I don’t know what this should be called

I’ve been thinking a lot about my days lately. Some days are blue, others plain gray. Some days, i feel sky in my mouth. Others, my insides feel like coming out till it pins me to the ground and asks me not to leave.
I wish people would stop asking me why im tired all the time, without telling me how to stop.
I wish i had different days more often and I wish i was less tired all the time.
I’ve thought a lot about thinking lately. I wish i didn’t play every second of my day again and again and again and again in my head. I wish my head could go quiet for sometime. Even if it is a bad thing, i wish my thoughts could lower to a volume where the silence is in a language i know how to speak.


To the boy at the end of the Street

When people ask me if I’ve ever had my heart broken I say no, but I think heartbreaks are messy. I saw this the day you passed by my house and didn’t kick a stone all the way to your front yard, i saw this when you didn’t laugh at the poster of a baby in a suit outside my wall, I saw this in your eyes I swear I did.

When people ask me if I’ve ever had my heart broken I say no, but I think heartbreaks are funny. You’ll be out in a bar with some friends, and you’ll pick up your glass to drink when the imprint of the curve of your glass on the table will remind you of the crescent of her smile and the next thing you know the glass in your hand is no longer a drink but gun powder to a flame.

I think heartbreaks are like Algebra in my math class. You think you’ve solved one but the next one is sitting at the end of your tongue until it rolls down your lips and this one seems harder than the one before. I believe its okay to be bad at math; I believe its okay to not understand how two plus two is always four before you understand a basic thing like happiness is a choice not a privilege.

But it doesn’t come easy, happiness. It doesn’t stop by that often, you have to sometimes quite literally break doors only to find it sitting in quiet corners wrapped in all your insecurities, unable to get out.

To find it you’ll need to get maps, to cities you’ve never been and make plans to visit them even if you know they’ll fall through because what better way is there to learn that sometimes despite all your efforts, things dont go your way.

To find it you’ll need coffee mugs and smash them on the ground, pick up the biggest piece left and drink from it and you’ll understand that broken things still work the same.

It doesn’t come easy, this happiness but oh boy, when it does, it’ll pin you to the ground and ask you not to leave.

When people ask me if I’ve ever had my heart broken I say no, but I think heartbreaks are beautiful. The moment when these bodies of dust and flesh can no longer hold on to everything thats keeping them straight and crumble down into a magnificent mess is by all means, beautiful.

So I hope you find someone that makes you feel at ease with pain and smile through it and I hope, you find it in yourself first.

The door

there’ll be a time when
you’ll find it astonishing,
how simple it is to open and
walk out of the same door
on which a few months back
love stopped to say hello
you’d know that opportunity
doesn’t knock twice but what if love did
and on those days you’ll wonder
if he’ll ever answer the door
but oh, honey, no
don’t listen to my words and
break, what you call
for my words won’t tell
if he’ll leave or not;
time will.

How Love is to me

Would it be a poem, if I’d muse about
how love was to me, in no more than
20 lines, and how it was absolutely ruthless
to kick me in the gut, and to stand once more,
only to get kicked harder, to be pushed to
the ground and be asked not to leave.
What if I talked about how I always
told you the number of lettuces I liked
in my sandwich and you’d almost get it right,
just you put absurd amount of cheese, and
it’ll taste horrible but then, that’s how
love’s supposed to taste. I’ve figured, you see,
loving you blatantly was like rubbing honey
on my lips, till the sweet taste was far gone,
and all I’d feel is pain, and I’d whisper
how I lie amidst the shattered glass, the fallen trees,
the broken hearts, the empty dreams and look at how,
none has ever stared at the sun with naked eyes, and still wonder how its done, so
I guess love’s still a mistake I cant outrun.


And I know you’re hurt.
The tears in your eyes,
And blood on your hands,
The shiver in your legs,
And cuts in your clothes,
Are signs of nothing less.
But why are legos
Broken, my love
So that they can be built
Into a castle once again.


Come sit with me, and we’ll
fix the broken cups, from which
we once sipped our tea, which
seemed like love, and tasted
something love cant define, and
we’ll paste the torn albums, which
only had postcards and stamps
of the places we left our footprints,
but no pictures of us, and we’ll
paint the spoiled paintings having
nothing, but spectrum of misery, which
now allured perfection, and we’ll
bake the burnt cupcakes, which
marked the well spent evenings of
summer, while all we created
was fuss.

Come sit with me, and we’ll
fix the broken us.

Learning to love

I’ve learned to love
while thinking about you,
when hours felt minutes,
and time seemed infinite, and
I’ve learned to love
while talking to you,
when the only kiss that escaped
my lips were words, even if
they were pushed at you, and
I’ve learned to love
by staying with you, while
all that we had was a room,
which then too seemed
a world too big, and
its funny, that we now realize, that
we’re probably too sane
for happiness, that maybe,
happiness isn’t what you
always get while loving, that
sometimes, fights are requisite
of showing how much it kills me
to stay away from you, that
I’ve learned to love while loving you


At nights I find myself
Flickering light on the strangest thoughts.
You said I needed to change.
Now you complain I have changed.
Pressing that Im not your type.
What type? What is your type?
This word just doesn’t make sense.
Here am I shortlisting the options I have.
Everyday I see people. So many of them.
Like that lady on the bus who guided the lost man
Or that woman who made the man feel lost
And that man who gave all that he had to the poor kid
Or that guy who snatched all that the poor kid had, with a crooked smile.
So many people. So many choices.
You said I was forever.
We said we were forever.
The only forever I now know are my scars.
Each carved with a memory on my skin.
Leaving blood red on my bare canvas that you painted with pain
Here its night again.
Many more thoughts would be looked upon tonight.

The Artist

About an infinity has passed,

And Im still here working for completion.

Oh, just a few strokes of brushes left,

Oh, just a few more colours it craves.

Blue, Green, Red I added all,

Still it feels unwhole.

My vivid aura has faded away,

This just doesn’t make sense anymore.

I turned to you for help,

But you only had black and grey for me.

Together we worked perfecting our masterpiece,

Only later I realized, you were the master, I was the piece.

Day by day, you worked on me,

Time by time, you reminded me of my flaws.

Second by second, as I shred apart,

I eventually had my masterpiece all clawed.

I gave you my heart with all the red trapped,

Red faded away right at that moment, my shattered paracosm is all I can now see.

I pleaded you to fill my life with colours,

You still had black and grey for me.


She boarded off the bus,

A smile crossing her lips.

Taking out he mother’s letters,

Reading through the priceless gifts.

Three years away for job,

Now she was finally where she belonged.

How much she had traveled,

How long the journey had prolonged.

She made her way through the door,

of her ever beloved house.

Far away from the cries of revenge,

Oh so far from hatred longing to be doused.

Not sure how to tell them,

Of the secret she was holding.

For years hiding her lament,

It seemed the fate was finally folding.

“I have cancer. I’m dying”,

Her mind yelled.

It was the heart craving to hide it,

Probably it was already stained red.

Thinking she wasn’t far away from redemption,

A tear rolled down her cheek, maybe from the courage she lacked.

As she hugged everyone,

She whispered,” Now I’m here and never going back.”