I had a perfect retort,

But I chose

The less traveled road;

Held it all back

And swallowed it whole.

I have a nasty heartburn

Ever since then,

And sharp words

Keep coming back

To injure my throat!


“Everything I think of now is too rude to actually say.”
Craig Ferguson

Featured image from Pexels

False Memory

real time events

are no longer of value

for we are trapped

in a moment

which was never

as lucid as we

recall it to be,

the older we feel

the harder it gets

not to live

in the past

which was not

what it now

seems to be,

which never was

what it could

have been; what

it should have been.


“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”
L.P. Hartley

Featured image from Pexels



Fickle encounters,

A twitching eyelid—

A keepsake,

A stitch


No accident.

You are a key

In the ignition;

An integral switch.

Not a glitch

In the very thing.

No accident.


Peace can be found

In a loud moment

For all the noise

After some time

Tends to fade away,

As if you

Were on the road

Even when your mind

Was on the railway.


Cobwebbed bulbs

Clear desk drawers

Vacant vases

No apples in a bowl

With a person

As empty as

The house.


“If you board the wrong train, it is no use running along the corridor in the other direction.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Featured image from Pexels

The Considerate You

You say that

You do not care

But it all comes untrue

When you bring

Your head back

From wherever nice

It wanders off to,

To be there for those

Who have never done

The same for you!


“We only have what we give.”
Isabel Allende

Featured image from Pexels


you lounge around,

sunk into the couch

without a care

in the world,

while I am always

wrapped in a silver foil

all set to be baked;

we may have come

from similar soils,

but only one of us

knows what it is like

to live in the heat

of everyday life

only to be dropped

like a hot potato!


“Not everyone can be a truffle. Most of us are potatoes. And a potato is a very good thing to be.”

Massimo Bottura

Rained Upon

When black ink rains

From the parchment sky,

A mist engulfs the ground,

It stains the unstained raven,

And keeps the mottled brown;

Such downpour can cover up

Strange, little stories

In the old, disowned towns.


“The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

Sadly Similar

We try not to acknowledge

How frighteningly similar we are,

Not because we have the same

Eye colour, length of hair

Or general disdain for anything

That is unlike ourselves out there,

But only because how similar

The lumps in our throats are!

Such resemblance is not only

Hugely unsettling, but it also seems

Exceptionally unfair – to see a person

In the light of their problems,

And to have no solace to offer,

No comfort to spare.”


“I don’t damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much.”
James Patterson

Featured image from Pexels


I find myself

Drowning in the auburn

Of the morning sky,

And it feels the way

Dry summer heat feels

Against wet skin;

I am disappearing

Into every thing

That stands out

But seems out of place

At the same time,

I know that

Everything tends to

Get worse before it

Eventually gets better,

But I cannot figure out

Where I am right now

In that timeline.



Dedicated to my hardworking and selfless mother, and to all the mothers like her.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers, motherly sisters, motherly fathers, and to anyone who’s like a mother to someone! 😊❤


How can we be the same person?

I ask myself that

At least four times a week,

For I have never woken up

With wet sand in my shoes,

I have never fallen asleep

With shoes on my feet,

I have never transitioned

From sleep to wakefulness

Peacefully enough to care

About the state of my feet,

And strangely enough,

I have never been to the beach!


“The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept.”
George Carlin

Featured image from Pixabay

A Free Day

Festivals and holidays are different kind of affairs for introverts. We do not go out of our way to meet people, and the ones who make an effort to see us soon realise that they’d be making us even happier if they’d leave us to our plans. After all, holidays are all about taking it easy and doing what we enjoy.

So with only one day available to pack a good amount of fun into, I have decided to start a book I’d been meaning to read for quite sometime, and watch two movies (from a long list of supposedly great ones).Being a huge Haruki Murakami fan, I had been looking forward to watch, Drive My Car, but I couldn’t find it on the streaming service. The Power of the Dog and The Lost Daughter are the ones I shall be watching instead. I have read good things about them.

Previously skeptical, I have now wramed up to the idea of reading along with the audio narration and Audible has been great so far. I hope that Catch-22 will be an incredible experience. There’s no way I’d be able to finish it in a day though.😁


It is a little weird if you are your own muse, isn’t it? Especially if you are a critic and an idealist at heart. How does that even work? Interesting things can come out of it though. If I try to take stock of everything that I have ever written, this one poem stands out the most to me. I seem to forget almost everything that I put down on paper, but this poem is an exception. Its imagery often frequents my head and maybe that is why I never have any trouble recalling it. I hope that I shall be able to pen a happy sequel to it one day, and the new image shall stick around instead.

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