That cold afternoon, when you sat

Still on your rocking chair, talking

To your mother who called

To share that she felt alone in

Her house amidst family,

I stood as a spectator that day,

Amongst many others passing by,

Lost in the ballads of your strength

You string to resurrect those you love.

While fools walked past in awe

Of your wisdom, I took a step closer and

Stood observing your finger scraping off

A worn off skin around your thumb and

Your feet tapping the ground rapidly

In an asynchronous rhythm for you

Wished to tell her that your bones felt

Empty and you’re getting through days

On spilled glasses of spirit, yet not a quaver

Of weakness in your voice for it

Was not your moment, you never let it be.

I stood afar patiently, curious, only

To realise that your resilience is the

First layer they see with a naked eye, mere

One percent of the real volume, much

Like Earth itself.

My love, what I’d give to reach the fire within.


Take a glance over the next

Draft of your life plan in your hand,

Having well defined chapters on

Stability, money, and love.

I couldn’t help but notice

You still clock your year around

Her birthday, just to hear her

Smile; that’s the one day a year

You fool yourself think that that’s

The only day all year long you

Remembered to still love her as

You did three years back.

You’re getting lost in your own

Fables you tell yourself keep

Up with what’s expected of you,

because you owe it to the nine steps

You’ve trembled forward on.

Take a step backwards for a moment.

Lock your draft in a closet,

Give a chance to life to

Improvise your story.

Be patient.

Be kind to yourself, your heart is

Its only kind, my love,

Just like you.


The sunny afternoon on a

Highway, waiting for an unscheduled

Bus to unexplored destinations,

The time you pulled me close

Under the night sky, in a suit, and

Traced the crease of my dress to dance

With me to my favourite song, or

The rhymes of your laugh in

A hotel bathroom, used roach(s)

On the sink slab, and a

Full stomach of

Umpteen joy in range of emotions

You gave birth to this year but

I know not how to name.

I thank you for all

That and all that I’m incapable of

Putting into words.

So so much.


On that Monday when you’re strong enough

To walk away from

The concoction of past voices on repeat

In your head, on that Tuesday

Where you’re pulling yourself

Out of doubt yet somehow

Only end up drowning deeper,

On Wednesday when you’re bold enough

To stomp on the mirage of self loath,

Yet until Friday your chest seems to

Shrivel into a grain up your throat

While your hand shivers, loosens grip,

And you feel the free fall whilst sitting

In one place, motionless,

on that Friday and all those days

You flip the pages of your mind and heart,

Just don’t forget to



You’re trying

To find home in cities,

In familiar strangers,

Waiting for them to hold

Out a hand, walk with you

Through a night everyday since

Darkness has become your

Den away from sunrise,

Giving you an excuse to stay close

To the night skies, since you turn your

Back to the sun,

If that’s what you’re looking for,

An escape to stick on your baggage.

Instead, try laying out the stones

Over your sack of self pity,

Walk towards the pillar of self love,

Setting up the bricks

For yourself,

By yourself.


Gone are those days when

Beauty and grace were

Associated with a

Damsel in bloody distress.

Ask me and I’ll draw you a human

In whom resides the resilience

Of a thousand page book you dare

Not step on, with lips

Dripping of the urgency to

Make sense not sound. I’ll trace

The body with luscious curves

And hands with the madness

To spray their name all across town.

You’ll see her feet,

Taking every step with grace to

Put the rose bouquet you bought

To impress her, to shame.

You’ll see eyes of fire and

A heart of gold.

Honey, don’t bother making sense

Of this painting, just sit back

And appreciate art,

Appreciate your women.


When your old man starts

Laying out brick roads for you

Before you learn how to walk

(As he wants you to live

In a two storey one day),

Or when your mother

Reminds you constantly what she

Sacrificed to raise you to stand

Tall (yet somehow I always see you

With your eyes low),

That dagger they kept to

Your chest for your protection,

Slowly starts to suffocate you

And you feel the need to scream,

Something inside you constantly

Asking you to walk away because

Walking on rose petals would atleast

Not wear off your soul.

Walk away, for that

Voice inside knocking

On the hills of expectations

Thrown on you, begging to be echoed.

Do you hear it?



The one it may concern:

I may not foresee our

Paths being the same,

Or compare my hurdles,

On this way, to those you

Will have to cross.

I cannot not promise to be

In familiar vicinities,

Or play the games you do

With you.

But, love,

Our distance doesn’t measure

In metrics.

It does in the line of twinkling

Stars on our dark nights, as I sit

On grass and gravel under the sky

In some abandoned village because

I lost my way to the destination, and

You in yours, for

The stars are all the same

From where you lay, and I.

Hence, I muster the courage and ask

Of you patience, love, and trust,

As with the turning pages,

And tossing away of calendars,

we’ll wake up one day

With each rising sun

In our home,

Until the end.