Poetry, Quill

Winds Of Change

When I mess up, break down, fall apart.

Winds blowing from a neverland,

Brings tonic to my pains,

A merry to my wounds

Poetry, Quill


And this is where magic happens,

When you start giving a person just enough love,

That they start loving themselves.

Brevity, Quill


My every step is heavy. With every step, I pause and sigh. The pavement beneath my feet is cracked, like my face. The mask has shattered.

With great care, I used to put on a cover on my ugly face. The wrinkles of stress, dark circles of binge watching series, the scars of an accident, the fading marks of my hormonal imbalances, the oodles of fat on my cheeks.  My perfect imperfections were devoured by numerous gazes. Pity, ridicule and guilt, I am no stranger to the consequences of having a horrid face. I put on a mask, a façade on my face every day. I suppress my anger, despair and depression in a plastic smile. My eyes wander around searching for light in this darkness of chaos. Futile.

Alas, the mask shattered and out poured my insecurities. Out came tears of exhaustion. I am tired. I just want to be happy, with my imperfections.

Poetry, Quill

A Longing For Bygone

Could you bring back the summer of 2009,

When life was like a deck of cards,

When I could dance like no one is watching at,

When I was the centre of the world,

When I could laugh hysterically at my own failures,

When I would fight with my best friend just to discuss our improbable dreams the next moment,

When the clouds were mighty ,

and cupcakes frostier,

When I was far from reality,

Yet so close to the birds in the sky,

When life was a place of illusions,

Could you lift this heaviness away?

I want to feel the lovely sunshine of December yet again.

Poetry, Quill

Suburban Dreams

When I’m alone,

Unwanted in this world,

No place to go,

Nothing left to see,

No place for a warm embrace,

Just the flickering light,

Of my memories…

Poetry, Quill


I wonder when my darkness fades,

And the silent night stops whispering,

For it tells me of blood curling tales,

And the lost souls that sat twittering,

The skylark wonders for only a moment,

If the world was mine and mine alone,

In my memories it shall always stay,

For I shall die,

all alone.

Quill, Write Ups


A women in her mid thirties from a well to do family was beaten and thrown out of her house in the middle of the night by her drunk husband with her autistic child. Barefooted she went to her friends house to seek help. Another women was beaten and pushed from 3rd floor of her building by her husband. On being asked why did he do this he replied that no other option was left.

These incidents that occurred in my neighbourhood in the last 2 weeks, disheartens me. I hear a deep scream of a women asking me when did ‘The Man Of The House’ snatched your right to breath? Even after hearing such painstaking words like, “I’ll kill you” “You deserve a life in the sewer” why were the women not able to leave the house that had no respect for her? Why were her parents not saying a word and watching the whole scenario unfold, couldn’t they sense their daughters pain, her sufferings? Why didn’t the women take a stand for herself and for the sake of her child?

And the answers to all these questions lie in how we raise our daughters, telling them at each step to be dependent on their brothers, father, husband. Instilling in her that her parents house is not hers and she will have to leave for another house that she might be able to call her own. Asking her to stay hushed, low gaze and to behave. WHAT WILL THE SOCIETY SAY? (insert mocking laugh)

And being a women, girl, daughter I wish for a world that has respect. A world where were are not dependent on anyone. I wish for a safer world

Brevity, Quill


I wish to smother her sometimes, with the fluffy pillow she sleeps on, peacefully, while I get ready for school. I wish to set her straight with a few slaps now and then, till she learns to respect me. I hate it when Appa sides with her, that devil. She isn’t innocent, but a huge pain. The way she opens her mouth full of half chewed food to talk endlessly and doesn’t need glycerin for fake tears to get things done her way. I am forbidden to hit her and if by mistake, I touch her slightly, she makes a hue and cry. She is growing taller than me. This day should never come in any elder sister’s life. Alas, there I am fat and short, teased by her rants and taunts.

But I love her to the moon and back. After a hectic day, she makes me laugh with her stupidity and sometimes shares chocolate with me, her prized possession. And whenever I look at her, that round and cherub face, I remember the day she was born. I had held her, my baby sister and smiled. She was a perfect twister.

Poetry, Quill


Are we trapped inside our own mind?

Clueless and naïve as we feel

Scared and scarred as we heal

Just we wait to be reunited with our doom

My hands are cold and my mind listless

Waiting for this admonition to pass by

Am I my own worst enemy

Breaking down my nerve

Sulking as it hurts.

Image source-Pinterest
Brevity, Quill

You Are Perfect

Yes, you are perfect just the way you are. Stop wishing you looked like someone else. Stop trying to get attention from those who hurt you. Stop hating your body, your face, your personality, your quirks. Love them without them you wouldn’t be you and why do you want to be someone else. As long as you are comfortable in your skin it’s absolutely okay. Change only when YOU feel it’s necessary. You are the leader of your life. Don’t give the key of your happiness to someone else. Love Yourself.