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Me the living

Me – the living

Writing for myself Of rivers and sunset Don’t have to worry about my skill set Or how the lines don’t mesh with what people expect.
No likes , no comments , no shares No feedback to feed my ego back No more second hand living It might actually be thrilling
To discover why I really write All over again Writing for an audience since tenth grade Reader is my default Writing not.
Somewhere along the way Eyeballs glazed my edge Was always a cat on the fence Now filled with trepidation to jump in any direction I offer platitudes and bromides In shiny gleaming proses Posing as something else
Content should always trump form But then reality always bites on the backside I can close my eyes and write a poem now No challenge anymore

I need to push myself outside these boundaries Do something different Or something simple Don’t care about the fancy words I use Or the number of lines which might bore or please you I NEED to write for myself and for that This is the First Step.
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Silver Linings

Silver Linings

One good day , One Bad day Arthritic steps slowly crunching on
Best time for silver linings Is when you are blindfolded Trace them through your heart Holding its shattered pieces in place
The hand which holds your hair When you are unloading your stomach out And which holds your hand When you are unloading your heart out.
The voice which might be on a virtual screen Million miles away An emoji in the end  which wipes that tear away.
One good day , One bad day A spring in my step Steadily marching on.


Hi guys! I am finally done with my five year law course. While academically it is a big relief , personally it is taking time to readjust from one home to another. So I start this new innings with a supposed to be simple poem about the same. More inventive stuff for later.

What is the word Bittersweet supposed to even mean? When you like Bitter more than sweet I ain’t no Ayn Rand but I do know when things get out of hand.
The streets of joyous past invite me in my sleep It is all too real now Once it isn’t tangible anymore. I run and run inevitably into the white light Only to wake up sweating underneath the not so noisy fan
All the pent up teardrops Have made me moist from inside. Even removing the corn from my foot Feels like saying bye to an old friend.
It isn’t all doom and gloom There is hope in the horizons still Life just got a whole lot more interesting I could be anything I want Yet I can’t It is the whole balancing act That adulting is all about I feel like Peter Parker with his su…

Little Maryam

Indian fiction seems to be in two ends of a spectrum – One covered by the fancy Salman Rushdies and Vikram Seths of the world who weave magical and complex tales encompassing an astounding breadth of narratives and on the other end we have our humble Chetan Bhagats who write simple stories for the ‘average Indian’. This is actually true for all literary worlds. There is a tendency to look down upon these simple tales , more so if they are ‘love stories’. Given India’s crowded average love stories , I wouldn’t even grudge the critics so harshly.

‘Little Maryam’ on first glance might come off as yet another love story. And believe it or not it is exactly that - but with a small difference. It is good!Like my favourite character McSteamy aka Mark Sloan says to Mcdreamy in Grey's Anatomy  “Cliches became clich├ęs for a reason. Because they worked. It is great isn’t it”
Simple stories written well which make you feel things are the best!
 Revealing anything about this book might come off …

Carpe the frikking diem

Seize the day Every second , every minute Do not let the drowsiness drown you , Let that moment ebb away Before long you will be viewing it from Mount Nostalgia Where powerful telescopic lenses Painfully scrutinise every moment you wasted Till you had no more With the ones you love. Things you took for granted Will be pulled away without ceremony You will be lying on the carpet Rubbing your head Wondering about gravity The day your sun burns no more Sounds like an improbability Beyond your levels of comprehension But it was always right around the corner my friend You’re just driving for the first time Listen to this burned freak and just Seize the day.


Taking a raincheck on one’s feelings Is a recipe for disaster Trying to be strong for both of us Has only made me weaker
World’s greatest armor Is being in disguise Only when the chinks start to show You will know that there is nothing brave inside
So why don’t you pull that veil Make me scream Say those words and Save me too?

Pitch dark

A shadow has crept over my soul Inching through my defences Making me darkness herself I wallow in grief over things lost In the invisible bonfire And try to survive on the warmth of embraces Of kindred spirits Only that it feels like a stranglehold And I push them away with a Weaponized tongue and my newfound strangeness Friends and foes are all the same Only difference is the name. I burn through whatever light I get Worried I might never see again In haste I commit little crimes
And wallow once more again.