There are words

And then there are words

Written to stir souls

Spoken to ignite fires

Resonating with grit

And the force of desires

Some others still

Create lyrical melodies

Their harmonic composition

Curing fearful maladies

And all I can do

Is soak them all in

Read. It’s a good habit, I was told

But I gladly beg to differ here

Do more than read

Feel. Feel the essence of every word

And you’ll be one with the world.


Why a Poet #6

Why do rains always put me in the mood to write?

(Not that I ever need an excuse!)

Probably because they always put me in the mood to read?

There is something to be said about the manner in which, in the middle of a seemingly mundane day, the clouds just burst open with an out pour, making us leave whatever we are doing and take notice. Take notice – and in doing so, get lost in something else entirely. It is like a break from all the pressures, responsibilities and headaches that are part and parcel of our daily lives. A welcome relief. Often, a much-needed respite.

That is how I view literature as. An escape in the midst of life. An escape into something livelier. Something larger than us, larger than life. Away from the din, far from the madding crowd, a world entirely unto itself. Words strung together in stories, reminiscing a plethora of different lives, times and places. Worlds spun into the beautiful rhythms of poetry, a promise of all that could be. Words entwined together in a song, unleashing the music of the soul.

I love dancing in the rain, it makes me live in willful abandon.

I love literature. It sets me free.



Thank you so much everyone for showering so much love on the ‘Why A Poet” series. I am beyond grateful. Looking forward to your views on this piece too. So, please don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comments section down below.

As always, thank you so much for reading!



P.S. – To read the first five features in the “Why a Poet” series, please click on the links below:

  1. Why a Poet

  2. Why a Poet #2

3. Why a Poet #3

4. Why a Poet #4

5. Why a Poet #5


Featured Image


A broken nib.

A torn page,


And crumpled.

Some ink,


Some blobs


Some streaming freely,

Much like the flowing words.

Beginning in a beautiful cursive,

Transitioning to a staggering end.

Trailing off,

Much like the hand that wrote them,

As deep blue

Mingled with strains of red,

Silently screaming

The End.

Words’ Worth

I am scared I would run out of words one day – And the silence would be deafening. I’d look on, struck dumb, while inside me, my blood would be roaring. I’d signal, maybe, with my eyes and my hands, trying to find some coherence, while every nerve on my face will stand on end, threateningly pulsating. My mouth will open – and close – open again – and close – forgetting it’s meaning, it’s purpose, it’s function. A hollow, dank, hole. Like a mine that has collapsed unto itself.
I know you’d try to listen. To understand. And, even, to sympathise. You’d nod, in mock agreement. You’d pacify me with a smile. I’d see it. I’d see it all. And I’ll know. But I won’t be able to refute you, for I will have no voice. Without words.

Without words, I’ll watch you leave and shatter my very world. Without words, I wonder, would my world even be turning?

Hello Fam! The featured image on this post is of a makeshift artisan store in Edinburgh where I found the prettiest lanterns. There’s something about colours and light, reflected against all that’s dark, that draw me to them instantly. This beauty has been one of the takeaways from my recent trip to UK. Just sharing it on here to let you know I remember my promise of posting a travel-log and I intend to keep it. I just haven’t had the time to sort through the hundreds of pictures I took there. After which, I’d have to create posts with literary significance, like some of you suggested. Or better still, come up with poems highlighting the images. So, please bear with me.

How’s the first month of this year been for you? I’d love to hear about it in the comments section down below.

Thank you for reading.



Bleeding Words

She didn’t realise it at first,

The subtle changes in her life.

Then they crept into her writings,

Bleeding out through words.

Only then did she look,

Noticing nuances,

As the fluttering pages of her diary

Told her story,

The journey that she’d traveled

In beautifully crafted metaphors.

From desolation to creation,

From misery to hope

From heartbreak to cherishment,

It was all penned down

Like legendary tales of yore.

How a girl’s path meandered

Through treacherous terrains,

As she tried her best

To maneuver her way

Out of murderous ravines

And unwelcoming valleys

Overcast with dark grey clouds of loss.

How the sun’s rays slivered through

And the birds soared again.

How in the ensuing daylight

She stumbled upon

A young master of all trades

Who’s skilful manning of oars

Cut through the choppy waters

Delivering her ship ashore.

Who then built her a place of shelter

As the storms of her past

Came billowing by and passed.

She emerged unscathed

Thanks to the master of all trades

Who asked for no favour in return.

As she came to this last page,

She closed her eyes and smiled.

For her heart had discovered

That love had crept into her life,

Bleeding out through words.

For more poetry, please click here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

Catch up with me on social media-

All rights to the featured image are reserved. Any unpermitted distribution shall be a violation of copyright.


Another lie,

Another sigh,
Days pass me by,

Yet here still I lie.

You seek refuge 

In empty words

That drain my soul

And burn my spirit.

Your subterfuge and duplicity

I’ve tried to meet

With love and simplicity,

Again and again, but of course, to no avail.

I wonder why,

You don’t just leave,

Why you choose to subject me

To all this grief.

I can see in your eyes

The truths that you hide

My voice dies in my throat

When I try to call you out on them.

Because I then wonder why,

Or what good it’ll do,

Since you’ve made your bed

And are lying in it too.

You’re far beyond

The point of no return.

So carry on, my darling,

Pile on the lies.

I’ll listen to them,

While sipping on my wine,

But I won’t be getting 

My lips wet anymore.

For more poetry, please click  here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

Catch up with me on social media-

Figures of Speech

Speak geek to me,

And see me light up brighter than a Christmas Tree.

Speak nerd to me,

And see me unravel the complexities of this universe.

Speak music to me,

And sway with me till hours are long forgotten.

Speak silence to me,

And see me reverberate in response with profound understanding.

Speak companionship and Commitment to me,

And I’ll show you how pulchritudinous life could be.

Speak sorrow to me,

And see me don a mantle to chase it all away.

Speak fear to me,

And see me sit with you through the darkest of nights.

Speak love to me,

And see me reciprocate in more than equal measure.

Just, speak to me, will you?

For more poetry, click here

Of Words Long Lost

I wrote a poem today which included the word “respair”. This was neither a typo nor something I just made up. It is a word that got lost somewhere along the pages of time. The last known citations for it date back to 1425 AD. For a word that defines the return of hope after a period of despair, it’s been an undeserved and shabby end, don’t you think?
I, for one, have always been fascinated with words. It baffles me that something as full of complexity like feelings can be conveyed through words. We might not be able to find the right word for what we feel at the right time, but there’s comfort in the fact that one certainly does exist. If not in our language then in some other. 

Recently, I even did a short story series that brought to the fore a Welsh word called Hiraeth and another forgotten word called Sonder. Please click on the links provided to read a story conveying the beauty of these two words. 

I am thinking of putting in an attempt to rekindle love for words that have very specific meanings. Not only would they cut down on long ramblings, but will also enrich the beauty of our prose. 

Now, I do not wish to test the might of the wisdom that had gone behind sending these words into oblivion in the first place. However, don’t you feel it’s nice to learn a little something new every other day? So if you’re up for a trip down memory lane of words long lost, give me a thumbs up in the comments section down below. I’ll turn this into a series then, with, of course, stories rather than just an informational like this one.

Just so you know, there’s a German word called ‘Schadenfreude’ which literally means the pleasure derived by someone from another person’s misfortune. These Germans really have a word for everything!

Do let me know if you think the series would be a good thing for you too. Thank you for reading!

In case you want to reach out to me on social media or for any of the reasons mentioned in my about page, I’m always available on the following links:

I choose happiness

They say for the best of writing to flow through you, you have to experience pain. Poetry stems from the misery you’ve endured. This is true more often than not. Even art, music, in short, every kind of beauty seems to be a necessary corollary of pain. This has not only been proven time and time again but has been hailed as one of the fundamental truths of life.

Yet, no one talks about how difficult a place it is to be in. How difficult a choice it is, when you’re caught between the two things you love the most. One that has been your respite from the drudgery of life and the other that is a newcomer that’s got you brimming with hope.  That ever elusive, hopelessly dead hope that you’d given up all thoughts of achieving.

I’ll stop being cryptic now. What I’m talking about is the love for writing and happiness, the two things that matter most. I agree, I’ve always been best tempted to write when I’m down in the dumps. I’ve produced the most cathartic of content when my heart and soul have been aching. However, I’m tired of the misery.

People, since time immemorial, have romanticized the idea of pain by putting on blinders and seeing only the end result, the beautiful mess that comes out of it. They ignore the blood and tears that have been poured into it.

So, I’ve decided to allow myself to be happy, even at the cost of abandoning my oldest ally. I have decided to ditch the despondency, even if it means I’ll never pick up the pen again. Because what happiness has shown me is that if it’s meant to be, it’ll come to me. It’ll come back to me. It’ll celebrate my happiness with me very much like it alleviated my pain.

They say if you love something, set it free. My darling words, I’m setting you free. I hope you can be there through my joys, not just my miseries.