You know how I was ripped to pieces,

when you left?

Let me tell you the tale of embroidery.


Once upon a sorrowful existence,

an existence that witnessed the presence

of your love

only to later bear somehow with the absence of it,

I decided to never let another soul,

another’s inside come even as near as to touch my outside,

I decided to never let another soul touch even my skin.


Once upon a sorrowful existence,

watching your footprints lead, and leave, into the horizon,

my psyche deconstructed into pieces with fraying edges,

as if your love was an unseen strength that fabricated

my entire existence.

Of course my thoughts were bound by cowardice,

I couldn’t afford to be reduced to shreds.


Once upon a sorrowful existence,

I told myself I couldn’t deal with being walked in on, and walked out of,


Apparently, upon the same sorrowful existence,

I also realized that a ripped cloth

could only be sewed

if it’s brave enough to withstand the piercing of a needle,

inside, outside, and

through its weaves.


So then, upon a transitional existence,

I let them in, the masses, with their threads of colors

that my mind didn’t even know how to procure,

and I let them go, leaving behind little stitches,

till the pieces of

my inner self

were no longer hanging off the edges of my bed.


And now, upon this gorgeous existence,

I take the needle in my hand and etch upon my skin, the story of my existence – the tale of



Too Brave to Burn

If fire could crash upon land like waves do –

It is her, and only her, who could conjure

and dismiss the blaze

as if it were a mere symphony.

It is she, and only she, who could walk

barefoot on the seashore

as if it wasn’t smitten with destruction.

Only her, who could stand

unfaltered with singed toes

as if the flames had left love bites.

Only she, who could gaze

at the tempestuous flickering

as if it resembled twilight-ish hues.

If fire could rise and fall like tides do –

She was the only one brave enough to still love the ocean,

for her body knew soot better than a cremated corpse,

and her heart beat at the rate of a hundred explosions a minute.




I lost you years ago.

Then why do I find you every day?

Everything that we knew, together, has changed. Everything we touched, everything we saw, everything we learnt – it has all changed. The television we saw films on, and the films themselves, the walls that witnessed our fondest memories, the water in which we first learnt how to swim, and the swings in our garden, nothing is the same anymore. And yet, nothing is different either.

The huge, bulky television became a sleek screen, but it serves the same purpose.

The films almost look real now, but they’re just as magical.

The walls got painted over and over, but they are still walls.

The water does change from time to time, but the sound of splashes remains unvaried.

The swings did get evicted, but only to be replaced with better ones, more fun ones.

Nothing has changed, it has all only evolved, and love, these are the kind of differences that can be cast into similarities.

I know I haven’t known you in years, but I have known the concept of you all along, and the concepts – they never change.

You will always remain the sea green in a sea of blue and I will always remain the purple in all the shades of pink.

And that’s how I find you, every single day of every single week, for the past eight years, and I know that when you find me, it will all be different, it will all be the same, and it will all be better.

A Glower

When she’s happy,

she radiates

with millions of hallows

encircling her around

the waist.

She becomes luminous,

bright eyed,

the kind of bonfire

the darkest darkness

cannot hide.

You were naive

eyes shut

her joy blinded you,

so she put out the fire in

her gut.

Now all you

could see

was something for which

you chose not to stay –

her normality.

And she felt

so undesired

she decided no man

could ever be worth

her fire.

And now she laughs, fidgeting with splinters,

lighting up even the mightiest of extinguishers.

For Everyone Who’s Been Through Bad Times

It doesn’t matter if you are 12, or if you are 34. Heartbreak happens whenever. Don’t listen to them when they tell you that you’re too young to know about love, or pain, because you know something right now and that ‘something’ would be your everything if you were to die tomorrow. I’ve seen 50 year old people getting their chests ripped open and their hearts squished to pulp and so they would never consider your agony painful enough, but it is. It’s sad that people measure pain. It’s sad that humans have to assign quantities to abstractness, but what’s happy without sad?

The point is, what you feel right now is absolute destruction. Infinite emptiness. You don’t want to do anything, or meet anyone. You’re hungry but you don’t want to eat. It’s one of the hardest days for your body because it’s trying its best to keep you alive. Your heart, even though it’s ripped to shreds and residing at the pit of your stomach, is trying to pump blood through every vein you’ve tried to cut. Your lungs, the ones that are now dyed black from the smoke of every cigarette you’ve ever lit, are still struggling to make you breathe between your muffled sobs.

What does this tell you?

You might not believe it, but your body knows when it’s time for the full stop. That’s why some people survive the most fatal of diseases, and some people die of the most harmless of reasons. If it’s supposed to continue, the body will accept the help of a tiny pill, and if it’s not, it will reject a bypass surgery. That’s why miracles happen, because our bodies don’t give up until they’re supposed to.

I’ll be honest, life gets worse. I felt terrorizing pain when I was 12, and I got over it. Now I’m 16, and I feel way worse. I feel numb. But I’m glad I didn’t give up when I was 12, because that pain was not worth it. And I know this pain that I feel now, isn’t worth it either.

Your greatest fears of today, will be your ‘better times’ tomorrow, I promise you.

Life can only get worse once it gets better, and trust me, the worst can’t ever be worth death, but the slightest better is always going to be worth life.

You’re still alive, if you’re reading this. And that means it’s not the end. And it’s not going to be the end until it’s the end. I won’t tell you to be happy, because I struggle with it just as much, but I know that you will be. One day.

And that day, you will not regret it – you will no longer regret life.

Wishes Come True

I wished upon a star

to make me beautiful,

but I woke up in the morning

looking just the way I do.

I put myself together, wondering if wishes ever come true.

That morning, I smiled

at every stranger I saw

and of the things I got back

smiles weren’t all.

I grinned at the world; it looked back at me with awe.

That afternoon, I danced

in the middle of the street

and fell down, just so the man in the wheelchair

wouldn’t feel as weak.

I never felt happier before, while scraping my knees.

That night, I didn’t drink

and not a single cigarette

did I light up, for I was too drunk,

too high on happiness.

And for the first time in years, I slept without regret.

My wish had come true, for my soul had become pretty,

and that day I realized, mirrors are far too lifeless to recognize beauty.

The Transgender

His soul had darkened over the ages, so much so, it was now black. Pitch black.

And then he found her. She gathered all his thoughts, brought all his emotions to the surface, and brushed the dust off his long forgotten memories. She then took this stardust and fathomed it into a nebula. Constantly stirring all pieces of his life together, she gave birth to a tiny ball of light. She kept creating stars until there was an entire galaxy rushing down his spine. Parallel universes coursed through his veins and his wounds now oozed the brilliance of infinite light.

He found her in himself and glimmering, he walked out of the closet.