The Month of Love?

“Have you eaten?“

“Text me when you reach home?”

“What are you upto, cutie?”

“Haven’t seen you online in a long while, all okay?”

“Guess what happened today?“

“You’re meeting me this weekend. Period.”

Love resides between the spoken and unspoken

Love survives in all things big and small

Love pushes us and pulls us through

Love teaches us the meaning of life


Pot Pourri

I no longer press flowers between diary pages

Marking important events

To be forgotten for years at end only to fall apart as dust

No, I display dried flowers in vases all around my house

Quite proudly

Wilted and shriveled yet capable of beauty

They no longer need to be locked away

Into secret corners of my memories

And when these flowers start to disintegrate

I turn them into pot pourri instead

Spreading their fragrance anew


The bane of my existence and the sum total of every burning desire. The curse of my sins and the purging of my soul. The depth of my being and the echo of my heart. The best of all seasons and the worst time of the day. The innocent laughter of a child and the intentional deceit of fallible men. The turning of tables and that of the tide. The glistening of morning dew and the shattering of the sea. Living in every moment only to die every night.

What is love, you ask?