Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix

Part 3

Once in a while, you lose your vision and gain something far more important.

You gain the sight to see the galaxies that cover up your skin, that speak highly of how much you need to care about yourself, of how often you need to see yourself and remind yourself that you are enough.

The scent of the colours that damage your skin doesn’t define you, it guides you.

It guides you through a journey that is worth a billion years of darkness just to realize the importance of light.

The journey ends when you find your scent, when you don’t need to see galaxies in your body to know you are extraordinary.

It ends when you know you are extraordinary.

And just like that, you kiss your wounds and thank your crazed up mind for creating something so harmful that it cures because damage sure does bring happiness, doesn’t it?

Poetry, Quill

From Oblivion

Awake that night
I could hear my heart, beat
Awake that night
I could see my dreams, betide
Awake that night
I could feel my spirit, await

That night was what, I was.

Awake tonight
I can feel my heart’s, glee
Awake tonight
I can see my dream, become a reality
Awake tonight
I can hear my spirit’s, revelry

Tonight is what, I will be.

Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix


Every once in a while, your hands are not yours anymore.

They belong to the infinites of the sky that seem so close but are so far.

The colours; that speak of crimes; seem to pleasantly spread across your hands.

And voluntary actions change into involuntary sensations.

The colours on your hands caress the colours of the vibrant sun.

The soft touches of its rays burn into your timid hands and you feel alive.

It is a mystery worth a million years of experiencing burns on every inch of your colourful and soft skin, isn’t it?

How can damage bring happiness?

Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix

Part 1

Every once in a while, your skin doesn’t feel the same anymore,

When you feel the cracks of your unending skin widening and the colors that fill you up exploding

And you bathe in the dripping insanity of those colours that violate the innocence of your skin.

These colours hurt the skin that hurt your soul.

These colours make you feel safe even if the sense of calm and peace is a far-fetched idea.

It is a mystery worth drowning a billion years in the suffocating thick shallows of these colours that make you up, isn’t it?

How can damage bring happiness?

Poetry, Quill


I am a piece of everything

A ray of sunshine on the first day of spring

A note from the song the nightingale sings.

I breathe with liberty

In the space’s infinity

I am, a flake of divinity.

A drop of the ocean

Filled with emotion

A shard, of selfless devotion.

Yet, I do not belong to anybody

I am my own

Always was

Always will be

But still, a piece of everything.



My skin weathers away into dust;

Scarlet with the blood of thirsty nomads

Quill, Write Ups

About Reading And Books

To be very honest my reading style is a little (read: very) complex. Although I read almost every book I come across, only a few stay with me for a long time. I love to read fictions first of all, fictions that are set in indian contexts are perfect but in that too I can’t stand Chetan Bhagat novels (although I am guilty of reading them too). I guess I like books that have a certain connect in them, that are relatable to the real life. I completely adore the writing style of Ruskin Bond, the way he describes a situation or a context is like you can imagine the scene right in front of you. I have ‘Ruskin Bond Children Omnibus’ which I got in class 5th and I have read and re-read it. ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ is another one that is so simple yet so beautiful. How can I forget R.K Narayan, I have his ‘Swami And Friends’ by heart now and the Malgudi Days (though I lost the hard copy of this one) too. Then Short Stories by Gulzar, ‘Lamb To My Slaughter’ by Roald Dahl are a few of others that I enjoyed reading. Overall I think if you describe the Indian streets and bazaars beautifully and are able to paint a scene with your words, you’ll be my favorite author/book.



Sometimes you don’t what you’re feeling,
Sometimes you don’t know what to say,
Sometimes it feels as if darkness is engulfing you,
You’re tired of making people stay,
You’re tired of people walking out,
You show that it doesn’t affect you who’s there and who’s not,
but when it really does,
You just want someone to understand what you’re trying to say,
You want someone to value your presence,
And for once,
Just for once,
You want someone to be scared with the thought of you walking out of their life.


“Within and without”

Worshipped the tyrants: all too many, all at once,
Kissed the inferno, and got their faces burnt,
Besmirching humanity,
The posterity was in death’s eternal cold,
Thorny lips, dripping honey.

Quill, Write Ups

Unanswered Questions

Unlike the questions which have a definite, set answer, you my dear, are a mix of uncertainty, unpredictability. And of course, the guts I require to face you…phewww….. The questions left unanswered, on my blank answer sheet, on my text to him, in the eyes of my bestfriend, you always, always invoke a sense of guilt and repentance. A ‘what if?’  A never ending quest to find a answer, and running away from it at the same time. My dear, unanswered questions, you are a source of constant turmoil and an answer in yourself!!!

IDK if this makes sense or not