Thank you, poetry

Burning with passions of love and anger,
When time took its toll, taking everything away,
Stranded broken and bleeding,
Human heart hurting,

It was at that age that poetry came in search of me

Now I pursue shooting stars, falling feathers and golden sunsets,
Mesmerized by the monotony of every morrow,
Beguiled in the Infinitude of human emotions,
The way they admire,
Or are amused,
Or adore thee for thou antics,
Or them flickering souls,
Stealing the thunder, the sky with their mere presence,
The more I explored the world, the more I fell for it

It was at that age that poetry came in search of me

As I walk and talk and laugh and cry,
I do all that in verses,
Offering affection and words alike,
Call me insane,
I shan’t mind,
But it’s a keeper, my poetry bag,

And it’s worth it,
Thinking in poetry.


Butterflies and trust issues

A butterfly blooming in a building building,
Won’t you look at me,
At this plastic spoons in the midst of a dinner set,
Shan’t you feel my sorrow,
Shading in the shining sun,
The closed outlets,
Or the windows in the doors,
Won’t you look at me,
Just once,
With your little black eyes with shades of rainbow,
Maybe I could see,
The reflection of the world as you see it,
Or maybe I could tell you,
Why I cried last night,
Or this morning,
Or in the metro,
Or every time,
Maybe you’d care,
And fill this eternal emptiness I feel,
Despite of having every thing,
Maybe you’d tell me,
To soar away from my sorrows,
Not mourn over my melancholy,
Concentrate on my charms,
Remember my spells,
Being myself
And to
To be
Or feel it
Just once,
Won’t you give me a chance?
I won’t let you down,
I promise,
Won’t you look at me,
Just once,
As you fly faking facades,
Let’s weave words,
Drown and dream,

Look at me,
Just once,
Sitting solitary,
Just once,

Won’t you?


As the morning mist blew over my melancholic mask,
I realized,
It wasn’t as monotonous as before,
I breathed it in,
And facade turned into a face,
I moved on,
Mused on as well,
We don’t get to say that things are not enough,
For enough is enough,
And this world is too,
And if we think,
Really think about it,
Our lives outstrech the constraints of life and death,
And extend their wishes to the neighboring celestials,
Or the immense seas,
Or the blushing sun, red in its most adorable being,
Hiding behind the silver lining of them clouds,
It doesn’t feel right, nor fair,
To accuse anything at all to be not enough,
When we have numberless numbers of an Infinitude of those feelings,
In which we are infinite,

Driving down a highway,
Flickering street lights,
Traffic jams ensuring chaos,
Stuck in a metro in a peak hour,
Living in the journey while longing for the destination,

These awkward anticipations,
Delicate despondence,
A breath of life,

With such a wide world and such little time,
So many books left unread, still, recipes never cooked, people never saved, souls not saved,
Enough not being enough,
And yet

Struggle is real,
Desperation is there,

Enough is enough,

Enough is enough.

//Written in a metro journey to college.


I looked
In the eye
At least
I tried to

But they didn’t come to me
The stories of them strangers,
What bothers them as they sit oblivious to their mismatched socks,
Or stare intently at that iron pole,
Loosing and finding selves in their own states of epiphanies,
Empty in their eyes,
Oscillating, in do’s and don’ts, affirmations and negations,

I find,
My own
Melancholy peeping
In their

Yet somehow
These passerbys,
These people,
Whom I know nothing about,
Who don’t stir up emotions in my mind,
Or heal or hurt my heart,
Or do
Any thing,
At all
Why is it
That there is a strange familiarity in these not-so-familiar strangers,
And it feels that I know more about them than I know about yours,

Looked in the eye
I tried





Dedicated to perfection

An Infinitude of inexplicable emotions,
Is it not time that we pause,
Yet again?
Think out loud on some steel bench at some metro station,
Mesmerized by diverging destinations, sunbeams dancing in our realms of realities,
Too perfect, too precious, too much, perhaps?
As we cackle and crack, just observing these people obsessed with being players in this stage called world, offering us masks after masks, facades after facades, while we try, and try, searching for these splendid shades in our souls,
As the skyline splits, showering us with shadows and suspicions, and this world, stops, for us, as we stop running,
As we pause,
And whisper, of them words, so worthy, or those promises we keep, solemnly swearing to being up to no good, charming our way out of this chaos, in this tranquil transition, of twelfth,
As we stop, from this race of ambition we choose to run,
And wonder aloud, of those unsaid dreams of teaching in a playschool or owning a bookstore,
Of libraries and coffee houses, enticements of melancholic mountains, the immense seas seducing us to sail, temptations of our treacherous trance,
And dream a new dream,
In those few hours when we are not conscious of actuality, as we sleep,
And our words spill on this unbounded canvas, the brilliance of our minds blending, in this mutual madness,
In embarrassing moments of ecstasy, as our symphonies harmonize to form this song, which is just perfect,
And even as we run out of time, it’s okay as we walk together, breathing every breeze in, the morning mist, the magic of midnight, smiling at the setting suns, fascinated by flickering lights, captivated by them imperfect constellations, as we think out loud,
Searching for new metaphors for this metropolis, smiling at this turn of events, our selves bewitched in lives in a metro,
That when I sleep,
I dream,
Of this reality, this priceless pursuit, so pure, kind, unreal, yet real.

Tell me this,
Are our cosmos to collide, as we try and fix these fragmented fantasies, hallucinations of happiness,
Trying to make sense of these visions in our heads, fancying, imagining,
Of Pumpkin pies and Hogwarts letters,
Just being happy, do you mind, though?
If, our infinities turn infinite, and dreams that were mine and yours, become ours,

As we pause,
Yet again.
( Or is it, indeed

Too much?!)

//A not so lyrical ode. A dedication to perfection and preciousness, written at this metro station called Ramesh Nagar.


Emptiness echoes in her earnest eyes and yet i i find my sinister spirit enchanted to this vision of hers, that is vague, devoid of demonic darkness and filled with this inexplicable radiance, a light that nobody else can see, she does something to me, this new girl who has joined my hostel on Friday, the thirteenth of this month. And i might just be falling in love with her, you never know, or she might be soaring in my love too, you never know, i believe some feelings are better left unveiled, suppressed. unsaid.


There is something too right about this girl, I find myself lost in the chaos of her confessions and her curls that tangle themselves after hours of straightening. She wears kohl, too dark for the fifty shades of grey prevalent in her eyes, and a lip color too purple for the redness in her blush. She talks of little infinities and seems perplexed about paper towns and the thousand splendid suns that shine behind the walls of her soul which is too fragile for this world, and too strong for the universe that stirs under my raw, vulnerable soul, filled with heartbreaks and disappointments and ambitions and ideas of a nineteen year old human self, She is this perfect combination of everything that is too pure for this world, a plethora of Hazel Grace and Hermione and Elizabeth and Jane, How is she that magical, I do not understand.


I knew it!
I found her little black book of ideas and imaginations (that honestly looks like a death note diary) hidden beneath a pile of clothes and books near my blue study table, which has this burnt mark on the left-hand corner, it wasn’t there till last night, or was it? And what was that little blue flame i saw fuming last night? Was it a dream, reality or something in between, i do not know,
I may never know,
This little book consists of gibberish, stuff, symbols and figures indecipherable to my mind habitual to words of Wordsworth and Shelley and Keats and Rowling, it talks of unicorn horns,  hair of them giants, toes of dwarfs, and some other stuff I don’t know anything about,
Am i going crazy or is this real?
Is my life turning into a Harry Potter Movie? Or is it real, Am i dreaming,

I think so,
I may never know.


I am awake this night, I wish to know, and this little monster called cupid, it lurks under my soul, for it has lost its senses to these spells she uses,
But is her magic limited to the limitless sky, is it responsible for the cold sun, the collapsing skyline, these different shades of darkness and the abrupt rain-showers, is she the reason why people run away from me, Oh, wait! they always do that, who would like to have their obscure imaginations being read and observed by a poet as shitty and a writer as witty as me.
She knows i am awake,
Knows i know what she does, knows that i know why moonlight does not flicker over our stranded selves, abandoned in our own aspirations, why darkness reeks in this midnight, of hopes that haunt my self and i cannot stop shivering,

She looks at me and there is this inescapable infinity of nothingness, I find myself losing in the labyrinth of her love and long for the lonely hand of the clock that chimes and yet no voice comes out. It is still, i shudder in this silence.
The stale blood in my veins bubble as she walks near me with a steady gaze, I wish to redeem my soul from her demons and yet, i don’t , i wish to drown deeper in this treacherous trance and this impossible possibility of our little forever, a mortal and a magician,
Would I survive this?
As our cosmos collides and the empty canvases of our occupied minds blur into togetherness and everything fades away in this magical moment, we burn in passions of love and magic, dark magic, to be exact, plotting together on how to take over the world, But is it not okay?
As we burn together in this,
Together- that’s what should matter,

I am stupefied and the world around me fades, the apocalypse is approaching, i can feel it, the hurricane, the storm, it’s all there, stirring around, inside us, all around.


I wake up the next morning and she isn’t here, or is she?
I am too bewitched for epiphanies, too ecstatic, too lost, but i am alright,

At least, Still a mortal,


Am I?


//Written for a competition, February twenty fourth, Prompt- You realize that your new room-mate practices dark magic, write what happens next.

Thank you, you.

Thank you.
For hiding me in your darkness as I sobbed,
As I realised,
That life is short, perhaps even shorter,
And how unfair it feels,
When we promise these forevers,
Thank you.
For that glass of water, I needed it, so much,
And the ice cream bucket, and the blanket,
As I realised,
That this,
Enterprise we walk on is to end, eventually,
In fire.
That we’ll turn but into a million stars hovering over thousands of others who will feel what we feel now,
That they are special, and everything that’s happening to them is unprecedented and unpredictable, and that they’re going to make it,
Spoiler alert.
Thank you.
For holding my burning passions, for keeping me sane with your cold beams,
As I cough over this breath,
Realising, we live as much as we die,
Thank you,
For being my sole companion this night,
I’ll remember you, and miss you, even as the day dawns and light enters my dilapidated self,
I’ll wait, and live, and die,
For you, with you,

My dear, moon.
Thank you,
I’ll see you around. 🌙

//What really good Netflix movies do to your sane selves, for what it’s worth, go watch irreplaceable you, it’s amazing ♥️