We are scared to share

As if coming apart

In front of someone

Who means the world

To us can somehow

Put a curse on everything

Remotely held together

In our scattered selves,

And then wonder why we

Explode the way we do;

There is great solemnity

In being vulnerable

At times, but a lifetime

Is not enough to learn

How to open up

Without inflicting pain

And getting hurt!


“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable.

Fred Rogers

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Out of Order

it makes sense

as long as every part

of you feels here

and pushes you through,

but when some part

of you despairs,

and pulls out

one worn out chair

to sit for hours

at a stretch and stare

at something that is

not quite there,

your entire being

then wants to share

in that one part’s

resolve to rue!


Image by Lucija Rasonja from Pixabay



I see you writing

Me into your poems

And I have never felt

This seen before;

Maybe all we need

Is to be welcomed

Into places we wish

To be a part of!


I see you writing

Me out of your poems

And I have never felt

This heard before;

Maybe all we needed

Was to be taken out

Of places we did not

Want to be a part of!


“Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild.”

Stephen King

Featured image from Pexels

No Respite

You wake up

And so does the monster

Under your bed,

And so does the sceptic

Inside your head,

And comes alive the feeling

Of obscure dread.

You fall asleep,

But awake is the monster

Under your bed,

Awake lies the sceptic

Inside your head,

And wide awake is the feeling

Of now penetrable dread.


“Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for.”
Maya Angelou, Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now


Two gaping whirlpools

In one puddle of a face

Gazing through a wet film

Into an aquatic abyss

Since countless damp days

And many a water years,

Count rainfalls, sleet,

Snow and hailstorms,

But somehow remain

Soakingly unaware of

A swiftly advancing drought

That could arrive with

A promise to set them free

From the shackles of

Long-drawn-out precipitation!


The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.”

David Foster Wallace


I am trying

Not to be seen

For in this moment

I feel too small;

I see him draped

In a raven shawl,

Effortlessly being one

With the night sky,

But I, on the contrary,

Feel too out there,

Not blending in

With anything at all!

Should I sleep

Two-thirds of

The year away,

And try once again

In the Fall?


“True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.”
Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life: What on Earth Am I Here for?

Featured image from Pexels

A Lonely Mind

It must be lonely to live

With astute thoughts floating

Inside your brilliant mind,

But I am too shy to confess

That I cannot understand

Most of the words that pour

Out of your soul, but the tone

Of your voice makes me believe

That there must be something

Quite meaningful and deep

Behind the words you speak,

And most of the times

I am a little scared to

See you talk the way you do

As if all of this time

You had been dying to babble

To your heart’s content,

But were held back only

By the lack of available ears,

For I know that you deserve

A much better pair than mine

Which lead to places

Far beyond the confines of

Two narrow canals in the skull,

To the areas of brain where

Concrete sentences are broken

Down into snippets that make

Perfect sense, and to regions

Where memories are made,

Kept, stored, retrieved,

And remade from time to time—

I wonder if the blank look

In my eyes gives me away,

I wonder how many perplexed

Faces you talk to in a day?

This is unfair, this is not okay!


“I’m a misunderstood genius.”
“What’s misunderstood?”
“Nobody thinks I’m a genius.”
Bill Watterson

Featured image from Pexels

Poles Apart


we do not have a common narrative;

when my world was upside down,

yours was the right way up,

and what was left was not all right!


My every little thought

gets bigger, goes berserk,

and dies.

Your every small gesture

gets noticed, goes places,

and multiplies.

My every sombre word

gets mumbled, goes awry,

and dies.

Your every feeble idea

gets better, goes viral,

and multiplies.


I apologise

For apologising

All the time;

You apologise

For me not

Apologising enough.


“Little Alice fell down the hole, bumped her head and bruised her soul.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Featured image from Pexels

Red Roses, Blue Violets and You

When I was a little girl,

I had wanted to be just like you

But then I was told that

Not all the red roses were red,

And that most of the violets

Were purple, not blue;

I had foolishly concluded

That everything about you

Might not be worth

Following through with,

But I secretly knew

That if I had come closer

To being like you,

I would have discovered

The sugar to be

Less sweet than you!


“. . . Atticus, he was real nice. . . .” His hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, tucking it around me. “Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.”

Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

Featured image from Pexels


I hope I’d be able to compose a proper concrete poem some day, but until then, I shall keep having fun experimenting.😊

The concrete poem in the image:

scattered words

if arranged

in a neat, little pile

can fall

off the page


On Hiatus

I wish I could

Take a break

From myself,

Hit snooze,

Put my thoughts

On mute

For a short while;

Be awake,

But not move an inch,

As if lost

In a dream

Too wild,

Nothing rings

On the other end

When I dial,

My mailbox

Gets no note

From me,

And all the things

That I keep aside

In a pile,

Stay there,

And do not fall over;

I wish I had

An on/off switch

With a tiny, red light

Above it,

So if I ever

Go out like that

Someone out there

Could bring me back.


We were all lost and okay with not being found for a while.”
Adam Silvera


I am walking
As if I am
A little too fond
Of gravity,
With my arms
Shaking and going
Numb under
The weight
Of everything
I am supposed
To memorise,
And my shoulders
Aching beneath
The ugly straps
Of a heavy bag,
Housing a
Huge, discontinued
From the market,
Shabby laptop,
Yet not spacious
Enough to hold
The books
In my arms,
So when a tiny
Pencil that I
Use as a bookmark,
Falls out of
One of the books,
And someone
Not too far away
Informs me about it,
My mind completely
Falls apart!
I bend down,
Slowly and with
A great difficulty,
To pick it up,
And begrudgingly
Thank the stranger
Who had ensured
That I would not
Even try to ignore
The soft thud of
A pencil that small—
He reminds me
Of the way
This world works…
We carry our weight,
All on our own,
Holding on to it
Lest we lose
Our way;
Forced to carry
All of it,
And not allowed
A chance to drop
Any of it off,
Not allowed
A chance
To be a little lost.


“You remember too much,
my mother said to me recently.
Why hold onto all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?”
Anne Carson

Featured Image from Pexels

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