The world is more pink

Than grey lately,

But those who never

View it without

Rose-coloured glasses

Can hardly appreciate

The salmon glow

Brought to it by

The sluggish demise

Of their very own

Cherry-red consciences!


“I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.”

Walt Whitman, Song of Myself


She has lost

Her sense of direction,

Wherever she goes,

She is already there.


“I am convinced that human life is filled with many pure, happy, serene examples of insincerity, truly splendid of their kind-of people deceiving one another without (strangely enough) any wounds being inflicted, of people who seem unaware even that they are deceiving one another.”

Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

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On Edge

Finding yourself rummaging

Through piles and piles

Of discarded memories,

Far removed from present,

Not wrapped in fancy boxes,

But oh so casually thrown

Into trash cans stuffed hastily

Into brown paper bags,

Seems like a dangerous

State of mind to be in,

But when they say,

“Isn’t it like one of those

Baffling things that happen

To you for no apparent reason?”

You cannot help but say,

“I have never heard of those.”


“Flirting with madness was one thing; when madness started flirting back, it was time to call the whole thing off.”
Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance


Sometimes, love is found

In the weakest hellos

And indifferent goodbyes,

For anything that plunges

A heart into the depths

Of that abusrd a denial

Must be akin to affection.

Sometimes, all you need

Is a delusional mind.


“Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions.”

Tony Kushner


If I were to see myself

In a light that wouldn’t flicker

Would I feel the air

To be unrealistically thicker

Will there be a heart

Aflutter, suddenly beating quicker

Would the nagging world

No longer be a cosmic trigger

Will I finally stay

Despite being a habitual quitter?


“Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons.”
Donald Miller

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she became her own

personal shade of blue,

at war with the dusky,


glint of his

prussian blue iris,

and dreamt of a day

when she would

be immune

to that cataclysmic sky

in his eyes

which ends up

infecting her like a virus!


“You can only be jealous of someone who has something you think you ought to have yourself.”
Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

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Neither a ghost

Nor a memory,

But like a drop

Of blood

That is thick,

And pungent,

And repulsively red,

We are as unabating

As the thoughts

You keep crushing

In your head!

At least for now.


“Out of my ignorance I called you a homeland, and I forgot that homelands are taken away.”

Mahmoud Darwish

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We could have been putting

Our souls in a mesmeric trance

By dancing like whirling dervishes

In cold, November mornings

To let our thoughts somersault

Out of our heads to appear

As glistening beads of perspiration

To evaporate into nothingness,

But we are far removed from all that,

For mediocrity has slowly devoured

The fire that was supposed to

Burn within our hearts forever!


“I know you’re tired but come, this is the way.”
Jalalu’l-din Rumi

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Cutting Corners

Three short poems:


When we decided

Never to talk again

We did not know

What that entailed;

It has been three days

Since I have heard

From you but it feels

As if it has been forever-

Never’s not forever!


As I

Fix a snack,

I let it vibrate,

You’re calling my phone,

Hoping that the pedometer app

Would count a few extra steps that way,

Everyday I cheat my way through exercise,

And wonder why my back refuses to have my back!


The solitary chicken

Crosses the road

To run away from the coops,

Don’t you realise

That nothing brave

Can ever be done in groups?


“One bulb at a time. There was no other way to do it.”

Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards, The Daffodill Principle

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Memories and November Nights

I wish that I didn’t remember

Every dying word,

Every sinister number

That seems to be etched

Into the walls of my heart’s

One flailing chamber,

And I don’t wish to be put into

An extended slumber

For my mind to dismember

Itself in order to sort through

Fragments of burnt thoughts

In search of a salvageable ember,

For I am too much in love

With this time of the year

To give it up like that,

But if that is what it takes

To forget what I

So painfully remember,

I begrudgingly surrender!

I’ll pretend that the sombre

Nights in December

Are as ineffable

As the ones in November!


“The past beats inside me like a second heart.”
John Banville, The Sea

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It has been an hour

Since I have been

Mindlessly scrolling,

Hurriedly swiping away

One grey photo after another

When I am suddenly hit

With a realisation

That brings me to my knees-

There are only a few photos

In my phone’s camera roll

In which my own face

Can be fully seen,

They feel so out of place,

But I better not press delete,

For there are times when I

Forget that I am here

And I can use a proof

Of my existence-

Even a virtual one would do.


“It is good to be a cynic — it is better to be a contented cat — and it is best not to exist at all.”
H.P. Lovecraft

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