A City of heartbreaks

My being is hanging out with the thought of being myself at almost all the times and the urge to be anything but me.Thought is an act of violence. The urge to be somethingbut me, is the violence against what I am. The urge  to be nowhere but near you. Is it possible for aContinue reading “A City of heartbreaks”

Things that matter.

A poem, you ask? I sit here and think, wondering whatwe are, when doors are shutTight and hard. Alright, I will come with you for the trippy fight;also, came with my freshly chewed skin,All the prose and adjectives are hereWe’ll keep them the way they have always been. Let me give you a guilt tripContinue reading “Things that matter.”

Gods are dying in my country.

Centuries ago, during thecourse of evolution, humansbrought the whole speciestogether, on the base ofOne belief system; Religion.We thrived. They say nothing lastsforever; humans have this obsessionwith change,To know more, To be more. And now ( fast forward to ‘I’ )As ‘act of God’I see my country mouldingbeliefs of generations.God has now become a toolTo controlContinue reading “Gods are dying in my country.”

Wonders

Don’t just hear,listenwhat one wordwhisper to other,Here, all the words areadjacent yet farhow they managed to exist,I wonder. Also, Instagram

The Fictional Truth

We are in the middle of a pandemic and also the global and national predicament, not to mention, most of us are confused with a lot of questions and quite predictably turn to news. Alas!I feel like we have no where left to turn to. Like like we are stuck in a loop. Joseph Goebbels,Continue reading “The Fictional Truth”

I’m dying poetry

In his Letters to Milena, Kafka wrote,‘You are the knife I turn inside myself;that is love. That, my dear, is love.’ And I can’t help but wondernumber of times I ate my own skinto feel your touch on my lips.And number of times I died,trying to reason with unknown.In search of words I travelthrough myContinue reading “I’m dying poetry”

//Touch has a memory//

I have been pretty transparent, if you’re really looking.On my skin, you could see the boy with hazel eyeswith softest curls and the way,he is touching my skin just by looking,You can feel the metaphorsrunning along my hairto your fingers;you can sense the memoriescurling up your hand.Will remind you of the last kissor I’ll fillContinue reading “//Touch has a memory//”

//Love is Love//

Words will leave meat the end of this poemjust like your loveleft societies and heartsday by day ormaybe it was never there.Maybe I am too delicate.Breathing before I suffocate.Am I too slowto cope up with themornings, days and seconds?But I still am very receptivetowards love, affectionand the foundations ofyour faiths and religions.Everyday I hear lipsshoutingContinue reading “//Love is Love//”

// ‘V’ sign of tears //

I see life unfold before me,Like a distant memoryin moments of perfect harmonyyou build your home in my chestrising from the pit of my stomach;And rush into my eyes before I know.World behind you is blurredI try to hold on to it,To a memory, to a moment, to you. And like any other dayyou ignoreContinue reading “// ‘V’ sign of tears //”

// zoning out from blog//

Not writing this week? Want to know what piques my anxiety? Ask me a question.It’s not people that I’m scared of but myself. My words aren’t forced, they come to me, like rain, forming clouds slowly pouring out of my body. My fingers forge the sky and I embody the universe. But I suppose universeContinue reading “// zoning out from blog//”

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