Do you ever write something so wretchedly personal 
So intimately directed by your subconscious 
That you sit back struggling to quieten
The persistent beating beneath your inked collarbone 
Verses you thought had meanings you’d assigned 
But when in reality they went much deeper 
Tugging at memories that belong in dusty attics
In shoeboxes of photographs and postcards 
Decorative sequins having lost their sheen
You breathe in the scents lurking in the echoes
Textual reminders yearning to hide in your shadows 
These words that initially were meant for an audience 
Will now be held too close to the chest, barred and secured 
Aching with hollowness and mirrored echoes
Put to sleep in their tragic beauty between sheets


2nd anniversary, and getting emotional.


Wow. 25th February. My blog turned two years old today! 😀

Um. I’m not very good at writing normal blog post type of blog posts, where I have to express myself in a non-poetic way. But I’ll say this:

This blog, has been a journey, or should I say, it has been chronicling a journey of sorts. I have grown, as a person, as a writer, poet, and it is only through the pieces arranged so chronologically here, that I can determine the depth of these changes, these transitions. 
I can see, where I faltered and why. The times I posted so much poetry and the months I completely disappeared. 
A kind of journal, a memory of memories with words that induce these emotions and vaguely paint replicas of experiences, in our head. As opposed to our memories that mostly contain images, sounds, and smells. 
And I want to thank the people, all of you, who stop by, and read these pieces. Those few seconds and minutes you take off your time, I can’t return them, but I can only hope, that they’re worth it.
So thank you. 
Some of you I’ve known from the beginning, and I still see you guys around. And it feels great. Thanks for sticking by. 


I’m trying and trying 
To get used to speaking out loud 
But how can I get used to it
When people won’t even
Hear me out

I feel invisible 
In conversations I feel unheard 
My attempts go unnoticed 
As if my words 
I never uttered 

In my solitude 
I read aloud and speak
With freeness 
And hesitation 
Fluency and creaks 

My voice sounds alien 
To ears of my own
My sentences 
Trailing off
Like vehicles 
In search of home

To speak through writing
I’ve gotten used to it so much 
It has been my guide 
To expression
It has been my crutch

This is still new to me
To actually voice my thoughts 
Without commas and quote marks
To phrase a phrase verbally 
To pause and end without dots

As I grow familiar 
To the sound of how I think
Maybe someday 
My voice will travel far
And my words will not sink


A love that existed
Between parentheses

That breathed between 
The pauses of commas

That didn’t end with a period 

Whose continuance wasn’t dependant 
On the urgings of hyphens

A love that wasn’t summarized 
By the beginnings and endings
Suggested by paragraphs 
Too grand to be colloquial

A love cancelled
By discontinued penmanship

A love lost 
To pages misplaced
Letters half written
And misportrayed

A love 
That existed
Between the journey 
Where a page ended
And the next 


Encased within 
A womb of understanding 
Still exploring and discovering 
Questioning motives 
And longevity 
Of the protective walls 
To break or not to break 
And what would it mean 
To hatch
To undertake a new adventure
With new struggles to plough through
Rake up answers 
To find truths
And let seasons be waterfalls 
Of transition
But we’re here
In the fluidity of trust
Pulled by the gravity 
Of believing 
Drifting apart 
Drifting closer 
And we’re here
Veins of thoughts 
Queueing up
To be vocalized
And we’re here 
Our insides 
Frozen with memories 
But we’re here 
By togetherness 
Sustaining off its comfort
And we’re here
By each other’s