had enough on our plates, and now the contents are spilling over. Maybe we are not giving ourselves enough credit for trying to go on despite the raging pandemic. When they say, “there are worse ways to live,” they forget that this, if not the worst, is not an easy way to live either! There are days that I cannot recall at all, and I have heard a few people say that this had been happening to them too. When all you can remember is: being sick, hearing about people getting sick or dying, looking after people getting sick, sanitising desktops, doorknobs, sweating through masks, canceling plans to go out, and working twice as hard as before (because the workload keeps on increasing), the individual days do not matter! I can feel myself passing through time, which for once, seems to be standing still.

You can pick up the broken pieces with an intent to rebuild only when the storm is over, but how do those with perpetually stormy skies find it in their hearts to keep going on against the winds? How can people manage to hold on to hope even when the cloudy skies above their heads forget to rain? I think I have not made peace with the altered circumstances yet. Is this realisation enough for now? I am sure it is not. I have to do better to feel better! I hope I get there. I hope we all do.

“Most human activities are predicated on the assumption that life goes on. If you take that premise away, what is there left?”
Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World


the world has found

a home in me,

the last place

it should have been

comfortable in,

and I am stuck here

like everyone else⁠—

none of it feels real!

what I do not understand

chooses not to

understand me either,

I cannot get it out,

I cannot get out!


“We draw ever nearer to the end of our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.”

Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

Photo by Burak K from Pexels


we fill in the gaps

in our memories

with lucid depictions

of who we are

supposed to be;

it saves us

from slipping into

a premature stupor,

it keeps us

from letting go

before the right time

to let go…


The Perfect You

you remind me of snow,

precipitation at its finest,

and subdued winter sun

at the same time;

you remind me of things

that work well together,

but make perfect sense

even when they don’t.


Image from Pexels

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