Thursday, October 16, 2008

Dance Alone

(Written November 17, 2007, at age 20.)

i close my eyes and concentrate,
and listen intently for the slightest sob;
when i start to sense a rising weight,
i feel desperately for any beat or throb.
do i still call it a heart romancing,
or a heavy stone?

in finding failure on every course,
and letting tears openly flow;
in realizing in me a deep remorse,
and accepting my sorrow,
have i shrunk to self-lancing,
or have i so grown?

standing with a smile in a crowded lair,
each familiar face a single blink,
my favourite song pounding through the air,
the phony curve of my lips makes me think:
is the dance really worth dancing,
if i dance alone?


(Written October 4th, 2007, at age 20.)

where are you?
i sit here and wonder,
where are you?
i need you to come,
come to me,
and explain.
explain what is happening.
i miss you.
that's fine.
but everything i wanted,
everything i wanted with you,
is right in front of me.
but nothing feels right.
nothing feels
the way it was supposed to.
what is happening?
i need you to explain.
where are you?
and explain.
this mystery of life
baffles me so -
why i feel this way,
would you happen to know?

come, come back,
and explain to me
what i'm feeling
what it is i see.

it's all in front of me,
that i once wanted with you.
i just have to consent,
that's all i have to do.

but none of it feels right,
the way it's supposed to.
is it just because
it's not with you?

all the situations we
imagined being together in
i have them now
all around me they've been

the hours spent
at a stretch,
the study, the play,
the bliss, the wretch.

it's all here,
around me, waiting.
and i'm unmoved,
not loving, but hating.

none of it means
anything at all.
it doesn't feel big,
it feels strangely small.

is it all just because,
you're not the one it's with?
at the end of it all,
is that the pith?

if that's the case,
why aren't you here?
why are you so far?
and nowhere near?

come back,
and be the one
with whom these moments
don't come undone.

Across Empty Rooms

(Written September 23, 2007, at age 20.)

across empty rooms
you sit
to my faceless expressions.
in a world
so much your own.
i am a stranger.

across empty rooms
you (don't) speak
to me
through the clattering of your keyboard.
your conversation
with someone else.
i am an outsider.

across empty rooms
i pretend
to be just as unaware.

across empty rooms
i try
not to wish
(for more).

across empty rooms
i fear
the echo of my pounding heart will be heard.

across empty rooms
i want you to want me more.

my eyes fill with more than they see,
across empty rooms.

Were You to Ever

(Written September 16, 2007, at age 20.)

were you to ever close your eyes
what do you reckon you would see?
would it be just one person or many?
would any of them be me?

were you to ever purse your lips
what do you think you might feel?
would they tremble with unspoken thoughts?
would they remember me with tepid appeal?

were you to ever be close to me
what do you imagine the moment would hold?
would it offer us a second chance?
would you believe and cross love's threshold?

I Refuse to Accept

(Written September 6, 2007, at age 20.)

i refuse to accept the passage of time,
as i sit here today, now, you are me

and like the road before me
that dips, then disappears into the darkness
our present dips, and our future disappears

but our past is as vivid
as the meaningless reality that fills my eyes

will you ever remember who i am?

Who Are You?

(Written September 6, 2007, at age 20.)

who are you?

there, behind the silhouette of those mountains,
here, in the touch of my leather purse,
whispering through the raspy voice of Floyd,
walling me off from my friends around me,
who are you?

hanging, patronizingly in my long earrings,
brushing against my neck,
draped carelessly in my new dress,
cutting boldly down and hugging my breasts,
who are you?

with your hand clutched around my heart,
not the slightest bit tight, not a tad too loose,
refusing to let me be whole,
cradling me in incompleteness,
who are you?

sucking viciously at my throat,
taking each breath out of me,
making me live on the air you spare,
puncturing my lungs with your teeth,
who are you?

binding me with the sandal straps on my feet,
throbbing in the restricted blood in my toes,
reaching through my necklace into my cleavage,
cold, beautiful, between my breasts,
who are you?

making me someone other than who i and others know as me,
strumming every guitar note i hear,
here, so close, behind my eyes, watching me from the inside,
there, so far, in the nonchalant sky, ignoring me,
who are you?

Kaash Zindagi Maut Hoti

(Written at age 20.)

kaash zindagi maut hoti
kaash aaj meri maut ki chaut hoti
shaayad kuch aankhon mein aansoo hote
shaayad aaj maut ki saut hoti
shaayad aaj koi mujhe pukaarta
shaayad aaj main laut aati
shaayad aaj dil behel jaata
shaayad aaj main vaapis na jaati
shaayad aaj phir tumhaari yaad bulaati
shaayad naach uthti phir main aaj
shaayad aaj phir tumhe soch
bhool jaati main har laaj
shaayad aaj kuch machal jaata
shaayad aaj koi khwaahish jagti
shaayad aaj jeene ki ichha hoti
shaayad aaj maut buri lagti

(For Bugaboo)

(Written at age 20.)

ai humesha hansne waale
kabhi do boond aansoo girne de
zindagi ke husn pe kabhi
haqeeqat ka haath bhi phirne de

jab gire aankhon se aanso
yeh dekh kitne hain sametne vaale
jab aankhein kamzor hone lagein
dekh kitne nazar bhetne vaale

see not the weakness
but the strength in tears
for they stay not silent
but declare your fears

khaamosh si yeh os
tumhaare kaale patton par
kyon kare geela vaar
hum sookhe nihatthon par

poocho is paani se
kis nadi se aaya hai
kyon nadi ko akela chhod
tumhaari aankhon se lag aaya hai

apni kavita se baahar nikal
aur meri kavita me aake bas
khud ko dekh yahan se tu
ek nahin dil dikhenge dus

jise beemaari kehte ho tum
samjho woh kaisa hai ilaaj
jo socha na tha kal tak tumne
dekho woh socha hai aaj

My Last Breath

(Written at age 20.)

and i willingly sigh my last breath away
as i remember your grip, your kiss, your sway.
in infinite moments of muffled thought
i am torn between words i borrowed and those i bought.

How Many

(Written August 27, 2007 at age 20.)

how many times can a heart break
before it refuses to join?
how many different laments
can a crying heart coin?

Tere Jaane Ko

(Written July 29, 2007, at age 20.)

tere jaane ko kya sitam kahein hum
tu nahin par teri saari yaadein humaari hain
teri soch har pal meri khoobsoorti badhaaye
teri har soch hi itni pyaari hai

Aasmaan Bhi Neela

(Written July 29, 2007, at age 20.)

aasmaan bhi neela hone se inkaar karta hai
ab to is khaar laal ambar ke neeche jeete hain hum
humaari baahein jo tumne yun sooni kar di
apne bistar par teri yaadein seete hain hum

Dosti Ke Hone Ko

(Written July 29, 2007, at age 20.)

dosti ke hone ko maanne lagi hoon main
ek ajnabi chehre ko pehchaanne lagi hoon main
woh chhip chhip ke to taake mujhe
par uske chehre ki lakeeron ko jaanne lagi hoon main

Teri Aankhon Mein

(Written July 29, 2007, at age 20.)

teri aankhon mein rehti hai meri har udaasi
tu khole to yeh naye nazraane paayein
tu moonde to tere dhyaan mein ghulein
tu jhapke to teri palkhon se dhul jaayein

Lovers' Love

(Written July 29, 2007, at age 20.)

Beneath skies so blue and clouds so white,
Trees so green stand and fight
Against the probing eye of passers by.
The winds sigh, and the grasses cry.

Mangled limbs reflected in windows;
Warm hands and curled toes;
Eyes as wide as the skies above;
Looking for lovers, or looking for love?

Roads stretch their unwieldy blacks.
Hands crawl up shapely backs,
Skin meets skin in careless caress,
Reasons blur as bodies press.

Infinite broccoli heads of trees stand guard
Over tombs silent, grey and hard.
Yellow flowers try to make them smile
In blooming grace and brightly style.

Vacuous Whole

(Written July 22, 2007, at age 20.)

That solitary star in the sky
Watches me like your weary eye.
My lonely flesh burns and blushes;
The forbidden blood rises and rushes.

Stunned at the power your memory holds,
Morphing within its myriad folds,
I feel alive in the surging pain,
More alive than I ever will again.

The dark shadows of looming clouds
Swallow me whole, leaving no doubt:
That without you I am void of soul,
I am naught but vacuous whole.

Ramble in Upson

(Written May 2007, at age 20.)

There are moments in life when your heart feels so heavy, you can hardly move. Even the strength to walk down a set of strairs seems like too much for life to demand.

There is a pain so real, so palpable, and so agonizing, that it is a wonder the people around you are not on the floor writhing.

Time feels like an unbearably huge price to pay for life.
And life too small a price for death.

And death.
Seem impossibly one.
And yet so, so , so very distinct.

You have to ask - why?
Why must I have the capacity to think?
And such a tremendous capacity at that.

The sheer depth of your potential is tragic,
because life will never let you achieve it.

You will never let you achieve it.

The mirror threatens to crack at beauty it cannot contain.

You threaten to crack.

Life is not so much a series of disappointments as it is a series of apologies - for being incapable of fulfilling the very capabilities it endows.

The numbness of your fingers, your toes, your arms, your legs, indeed any part of you that you become aware of. Except your heart. You feel it beat relentlessly, definatly. It thuds and pounds, and the cavity in your chest begs it to stop. It cannot handle the rhythm, the resonance, the rebellious red.

The life force is crushing.

The inevitability of pain laughs while you wince and contort.

Your body winces.
Your person contorts.

You feel different parts of your person bending, twisting, trying to ease the pain, to a find a less painful position.

But the only thing that happens is that the bending and twisting make you feel. Feel something. And feeling anything, anything at all, that...that is the end of you.

You crave a self-induced parallysis, a moment of release.
A moment of physical pain perhaps?

You crumble in a heap of life.

You wish corpses would walk by and slowly suck it out of you.
So you can savour the process of ceasing.

The mere process of thought - so ingrained in life - makes life unliveable.

The desire of illusional reality.
The desire of fog.
The desire of finding something to touch in empty air.
The desire to feel alive at the sense of touch.
The warmth of another body.
The reality of another body.
The be found.

The fluidity of movement.
The sensitivity of touch.
The sweetness of sound.
The thrill of taste.

The loneliness.
The solitude.
The oneness.
The moment of writing this.

The anticipation of finding more in life.

The aversion of eyes to light...
What bigger rejection of life can there be?

I feel darkness, I sense it, I feel it with bare fingers in the day all around me. But my eyes, they betray me.
And what looms in the darkness?

What is the worth of a person?
What are the lines?
What sits in the pit of my hollow stomach and howls in such pain? Its screams reach my throat and paralyze it.

It isn't that I don't know who I am.
It is that I do.
It is that given I know who I am, how do I reconcile with the shortcomings of life? The largeness of me that life does not have the capability to fill?

The singlemindedness...the beautiful, pathetic, unending, singlemindedness.

The floating.
The inability to cry.
The fear of sacrilege against me.
By me.
The surrender.
The blurred vision.
The punishment.

The incredulousness of the blood in my veins.
The resistance of the thoughts in my mind.
The grief of the tears in my throat.
The lack of choice of the motion in my fingers.

The waiting... to burst forth from my cocoon.

The fallacy of logic.
The existence of non-existence.

When the anticipation of what will relieve fear is so fearful, that fear is scared away...


Illusions innumerable.


(Written April 2007, at age 20.)

mere maun labon ke aage tham gayi teri zubaan
mere toote dil ko dekh sharma gayi teri muskaan

meri band aankhon mein jhaanke teri jo utaavli nazar
chaunk gayi, ruk gayi woh, paaye jo ashq-e-nishaan

dharti ko cheer gayi meri zinda kabr ki gehraayiaan
sajde kare usmein teri rooh ka khula aasmaan

do palon ke beech meri kahani shuroo aur khatm
kya mahtamm manaaye meri maut ka teri sadiyon ki daastaan

teri madira se "mohit" saansein kuch meethi lageen
meri hayaat-e-ghurbat-e-ishq ki hui ek mushqil aasaan

Am I Still

(Written at age 19.)

am i still beautiful
when i take my earrings off?
and when tears
the mascara under my eyes?
and when my bra isn't lacy?

and am i still strong
when i cry like a baby?
and when i stop in stunned fear
of what awaits silently ahead?
and when i want to give up
to figure out
what i should do?

am i still alive
when i want my heart to stop
and when i feel my insides
melt in deathly shame?

Teri Aankhon Ki

(Written at age 19.)

teri aankhon ki bujhti lau mein
ek talab si jaari hai
kya sazaa ho in haathon ki
jinhone apni khushi khud hi maari hai


(Written at age 19.)

So sassy your sudden seance-like serenity,
I smile at your salty skin.
Simmering under sulking surfaces of sanguinity,
Sighs our strength as several songs spin.

Parking Lot

(Written at age 19.)

Standing in a grey parking lot,
Staring through my reflection in a dark window,
Where lazy drops form arboreal streams.
My shoulders squared,
My breasts huffed.
Few strands of hair riding the air above my face.
Hands clasped behind my hip,
Feeling nothing but the arch of my lower back,
Call for you.

Tell Me (2)

(Written at age 19.)

tell me your cure for a broken heart,
tell me how to end the perfect start,
tell me the words to say in my head,
to understand why i'm alone in bed.

tell me your drug for the blinding pain,
tell me how not to miss the rain,
tell me the song to sing in my mind,
to understand why it's you i can't find.

tell me your remedy for a hopeful soul,
tell me how not to wish to be whole,
tell me the reality to live in my imagination,
to understand why you are my salvation.

Would You

(Written August 2006, at age 19.)

would you take if you couldn't keep?
would you kiss if you couldn't speak?
would you smile if you couldn't cry?
would you live if you couldn't die?
and would you look at me the same way
if nothing ever happened that day?
would you fingers still search for mine
when you drive that corolla, every damn time?
would your hands grope your empty sheet
hoping to find mine, hoping to meet?
would your bed always be bland to taste
without my skin, my hair, my bare waist?
tell me, would you still blink if you couldn't see?
and would you ever again trust in me?
would you sigh if you couldn't love?
would you ever believe my faith is enough?
would you touch the corners of my lips?
would you talk to me about taking long trips?
would you touch my breast and touch my heart
if i told you we will never part?
would you hold me close to you
if i promised you my deepest blue?

Beat Like This

(Written June 2006, at age 19.)

life was a path of certain uncertainties,
an incessant struggle to rightly please;
a determination of hardened morals;
and a collection of tangible laurels.
achievement, indeed, felt like bliss,
before i knew a heart could beat like this

company was so greatly cherished;
conversation knowingly embellished;
bonds anew were sought and weighed;
trifles into troubles constantly made.
i believed in love and i felt amiss
before i knew a heart could beat like this

i was oblivious: that one person could steal my eyes,
conquer my mind, my heart, my sighs;
that someone could show me i was so much more
than i ever thought i could truly know.
i didn't know just what i would miss
if you didn't show me a heart could beat like this.

you brought so much beauty to me
you brought music to its melody
you are my trust, my eternal hope,
you are my will to love, my hero.
you so perfectly fill every abyss -
you, that makes my heart beat like this.


(Written at age 19.)

when the reds and the yellows foolishly mingle,
and sacred oranges emerge,
the greens look sheepishly away,
and blues begin to surge.

deep purples peep meekly out,
amidst suffocating aged lavenders.
the golds burn and melt the remaining yellows,
and become rabid scavengers.

the whites forever fade away
infintely behind darker greys,
which themselves thicken to brilliant blacks
and eavesdrop on their unsung praise

parched browns await unblinkingly
for the quenching of their silver blade
and the saffons conspire with crimsons
as sparkling blues begin to pervade


(Written at age 19.)

dig a little scar into my bed
shoot bullet holes in my frowning back
blur the tiny whispers of smiles
that onto my lips sneakily attack

bore needles into my sleepy eyes
pluck the nails off my fingers
douse in thick red the weary happiness
that in my chest wondrously lingers

call blasphemy on its outrageous charge
shine a light in its guilty face
cut slits in its delicate wrist
until it vanishes in promised grace


(Written April 11, 2006, at age 19.)

wish me when the clock strikes twelve
kiss me with your furry lips
look at me with your beady black eyes
fit nicely between my fingertips
nuzzle my nose with your soft one
bring back memories naked and bare
fill the space your giver left
love me tonight, my poochie bear

Tell Me (1)

(Written March 2006, at age 18.)

tell me baby that when times are rough
and when things at home go sour and bad
you don't feel a little lonely
you don't go back to conversations we had

tell me that when you go to sleep
you don't feel my mouth on your lips
you don't feel my body rustle beside yours
you don't feel my arms around your hips

tell me that when you see your bed
i'm not lying half-dressed across its grace
you don't feel me pull you down
roll over, and let my hair fall over your face

tell me that every time you drive
you don't miss all the "slow down"s i said
you don't miss my fingers tugging at your hand
you don't miss the kiss at every red

tell me that every time you see your reflection
the colours in your eyes don't remind you
of me falling in love with them
of sinking in them, through and through

i know i made a mistake, baby
bigger than any you ever made
you know i'd undo it if i could
but that's already sealed in my fate

i'm sorrier than you'll ever know
that i ever caused you a moment of pain
but baby you mean the world to me
come back and keep me from going insane

otherwise tell me baby, just tell me now
that you're truly happier without me
that you can see yourself with someone else
that you'll find love truer than me

i can't promise i'll give up hope
but it'll make me smile anyway
to see you happy and satisfied
just what you deserve, in every way

it'll make me smile anyway
when i think of the times we've shared
you can't take back what you've already given
the times that you have really cared

but first darling just tell me
that it isn't my skin you remember
that it ain't my body, my lips, my hair,
that we aren't meant to be together

My Man

(Written March 2006, at age 18.)

walk beside me, my rain man,
hold your umbrella above my head,
drench me, instead, by touching me,
soak me along the paths we tread.

walk beside me, my sun man,
hold up a shade to my face,
brighten me, instead, by looking in my eyes,
light my heart up in every place.

walk beside me, my wind man,
hold a screen in front of me,
calm me, instead, with your whispers,
invigorate me as much as can be.

walk beside me, my invisible man,
hold my hand and never let go of it,
come so close we become one,
make me believe that you exist.

The Beauty of Your Eyes

(Written January 5, 2006, at age 18.)

I believe in the beauty of your eyes,
I believe in hesitant truths more than fervent lies,
I believe in stubbornness, and the occasional compromise,
I believe in the wind when a bird flies,
I believe in a struggle when someone tries,
I believe in the wit of the wise,
I believe in sometimes hiding in disguise,
I believe in the rigid's demise,
I believe in the blackness of stormy skies,
I believe in life when someone dies,
I believe, foolishly, in love's guise,
I believe in you in handsome ties,
But most of all
I believe in the beauty of your eyes.

Walk Home

(Written September 9, 2005, at age 18.)

there are these moments
which seem to be born from an infinitesimal particle
in your heart
and which grow
and encompass your heart
and expand
into all that is
around you.
the ground that you walk on
is like mush,
the air you attempt to tread,
like thick batter.
you feel your stomach
you haven't eaten in over 18 hours.
you feel your legs,
their muscles,
to keep you moving.
every sensation so much more vivid
and yet
so dulled.
you have a life to live...
work to do,
assignments to finish,
things to accomplish,
but it is all so far away.
when you love someone,
you think of him day and night,
and when you feel insecure,
when you think of her
in his classes,
and asking him to come to those classes,
so she doesn't have to sit alone,
and you laugh silently
and bitterly
at the irony
of how many classes you have had to sit alone in,
when you think of her,
and him
away from you,
that is the end of you.
pink shirts, cyan tank tops, blue jeans, beige skirts,
chunky jewellery, dark brown sunglasses,
flower printed summery bags,
green trees,
black road,
overload of colour.
people's footsteps on the pavement,
friends chattering,
people talking on cellphones,
crickets chirping,
overload of sound.
the only thing you're missing is touch.
you are disconnected.
out of touch.
out of his touch.
but his touch
does not even seem right right now.
pang of pain in your stomach,
the cramps are back.
you keep walking.
you are afraid you will see someone you know,
you will have to twist your lips
into a smile,
open your mouth and make a sound,
hear them speak directly to you,
their voice ripping the thick blanket
of void
you have wrapped tightly around you.
you wonder
if you would be able
to simply blink
and walk by
if someone talked to you.
you realize your lips feel dry
and stuck together.
you move your tongue,
and wet them.
you feel your empty stomach again.
right at the top of slope,
you see
a guy sitting
beginning to dial something on his cellphone.
you want to sit there too,
at the end of level ground,
at the beginning of a drop,
on the green grass,
close your eyes,
and never have to open them again.
but you realize you haven't stopped.
you keep moving.
down the steps,
and along the path down the slope.
on the road at the bottom,
you see
two white limouzines,
one longer, one shorter.
and then you see
a wedding party crossing the road
to under the arch.
the back of the bride, in white,
along with the groom, in black.
and the bridesmaids, wearing crimson.
their milky white skin.
they look clothed in blood.
the colour is rich,
you reach the arch and as you walk through
you see the bride
in a strapless white beautiful gown,
the eyeshadow on her eyelids.
she looks beautiful.
as you walk by
behind her
you notice
how narrow her waist is
how well the dress fits her.
you smile to yourself.
you think of marriage.
you wonder if she is really happy,
committing to live her life with someone else.
you wonder if you will ever have that.
down the steps,
closer to home.
thoughts recede a little.
you wonder if you will remember all you have thought
on this walk.
you wonder if you will be able to get it all down on paper.
you wonder if anyone
will ever truly know you,
your thoughts,
your feelings,
you wonder if he knew you.
you realize no.
he didn't know you.
and now you have this him to think about.
you wonder if he will know you.
you realize
no one will ever really know you.
you are just one of those people
that cannot be known.
it hits you how lonely you are.
as you reach your building,
someone you know walks out the front.
she says hi.
you do not blink and walk by.
you smile and say hi back.
she asks if you want to come study on the slope with her.
you lie and say
no, you're going to sleep.
four flights of stairs to climb.
just up the first
and your legs already hurt.
at the third
and your breath comes short.
you're there.
you walk by the common room
and four people you know
sitting there and playing mario party.
you should say hi.
but you walk by
towards your room.
they don't say hi either.
you wonder if that still hurts.
you come into your room,
and look at the time,
to see whether he'd still be in class.
you're not sure.
he has a tutorial right now,
you don't know whether it's being held or not.
you turn your computer on.
you change out of your jeans and t-shirt
into an even looser t-shirt
so you don't feel hot.
you've had one of those days.
where everything's gone wrong.
you wonder if it's worth trying to fix.
you look at the computer,
and wonder what you want to do.
you should do work.
but sleep is so tempting.
you are not sleepy.
but sleep is so tempting.
you open dc++
and begin downloading the new episode of O.C.
you look at your computer again
and wonder if you'd remember everything you just thought.
you wonder,
and then start to type this.

Tears Made of Diamonds

(Written July 27, 2005, at age 18.)

scraping my insides
struggling to get out
showering from my eyes
drawing blood
...scarlet staining the glint of purity...

running along
dancing at the edge
of soft black eyelashes
...fleeting shimmer on the dark feathers of doom...

dropping without warning
or desire
falling on velvety skin
smoldering its very texture
...digesting the fabric of life...

Fairytale Love

(Written June 11, 2005, at age 18.)

Fairytales have long been told
Of perfect love, glorious and true.
Naivete in your heart you hold,
If you believe this, as you do.

No love exists, profane or pure,
No love exists, as all idealize,
No love exists, disease or cure,
No love exists, beyond the eyes.

It existed once, in times unlike this,
Oh it existed, in all its pride,
It existed when humanity wasn't amiss,
In goodness, it happily thrived.

But today when things mean more than people,
And selfishness and greed are rampant,
The essence of love has dwindled to dead from feeble,
The guileless attachment of hearts has been dampened.

No one has time today, to sit back and let their eyelids droop,
No one has time today, to look at the blue sky, the pigeon, the dove.
No one has time today, to be completely smitted, to feel their heart swoop,
No one has time today, to belong to someone else, to be in love.

Alternate Universe

(Written February 24, 2005, at age 17.)

it was bitterly cold, and all was white,
snowflakes fell, obscuring sight.
they held hands and silently walked,
no voices heard, their hearts talked.
a perfect sheet of snow, the ground bled,
stained by their footsteps as they tread
and slowed and stopped for but a moment,
to turn, touch lips, the air potent.
not needing to speak, they knew,
and as the winter whirled, and the wind blew,
as one they moved again, in rhythm steady,
their breathing in perfect synchrony.
in beauty they walked, slowly further,
with each other they walked, to each other.


(Written in 2004, at age 17.)

To love, and to cherish,
To weaken, and to perish,
To know, and to believe,
To hurt, and to deceive,
To be human, to make mistakes,
To correct them, to raise the stakes,
To take with humility, and to give without thought,
To give up, relinquish, that which must be sought,
In this good and bad,
When we are happy and sad,
We reach out and hold,
And are warm in the cold,
Because we know we must further,
Because we have each other,
Because we must try, and I.

(Originally, the last 2 lines of the poem were as follows:
Because we know we can,
We...woman and man.)

(Untitled Series)

(Written at age 16.)

The vision is but a perception, slave to the petty mind,
Introduce yourself to something new, and it changes its kind,
The soul lies too deep within the cacophony of reality,
To be changed, altered, cast in blasphemy,
It is like music, satisfied, saturated, blisfully blind,
Not seeking anything, not wanting to find,
Its all is itself, its all is YOU,
In its paradigm your being is tenaciously true,
So hard to reach, so hard to preach,
And thus it what we all beseech,
To seek our true selves, untouched, pure,
To see ourselves, confident, sure,
No solution lies in vision alone,
For unfortunately our senses are too prone,
To lie, deceive and tell us false,
To answer to the material world's becks and calls

And yet, as dependable as the soul may be,
As far away from the arms of engulfing reality,
My soul's been profaned, a love too harsh,
That led me on in a beautiful farce,
I live now, unwillingly, in faltering hope,
Wishing somehow to catch a rope,
That will take me to life, or to death,
That will save my soul from each painful breath.

When we trust we give too much,
No one is worth our celestial touch,
Each to himself, that's how it is
Fake is a hug, faker a kiss,
Why do we build bonds and ties?
Relationships are a bunch of lies,
Life is ephemeral, waiting to end,
Nothing lasts, no love, no friend.

Beauty, meant to be a thing to please,
To bring a smile, to put a mind to ease,
Is just one more way we lay down,
To let ourselves be pushed around.
I prefer being ugly, just the way I am,
No expectations I might break, no hopes I may slam.
The beauty in ugliness is what is true,
The beauty in pain is realised by few,
These beauties I embrace,
In them I hide my face,
I give myself to them, in sheer whole,
Knowing I'll never again see my soul,
I relish in the thought of a bondless existance,
Basking in the prospect of no petty persistance,
Of annoying laughter and nagging happiness,
Of dreams of living without any stress.
I exist as hollow as my heart was made,
I exist as an item of a fair trade
Between life and death.
An ounce of exchange in each breath.

A beacon of light,
An embodiment of night.
The white in black,
The progress in looking back,
The pleasure in pain's neverending folds,
Such are the treasures my lonely life holds.


(Written at age 17.)

In the burning desert, I walk,
Eyes ablaze with the sun,
Feet blistering on each grain of parched sand,
Mouth moistureless in the dry air.

I stop.

I close my eyes,
And see the ocean stretch before me.
I dig my feet deep,
And feel the water lick my skin.
I roll my tongue,
And taste the cool blue kiss my throat.

I open my eyes, lift my feet, lick my lips,
And walk on.


(Written May 2004, at age 17.)

I look at the blur in the mirror and try to find my face,
I breathe in the unloving chaos and seek solace,
I turn to my friends, my mother, my inviting bed,
But alas, I know, I'll be at peace once I'm dead.

Ghaleez Se Khyaalon Mein

(Written at age 16-17.)

ghaleez se khyaalon mein,
moti se tum...
ghubaar-e-halaat mein,
hum ishq mein gum...
maut se dhuli raat mein,
chaand tabassum...
takht-e-udaasi mein,
ek muskuraati khaanum...
murjhaayi hui zindagi mein,
khilkhilaata jahannum...

Woh Ishq Ke Raaston Ko

(Written at age 16-17.)

woh ishq ke raaston ko mod chale
har bandhan har vaada tod chale
unki bewafaai sehni padi seh li
par ye kya ki maut bhi humein chhod chale

Murjhaate To Hain Phool Bhi

(Written at age 16-17.)

murjhaate to hain phool bhi
phir hum kya cheez hain
aashiqon ke ghar ki
deewangi ki dehleez hain
ishq ka nateeja hain hum
zehar ki tameez hain
hansi ki gunjti hawaon mein
hum dard ki gareez hain
doston ke hoke raqeeb hum
ab adoo ke azeez hain
aisi pareshaan haalat mein
gar maut ke mareez hain
to murjhaate to hain phool bhi
phir hum kya cheez hain

Yeh Toofan To Dekho Zara

(Written at age 16-17.)

yeh toofan to dekho zara
sochta hai bhiga jaayega humein
koi bataye to isko ki humpe baras ke bhi
jala hua hi paayega humein
is kadar aag lagi thi ki apne paani se
koi sukoon, koi chain na la paayega humein
abr dikha kar, chuaakar,
bas aur jalaayega humein
humein chot aur namak tofaa mila hai
kya muh lekar manaayega humein?
keh do isse ummeed karna chhod de
ki ab khushiyaan laakar bhi sirf sataayega humein

Hai Chaandni Mein Bhi

(Written at age 16-17.)

hai chandni mein bhi ghanaa andhera
gar ho na tera saath
koi bataaye humein kyon hain zulfein humari
gar ho na in mein tera haath

Bahut Lambe Ho Rahe Hain

(Written at age 16-17.)

bahut lambe ho rahe hain din aaj kal
bas ek tanha akeli shaam de
unki yaadon ki ghaeraat mein
chal saqi ek to jaam de
is beymaani si duniya mein yeh bevajah si hayaat
koi to humein kuch to kaam de
kahin jahan bas khud par kaaboo rahe
koi humein aisa maqaam de
jaante nahi hum kya gunah kiya hai humne
par khuda tu yunhi humein auqaat-e-paashemaan de
chhod gaye jo bina palat kar dekhe
unhein ai hawa humara ek salaam de
jeete hain ab bhi unki yaadon ke sahaare
ai fiza unko yeh bhi zara payaam de
thake honge woh bahut ki bewafaai aasaan nahi
humein beshak bekaraari, unhein zaroor aaraam de
maana khaye hain zakhm bade unse,
par unhe na kabhi naam beyimaan de
pyar hua bhi to insaan nahi farishte se hua,
ab hum kaise farishte ko bewafa ka naam de
gustakhi humari ki zehen mein bhi laaye unka khyaal
ya allah humaari jalan ko kabhi na inteqaam de
kiya hai jurm sache pyar aur aitbaar ka,
ai naseeb tu phir mujhe bewafai ka hi inaam de

Teri Bewafaai

(Written at age 16-17.)

pyaari hai teri bewafaai bhi ki hai to yeh humaari wafa ki gawah

Maut Bhi Kaisi

(Written at age 16-17.)

maut bhi kaisi kamaal cheez hai
apne paraaye sabko bulaati hai
jiski ek nazar ko taras gaya marne vala
uske jaane ke baad un nazron mein aansoo laati hai

Maangte Hum Kuch Aur Nahin

(Written at age 16-17.)

maangte hum kuch aur nahi
ek nazar dekh lo humein kinaare se
maangte hum kuch aur nahi
ji lenge hum us ek nazar ke sahaare se

Maut Se Ab Kya Darr

(Written at age 16-17.)

maut se ab kya dar...
jis maut ko hum har din har pal ji chuke
jis maut ko hum jaam banaakar pi chuke
jo maut bhi humein thukra chali
jo maut bhi humse vafaa na kar saki
us maut se ab kya dar...

Jaao Ab

(Written at age 16-17.)

jaao ab kya bataaein hum, tum humare liye kaun ho...

Uljhi Latein

(Written at age 16-17.)

uljhi latein suljhaaein to kaise
aapke khyaal kabhi chhoot te hi nahi
hosh mein hum rahein to kaise
aapki yaadon ke silsile kabhi toot te hi nahi

Kya Haasil Hoga

(Written at age 16-17.)

kya haasil hoga humein gar
maang bhi lein dua marne ke liye
ki maut ke baad bhi jeena padega humein
sirf unse mohabbat karne ke liye

Yeh Jo Humaari

(Written at age 16-17.)

yeh jo humari hasti hai mit jaaye magar
aapse kabhi door na ho
aap bhi humein utna hi chaahein jitna hum aapko chaahte hain
aisa jaanleva suroor na ho


(Written at age 16-17.)

mere har aansoon se chhalakti hai teri bewafai
meri har saans mein mehekti hai teri bewafai
meri har aahat mein lehrati hai teri bewafai
mere janaaze se cheekh cheekh ke kehti hai teri bewafai
ki kaatil hoon main, kaatil hoon main....

Khafa Ho Jab

(Written at age 16-17.)

khafaa hote ho jab tum humse to lagta hai yun ki humara apna dil humare andar rehna nahi chahta...

Itne Doobe The

(Written at age 16-17.)

itne doobe the hum teri pyar ki yaad aur bewafai ke gham mein ki maut ne bhi aisi deewani ko aazmane se inkaar kar diya

Pyaar Bhi Ajab

(Written at age 16-17.)

pyar bhi ajab zindagi se ek samjhauta hai,
chot unhe lagti hai, dard humein hota hai

Woh The To

(Written at age 16-17.)

woh the to maut bhi manzoor thi humein, par kaise mar paayenge hum unki bawafaai ka gham lekar


(Written at age 16-17.)

dosti ki nahin jaati, ho jaati hai,
zindagi to iske bine jaise kho jaati hai

Jo Tumhaare

(Written at age 16-17.)

Jo Tumhare Saikdon Deewane Hain,
Deewane Hum Ek Aur Sahi,
Jab Maut Bhi Humein Thukra Chali,
Tumhara Gham Ek Aur Sahi...

Maana Mohobbat

(Written at age 16-17.)

maana mohabbat tadpati hai,
us tadap ki pyaas apni jagah,
maana mohabbat dil dukhati hai,
us dard ki mithhaas apni jagah

Dil Se Dil Ka

(Written at age 16-17.)

dil se dil ka mel hai,
na mamuli sa koi khel hai,
dil ka sachha yaar hai,
mere dost yeh ishq mohabbat pyar hai

Tum Nahin Jaante

(Written at age 16-17.)

Tum Nahi Jaante Kya Kar Gaye Hain Hum,
Tumse Pyar Kar Gaye Hain Hum,
Itna Dard Hoga Na Socha Tha Humne,
Jane Kyon Tumpe Bharosa Rakha Tha Humne

Pyaar Ko Samjhe Bina

(Written at age 16-17.)

pyar ko samjhe bina, pyar lavz na istemaal karo,
jo tumse itna pyar kare, uska na aisa haal karo

Ai Hawa

(Written at age 16-17.)

ai hawa kyon bedardi saajan ki tarah
chhoo kar guzar jaati hai
aur us adhoore se tassawar mein
hosh-o-hawas bhulati hai
us ek lamhe ke deedar mein
laakhon yaadein le aati hai
humaari tanhaai ke aalam ko
geet banaakar gaati hai
woh saansein jinpe humari jaan qurban hai
khyaalon mein hi mehsoos karati hai
humari mohabbat jo woh samjhe nahi
uska mazaak tu udaati hai
hawa hi hai tu, ya hai sanam ki bewafaai
jo baar baar aake tadpati hai...

(Small Pieces)

(Written at age 16-17.)

love is all you want it to be,
i want it to be you, do you want it to be me?

when u hold my hand, and look into my eyes
come hug me from behind, to take me by surprise
when u hold me close to you, so tight u almost crush me,
i know then, we were meant to be.

never will i be bitter
never will i complain
for it is you that has ruined me
you that has caused the pain

i care not if you hurt me all at once
or bit by bit do kill
all i ask is the promise
that completely kill you will

i want to give myself to the music
my soul i want to succumb
let the rhythm become my heartbeat
let my mind turn numb

i want to dance till i drop dead,
dance till the earth starts to cry,
but i don't have the strength,
neither to dance, nor to die.

to hold back, to let go;
to try to hide, and want to show;
to kill in the anticipation to know;
to stagnate in the desire to flow;
to bleed every little time you grow;
to learn really fast the need to be slow;
to wish to be able to glow;
to fly so high, then sink so low.

the false promises, the sweet lies
the breaking bonds, the weak ties
the quivering lips, the watery eyes
the silent moans, the unbearable cries

there's a weight on my chest
its pressing me down
i can't breathe properly
i can't smile or frown
i have tears in my throat
there's nothing i can see
only because i can never forget
your attitude towards me


(Written at age 16.)

the music blares,
it dares
to fill the air
fill my ears
fill me
with nothing but itself.
i am void of all
save the rhythm that becomes one
with my heartbeat.
i feel no need,
no want,
no wish,
no desire.
it is gone -
the agony, the confusion,
every human emotion.
my blood throbs,
by the sheerness,
the mereness,
of sound.
i resound
in echoes
streching out, all around me.
i seek to be,
to see,
in this beautiful haze.
this haze,
which has so kindly
the ugliness, the deformity
of life,
and brought with it
its own kind of pain -
a gain, a sinister gain.
i am flooded,
i am lost.
in this sea,
in its waves,
time raves.
i live.
i am so full
(of what?)
i am so empty
(it is so beautiful to be empty)
the beats become slow.
the waves cannot recede now,
they must stay,
i am whole, somehow.
i cry, i implore,
don't ebb, don't go.
stay, so i can be empty, and full,
and love
without being tinted.
alas it finishes.
it ends.
but it is deaf
to my frantic appeal.
i lie
of myself.

Before You Go

(Written at age 16.)

before its done, before you go,
i need u to stop, i need u to know,
how badly i wanted you, how badly i wanted this,
how much i pined for that one first kiss,
and when it came, swept me off my feet,
my knees went weak, my heart ceased to beat,
and then the first time you touch my neck,
i was hesitant, but that was gone in less than a sec,
i was ready to succumb, i was ready to give,
all i wanted was to be myself, to live,
to be held delicately and feel treasured,
not to be looked at, judged and measured.
i gave up a lot, and asked for a little,
i just wanted my friendships, strong, not brittle.
you couldn't give me that, i know it was hard,
but did u have to leave me so badly scarred?
you didn't go through less, but i went through more
i let u change me, i opened that door.
my friends lost faith, and i lost hope,
but the one thing i hung on to was that rope
which tied me to you, and i believed it would stay
i didn't realize so badly it would fray
that you would have to tell me we're through
that you'd say "i don't want to have anything to do with you"
but i guess this is the way its going to be
i'm going to have to kill that part of me
that wished for eternity in your arms
and for which your hug served as all balms
i know this probably isn't easy for you either
and we've both been through a lot, we both need a breather
i just wish the breather dint have to be an end
and that we dint have to break, just mould and bend
i want to tell you for once and for all
i loved you a lot, and i dint want to crawl
out of this relationship in such a sad way
but this is how it is, and now i'll pray
that you know how much i'll miss you
and without you, i'll be very blue
i'll even miss the pain, very very much
and i'll relive till i die, ur every touch

Our Future

(Written at age 16.)

in every moment of closeness
in every instant of intimacy
you say it with truth in ur eyes
you say together we'll always be

and i believe you, for i want to.
i want to be with you, for eternity
but will this be enough? me loving you?
and you loving me?

we say it with confidence
and more importantly happiness
but do we truly realize
what more there is to this, and what less.

its simple saying it, simpler believing it
that the future is but ours
but what if i end up on venus
and u on mars?

even more than the distance
which im sure our love can conquer
its the things from the past
those that will forever linger

you've called me a bitch, a slut
and although i know that's all over, done with, slam,
you still really don't
accept me for what i am

and then there's how different we are
i'm all about poetry, philosphy, a meaning to life
and you find it all meaningless,
so boring ud rather stab urself with a knife

u choke around slow, old songs,
with lyrics that i live by
u'd laugh out of sarcasm
about things that make me cry

and what confuses me the most
is that even though we have such
different attitudes and tastes
we love each other so much

but have we really considered
that in the future that we plan
there will be a million other obstacles
a long and very bumpy road to span

we think love is all we need
we'll fly through life, love will be our wing,
but i think we need to realize that in the future
love will but be the easiest thing...


(Written at age 16.)

Standing in the kitchen
Holding a knife
I stop and think
About the friends in my life

About what I am going to do now
They will question me for sure
For it’s happened before, and this time they’ll just say
“Forget it! For her, there is no cure!”

“Kriti,” they’ll say, “why don’t you understand?
We’re always here for you.
You don’t need to inflict pain on yourself
To get through times that are blue.”

They’re right, I know;
I don’t need to hurt myself.
I can decide to stop right now
And put the knife back on the shelf.

But I also know that somehow by doing it
My frustration is released,
My depression subsides a little,
My rage is appeased.

And so though I know it’s meaningless and wrong,
I also know I’m down.
So steel touches skin,
And red oozes out of brown.


(Written at age 16.)

Worthless I am
Worthless I be
Yes, worthless,
That is me.

Nothing I do
Is ever right.
For all I do
Is hurt and fight.

Nothing I say
Has the power to ease
No act of mine
Can ever please

I am self-centered
I care not if others sink
I am the only one that has problems
Yes, that is what I think.

Mind not these tears
That from my eyes do flow.
Deceptive, like me,
They are only for show.

Don't bother,
This burning behind my eyes
Has nothing to do
With agony, or with silent cries.

Do not worry, my pain
That becomes hard to conceal
Is but fake,
For I do not feel.

Ignore my loss of control
As to the ground I slam,
Because dead I may be,
But worthless I am.

Pain and Love

(Written at age 16.)

As I walk out the world of reality
The mystical forest of pain welcomes me
I walk in shaky yet sure
At least my pain shall now be pure
No longer will it be corrupted by
Wishes to be happy, to smile, to fly.
I allow the taking over of my body and soul
By the shady trees, promising to make me whole.
I feel myself fill with agony,
I writhe a little, then let it be.
Few moments pass and my faith is reinstated;
The wholeness has come, that was long awaited.
My mind is now a fog, a mist,
And I ask groggily, "Does love exist?"
I do not have to wait long for the reply;
Prompt is the forest: red turns the sky.
I manage to look up and see
The answer to my question staring back at me.
Together fly a crow and a dove;
What is love but pain, and pain but love?

Betrayed by My Own Tears (2)

(Written at age 16.)

Betrayed by my own tears
That refuse to flow,
Burning behind my eyes,
But refusing to show.

I want to cry,
I want to let it out,
I want to be weak,
I want to shout.

I want to howl,
I want to hit,
I want to hurt myself,
Bit by bit.

I feel incomplete
Without pain
The restlessness settles in
Once again.

Hurt me more, hurt me full,
Let not any part of my soul uninjured go,
For then my tears,
Just might flow.

Betrayed by My Own Tears (1)

(Written at age 16.)

Betrayed by my own tears
That, flowing down,
Speak of broken promises,
Of long lost pain now found.

Wrapped in naught but agony,
Nude I feel; exposed.
Blame befitting no one,
For never was i forced.

Hurt I did myself,
No matter the tool;
Be it by my own hands,
Or through life another, I was the fool.

Well deserved comes this suffering,
And, I daresay, I welcome the fears,
How then can I complain that
I've been betrayed by my own tears?


(Written at age 16.)

how lost i feel
in this uncaring world
how insignificant,
admist this bustle.
i am but one alone
and why should anyone bother?
there are friends and family
and yet,
i am inferior.
there is nothing
which i can claim as mine
no talent unique to me
i am unneeded
for i have nothing to give.
nothing others cannot give.
every time the hope arises,
i see something i'm good at,
a moment,
and i am shown,
there are others better.
i know i am not bad
but i want to be good
i want to be better
and better yet
so good that no one shall forget me
for something
only i am capable of.
but there is no such thing.
someone better than me at this
and someone else better than me at that.
and so
someone remind me
why do i try?
when nothing is to be achieved
i see myself shine
only to be overshadowed
by greater light.
is there any use?
i have motivated myself long enough
not anymore.
no longer will i try in vain.
but will i...
can i...
give up?
is that me?
but its not me
to be this bad
(at least compared to others)
why me?
why is no wish fulfilled?
maybe its the wishes
maybe theyre stupid.
my wishes.

When I'm with You

(Written at age 16.)

i lay in bed,
with u next to me,
your arm around my waist,
as warm as can be,
and as the first ray of the sun
kisses the morning dew,
i realize heaven seems forsaken
when i'm with u

when i'm low and dejected,
and you hold me near,
let your energy flow into me,
whisper encouragement in my ear,
you're here for me now,
and forever too,
and i realize i'm loved and taken,
when i'm with u

you touch me once,
and i'm filled with desire,
i'm hot in ice,
and cold in fire,
and when you told me you loved me,
i knew,
it's eternity in the making,
when i'm with u

16th Birthday

(Written at age 16.)

another birthday just passed
another cake just cut
another day of rejoice
much like others, but
more special than ever before.
sweet sixteen they call it,
but its that and more.
my heart ripped open, it tore
for such was the atmosphere,
i had to expose my core...
my inside, my person, my true self
needed to come out and breathe
covered for so long with courtesy and manners
hidden under, concealed beneath
always there
they look at me and stare
but that day
they succumbed
gave in
melted away
into the warmth of the moment,
the love of the people around me.
and all those aspritions and expectations aside,
i could be what i wanted to be.
i can be what i want to be,
for such is the confidence i have gained
in me, but more so in the love
i've been showered with time and again.
i know i'm needed,
and more importantly wanted
i knew it for sure then.
i shall have neverending support
to cross every tor
and companions in every valley.
i have been gifted myself,
what more could i possibly have asked for?


(Written at age 15.)

Love while there is
Something to love, because
Nothing’s eternal.

‘Twas but the devil
Was it not, that made me feel
Distrust for you?

The blue of the sky
Is so deceptive of the black
That lies beyond.

Crushed and cast aside,
Deceived, hurt, rendered useless,
I lie so alone.

The trees stand lonely.
Brown and dry they sadly sigh,
Dreaming of blue sea.


(Written at age 15.)

You’re cool, you’re hep, you’re loud, you’re tough;
I think being able to write epigrams, is more than enough!

In and Out

(Written at age 15.)

With a smile, into my life, he had walked
And I knew at that moment that my heart was gone
And in his every expression, and every time he talked
He said to me, “You are my morn.”

In love, I had fallen, hard and deep
And I was convinced that he would never leave me…
But if only I knew how life would change in one night’s sleep
I would never have hoped for such blissful glee

From the meaning of his life I had suddenly become an unneeded no one.
How much harder could one’s heart be slashed about?
With no explanation, no reason, and all promises undone,
With a shrug of his shoulders, he walked out.


(Written at age 15.)

‘Tis that which exists but I cannot see,
That which is but I cannot feel or touch,
That which is beyond all reality,
That fascinates and intrigues me so much.
For it is in this realm of the unknown
That things rendered impossible by us
See the opportunity to be known,
And to exist there, to be real thus.
This world beyond is like an artist’s thought –
Filled with plain and pure possibility
‘Tis a hand that holds more than our world’s got
‘Tis but more than whole of eternity.
But although this world beyond must be sought,
Remember, reality’s all you’ve got.

Priceless Peace

(Written at age 15.)

As the moon dares to come out of hiding
And take its place in the night sky,
Its rays find their way down
To the abandoned battlefield where there lie

Such innumerable corpses with their anatomy strewn about,
And not to be heard a single breath.
The soil is one with the blood of many,
And the air poignant with death.

Silent screams echo yet
Though sensed not by the ear but by the soul,
Which also sees better than the eyes
The grief lurking, blacker than coal.

Millions have died and left behind
Voids amongst their friends and kin –
Voids that no one else can ever fill,
That will always make those still here maudlin.

Let us resolve not to forget
Those who have died for us.
Let us value the peace they have gifted humanity,
Through their sacrifice of self, ever so pious.

Let us not jeopardize this wonderful world
Filled with colourful cultures and bountiful beauty.
Let us determine that to preserve peace
Shall be our foremost duty.

The Man on the Terrace

(Written at age 15, about my grandfather's younger brother.)

In a narrow lane, part of the city’s sprawl,
There are residences and a small shop,
A buffalo-milking station with no top,
And a house with pale-yellow walls.

Atop the roof of this house, as evening faded into night,
You would see a middle-aged man,
In pyjamas, a cigarette in his hand,
And thick glasses to aid his deteriorating sight.

Any time you were around him, you would hear
One of two things: many a just, angry word,
Or open-hearted laughter, always unique and unheard.
Never, would he be the cause of a tear.

With his coarse, heavy voice, and dark skin,
He was loved for his frankness,
His lack of rancour and rankness,
And his wise, sagging chin.

And now, though he no longer remains with us,
It is hard to be deaf to his rough, out-of-tune singing voice,
His perpetual gaiety and almost rigorous rejoice,
And his amused chuckle echoing forever thus…

My Best Friend

(Written at age 15.)

True friendship personified, that’s what Jessica is for me,
The best friend I could ever have hoped to get.
And we clicked instantly, and knew it was meant to be,
The very first time we met.

Four years back that was, and now much time has passed.
And we stuck, through happy and sad, through thick and thin.
Each other we have comforted, each other we have glassed,
Seen under each other’s skin.

What Jessica is to me, I doubt anyone else can be.
For I know that she does bother, and I know she does care.
And I know that whenever I need a friend to see,
She will be there.

Vain Spirits

(Written at age 15.)

The wind was blowing, the tides were high,
Dominating the cacophony was the restless owl’s cry,
The moon shone challengingly bright;
It seemed to be a duelling night.

Then, along the shore, on the damp, cool sand
The air materialized, and there appeared to stand
Two knights – with swords, armour and all,
Listening, with eyes closed, to the heart wrenching call.

And o’er the ocean there came into view
A princess in her bridal gown, so glamorously white and new.
She lowered her voice: the knights opened their eyes.
They lunged to kill, for She was the winner’s prize.

But as had been happening for centuries so many,
Both swords found their targets; there wasn’t winner any.
She let fall her eyelids over her eyes: as always, left behind;
She went to no one: neither the villain, nor the one of her kind.

The wind now whispered, the tides were low,
No sound was heard, neither owl nor crow,
The moon slid inconspicuously behind a cloud;
The night was wrapped in a mourning shroud.

I Feel

(Written December 2002, at age 15.)

When I do not understand something,
And I need guidance,
I feel my parents,
Always there, always making sense.

When I need to learn something new,
And I need to draw inspiration,
I feel my teachers -
Forever-helping pillars of education.

When I need a shoulder to cry on,
When I can't find my soul,
I feel my friends,
Completing me, making me whole.

And when I feel my parents, my teachers, my friends,
And I achieve something after much strife,
I feel myself,
So lucky to have the gift of life.


(Written at age 14-15.)

Sanctuary! For you, oh trees,
Who, for supporting our lives, are chopped down.
Go hide somewhere, for upon their follies,
Men are too arrogant to frown.

Sanctuary! For you, oh animals,
Who, for nothing but vanity, are hunted and shot.
Go hide somewhere, for fake laurels
Are all that man has got.

Sanctuary! For you, oh humans,
The only self-destructing race.
Go hide somewhere, and from the shamans,
Save your guilty face.


(Written at age 14-15.)

Black darkness, scary darkness?
A different world, a different life?
Existence contrasting with our present one or complete non-existence?
Do memories of our life stay?
Or are we pushed into utter oblivion knowing nothing
Save the hurting fact that we are nothing but mere existence?
A physical form or just mental acknowledgement?

I wonder, what is it?

Can we still see the world with our beloveds,
Which and whom we would have left?

Is it is an attempt in vain to try and know what there is
Beyond Life?
A time spent in futile efforts to find out what is
Something we must experience to know what it is.
To find out what is Death.

Still, I wish to know.
And I am sure I will know,
I only wish that day
Is not too far.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

The Oppressive Silence

(Written at age 14-15.)

When a building crumbles,
It rumbles.
And when a glass shatters,
It clatters.
Then how is it that
When my world crumbled around me
And my feelings were shattered as much as could be,
There was not the slightest bit of noise?
Not a single rumble or clatter?
All I ever heard
Was silence.
Filled with the chokes
Of my strangled life,
Filled with the tears
That refuse to fall from my eyes.
My wish to live
Was killed,
But I did not hear its screams.
And now,
The silence of those screams
Will kill me.

Wrath and Hurt

(Written at age 14.)

I stand distraught, my body writhing
’twixt wrath and hurt.
I watch a serpent swell up inside me
Its forked tongue bearing deadly venom –
A fatal concoction of anger, hurt, fear, jealousy – and hatred.
Hatred? For whom?
The person who left me for more skin-deep beauty,
More superficial charm? No.
I still love him with all I have. I can’t help that.
It is a habit now – loving him.
Then whom?
That bundle of beautifully sculptured skin and bones,
Who with her attractive form
Managed to take Him away from me?
Which has no life to live, just beauty to show,
And charm to ooze? No.
I could not hate something so lifeless, vain,
And stone.
Ah, it is but life! Yes, I hate life.
Why? Do not ask me, for I do not know.
And I do not wish to know.


(Written at age 14.)

Close to midnight, by lamplight I sit
Memories returning bit by bit,
Of when we were one,
When this intricately painful web of abandoning me
Around me you had not spun.
How it pricks my heart to see you with someone else;
But how much you care, your attitude tells.
You so blatantly and nonchalantly deny
To see the deeply embedded love for you that in me does lie.
You profane my love so pure.
For my hurting heart there is no cure.
No antidote for this spell of pain and hurt over me which is cast;
Save the potion of your love, which will extract me from the past,
And make me see what the future has to give,
Make me realise that you are back and that once again I can live.

The Sin of Happiness

(Written at age 14.)

That is all i desire.
No celestial beauty or magical fire.
But every where i look,
Darkness i see.
Life, i feel,
Has turned its back on me.
What sin have I commited?
What have I done?
There seems to be no place where I can run
Away from this restlessness
That has made me its abode
Will I be able to run alone
On this long winding road?
Isn't that what I feel?
Yes, alone.
My mind starts to reel.
Has everyone left me?
Am I forsaken?
But how can this be?
All I ever wanted was to feel loved and taken.
Alas! I realize that to be happy
I must teach myself to live alone.
And turn my heart into one of stone.

To Remain a Child

(Written at age 14.)

if i could only turn back time
and become a child once again
and spend my time trying to rhyme
little words like hen and men.

find pleasure in little things
like a kiss from mom, or a hug from dad
wait whole year to see what santa brings
and never know the meaning of sad!

with my little eyes
i would have found pleasure
in little things like spiders and flies
and an occasional game of hunt for the treasure

with my little hands i would only feel
the warmth of my parents' skin
i would never have had to conceal
some dark secrets deep within

but its impossible, isnt it?
to turn back time and return
to childhood, when throwing a fit
was the best way do get things done?

i wish i had never grown
for growing has made me understand
things like hatred and it has shown
me the evil limits of this human land

killing in the name of caste, colour and creed
i would never have had to see
discrimination, selfishness, and greed
would have been unknown to me

if only i had remained been a kid, a child, a baby
and lived in peaceful ignorant glee...


(Written May 2001, at age 14.)

When my mind clogs with past memories,
When my eyes blur with tears,
When I cannot but wonder about the future,
When I face unknown fears,

I think why must I leave those I love?
Why should I go amongst those who don’t know me?
That a person needs to be with near and dear ones,
Why can’t this fact the world see?

But maybe I am in the flow of emotions,
Maybe it is only a psychological resistance,
Maybe it is I who needs to be corrected,
Maybe change is the cause for existence.

Tears from Heaven

(Written April 2001, at age 14.)

I was staring outside the window
As the train swayed in awkward movements.
Through the pitter-pattering drops on the window
I saw ever-stretching fields, dotted with trees,
Never-ending skies.

Just like the hands of friendship were in the land I have left and come,
Dotted with the certain black moments of a relationship.
A fight, a misunderstanding.
But the dots created hardly a speck on the strength of the friendship.

Just like the memories of a place that was heaven for me,
Not because of the place that it was, but because of the people it had for me.
Because of how important those people are and will be to me.
Yes, heaven it was.
A heaven no other place, however beautiful, can ever create again.

As each drop fell on the window,
It collected other drops and flowed down the screen
Creating a stream on the window,
The mark of which remained after so many other drops fell on it.

People came into my life, who helped me become me.
Their mark shall always remain on my heart.

And then I realised.
The skies were crying for me.

The Missing Beat

(Written March 2001, at age 14.)

The music blasts in my ears,
Their chattering not a trifle bit too loud.
The sound of their feet thumping on the ground as they dance
Synchronizes with my heartbeat and gives it a rhythm.

I sit opposite them all,
On the bed,
Scribbling this.
Thoughts flood my mind.
Their happiness and enjoyment is too perfectly in tune with the music.
Why do I feel so lost,
So incomprehensive of my feelings
Amidst all this?

Maybe because I know this is the last time I am to witness their moods in action,
The last time I see them swaying, each in their own uniquely special way, to the music,
The last time I will be amongst them.

These realizations,
Along with the confusing mixture of feelings that comes along with them
Have a unique effect on me.

The blurred fog of emotions clears
And I see these words vivid and sharp in my mind -
I will miss them.


(Written at age 12-13.)

This is just a little poem I scribbled down,
For all of you before you leave town.

Just to tell you that it was lovely being with you,
And to express our wish, that you enjoyed our company, just as we enjoyed yours, too.

We wish to let you know that we acknowledge,
The little but quality time we spent together.
We hope we're able to keep in touch and maintain our friendship,
And not let it weaken, so it can be carried far away by the slightest wind, just like a feather.

The Moon

(Written at age 12-13.)

I was sitting in my car,
My father was driving back from the market,
When I glanced outside the window,
And my preoccupied mind found time to muse on an object in the sky,
The Moon.

It seemed as if it was suspended limply from some invisible thread,
Like a spider hanging from its web.
Only, unlike the spider it was not wary of the movements around it.

It hung motionless,
As still as Death.
It hung quiet,
As silent as Death.
I realized it seemed oblivious
Of the evil in the world over which it hung.
It was unaware
Of the perpetual unrest in the world it looked upon.

So calm, so serene.
I wish I could,
For one exquisite moment,
Feel like the moon...

I Need Someone

(Written at age 12-13.)

I need someone......
To comfort me in my times of pain.
To make me humane, when I turn vain.
To kiss me on my forehead when I’m depressed.
To ease me out when I’m stressed.

I need someone......
To hug me tight when I’m crying.
To keep me motivated when I’m trying.
To teach me the ways of life.
To teach me that to achieve something you have to work hard and strive.

I need someone......
Who’ll always be by my side.
To teach me to walk and not stride.
Whose smile will take away the nervousness in me.
Whose heart shall always ask God to bless me.

I need someone......
Whose touch will take me from the earth to the sky.
To make me laugh when I cry.
On whom I know I can depend.
To swerve me round the bend.

I need someone......
To tell me what’s right and what’s wrong.
To take away my weaknesses and make me strong.
To tell me where to go.
Whom I’ll be proud to know.

I need someone......
To wipe my eyes when my vision is blurred.
Who’ll love me more than anything in the world.

When I meet this person whom is so badly desire,
Nature, people, everything I will begin to admire;
For people say you see the world the way you are -
Happy people find everything nice, unhappy ones find everything sour.

As I would have met this ‘someone’ for whom I feel the need,
I will then belong to the happy people’s breed.

Dawn to Dawn

(Written at age 12-13.)

When of only sleeping people the world comprises
Then early in the morning the sun rises
Waking the people with its golden light
It says “Rise and shine the morning’s bright”

Burning for us all through the day
It continues burning till the day’s grey
And when it is early evening
To the sky it adds a sober seasoning

And then at dusk the sun seems
As if with happiness it beams
After throughout the day tirelessly working
It feels like going about lurking

From this wicked and troubled world
It wants to run away
But gives the excuse that
For the night sky it has to make way
So the big ball of fire
Is actually a big liar

And then as we hear the sun’s cry
With flashes of red in the sky
All the people wish the sun good bye
And when they look up there is a new sky

Which looks like a battleground
And without any sound
The moon, the general with his army of starry soldiers marches on
Looking at which we feel the pleasure of sitting in our lawn

The moon provides the little light
Needed during the night
By throwing its glimmering silver ray
And showing the awake beings their way
As the night deepens
Every being weakens
And then as he sleeps
He probably dreams about tension in heaps

The barking dogs and mewing cats
Also feel sleepy
Hanging upside down from the trees, the bats
Making them feel creepy

All the nightly things are sewn
In the silver rays of the moon
And then as the night dances
Into the world the sun again glances


(Written at age 12-13.)

Dear friend, I have hurt myself,
In hurting your emotions.
I have disrespected myself,
In disrespecting your notions.
I have dishonoured myself,
In dishonouring your point of view.
I have insulted myself,
In insulting what you think is true.

For by doing so, I have lost you.
I have thrashed my own dwelling,
And left myself unsheltered
From the sun and the moon's lighting.

Dear friend, in losing you I have
Lost the enjoyment of the warmth of the day,
Which now burns into my skin.
In losing you I have
Lost the enjoyment of the cool of the night,
Which now chills me into my within.

Dear friend, I am as sorry as can be.
So, dear friend, please forgive me.
For if you do,
My happiness, my life will return too.

Help, Please!

(Written at age 11-12.)

I write this poem to fill up my poem chart,
I tell you it won't be good - it's not from my heart.
Of your brain could you please give me a part?
Unfortunately mine from my head is trying to run apart!

Maybe its tired of being in my skull's cage.
But from what it's doing now, my teacher will be in a rage.
For I must fill the chart with my poems and submit it to her,
And she must by tomorrow submit it to my head sir.

So you see, I, at this point in time need help from you.
Come on, you could be in a situation like this too!

All in the Eye

(Written at age 11-12.)

Once he was there
To stand by me,
To love me, to care,
And to see,
That I always did the right,
And stayed away from the wrong.
He took me towards light,
And never let me stay in darkness for long.

But then he went,
Without even bothering to see,
The hollow dent,
That he left in me.

He stopped caring for me,
Or so he said,
Said that now we both were free.
And he left me with a swirling head.

A swirling head,
With flashing memories.
I went to bed
And made silent pleas.
To everyone yet no one,
For my heart, my soul to return.
But what was done was done,
And now forever my mind will churn.

I knew those memories would never fade,
Oh! Those memories we had made!
Memories of how we had cared,
Of all those times that we had shared -
Those good times, those bad times,
Those happy times, those sad times.

But now he's gone; gone forever.
Without even hearing my heartbroken cry.
And now I wonder if he had cared ever,
Or was it all just in my eye...

The Poor

(Written at age 11-12.)

All of us the plight of poor have seen.
But how many of us towards them caring have been?

When the poor little children for food wail,
Which they finally never get,
Then a million diseases get on their trail,
On this I could bet!

When the poor men for work they beg,
Then why do we kick them with our leg?
Why don’t we give them a job,
Rather than letting them eat rotten corn on the cob?
Which we know they get from the dustbin,
And not from a hygienic sealed tin.

When the poor women for money cry,
Then why in the sun do we let them fry?
Why don’t we teach them how to lead a good life,
Rather than letting them one day stab themselves with a knife?

If we don’t help the poor now,
Act arrogant and raise a brow,
Then against us they will have a hunch,
And come to kill us in a bunch.

The poor are also people alive,
Who also have the right to live
Then why do we to this conclusion arrive,
That they are small and primitive?

The Fall Season

(Written at age 11-12.)

Look at life from the eye of the heart,
And you will find that life looks like a big huge cart;
Of which fall season is a part,
Which like everything else has its unique start.

As if a brightly glowing bulb begins to slowly fuse,
Their flashing green colour the leaves begin to loose;
Into a pale golden yellow shade they turn,
Beginning to look dry and stern.

The wind turning slowly cool
Burns away the left summer heats;
Continuing to follow the rule
To the ground begin falling the golden sheets.

Under our feet the dead leaves get crushed,
Or by a sharp rake they get violently brushed.

Similarly a person in life goes up and down,
His life, for a moment colourful, it may suddenly turn brown.
He feels people step over him as they walk,
Or are using him as a climbing stalk.

So a person's life may have seasons of fall,
A period in which you have to carefully crawl.

Mother Nature

(Written at age 10-11.)

'Mother Nature', to Her it is said,
But the respect towards Her in our hearts is dead.

For we treat Her as though She were a piece of junk,
But actually She is a big Diamond in a dirty old trunk.

The dirt being us, human beings,
Who are slowly-slowly cutting this precious stone;
But we do not see that by doing this
It is we who are going to be left alone.

Without greenery which supports us to live,
We consider the problem of exploitation primitive.

But at present it should be our major concern.
Why don't we, senseless human beings, from our mistakes try to learn?

Young Times

(Written at age 10-11.)

Young Times is a cool magazine,
Even cooler than the longest limousine.

Read and enjoy it in the sun,
Munching and chewing on a cheese bun.
Read and enjoy it in your house,
I bet you wouldn’t know if next to you were a mouse!
Read and enjoy it on the beach,
And as if into the young world you will reach.
Read and enjoy it anywhere,
About almost anything else you wouldn’t care.

All the cover stories are so interesting,
On all the different topics,
Some about the less fortunate,
Some about the tropics.
You read them at top-speed - wroom, wroom, wroom.
And all the posters-oh, they’re so fascinating,
I put them all up in my room.

'Odds and Ends' is fun as well as educational,
Doesn’t it increase my general knowledge!?!
I really think it’s gonna help me,
When I start studying in college.

'Short Story' and 'Saman Zaar',
Coming under the 'fiction' column,
They’re so interesting,
For them I’d even give up playing carom!
'Postscript' is like a chat area,
Where we read many a letter,
Some complaining about the CBSE system,
Others giving suggestions about how to make Young Times better.

The rest of the columns are all just too great,
Oops! But I gotta say 'Bye' now,
For it’s getting pretty late!