Dear dad,
Your contagious beams,
Spread through my body,
Infect my cheeks.

You reflect the day-
The soul of a child,
In the body of a man-
Life's not kind.

Yet you shine,
As a movie critique,
With zero dad ***,
And a good physique.

However busy,
You may be,
You leave it all aside
For our family.

Very grateful we must be.
Not all heroes are caped, you see,
Because dad,
You are our hero in a lungi!

Fully cooked batter,
Sprinkle of half-baked sighs.
A recipe of truth —
Never a lie.

Throw out the salt;
Add aged cheese,
A dollop of sugar,
A dash of chilies.

Don’t mention the sweat,
Nor the quiet cries.
Because
It’s the recipe of truth —
Never a lie.

Serve the truth,
Or leave it dry.
Maybe a pinch of water,
But never a lie.

Unfinished conversations
linger in the air,
dropping low—
the weight of 242 innocent souls.

Doctors see more blood
in sterile rooms
than soldiers do
on broken land.

Lightning veils strike blue
Hidden light eclipse dark clouds
White angels part hope.

Go away
502 Bad Gateway

Yes, I lost the old me.
Yes, I'm the only one who can get it back.
But I'm getting tired, you see...
I just wish I had someone
I could call mine.
Not to give,
But to remind,
And help me find
The old me.

Sown seeds grow into crops
on a wide field.
The longevity of the crop
is not always dependent
on the time taken to nurture it.

Too much water
floods the pores,
slowly seeping out,
no longer able to reach the roots —
and the shoot eventually dies.

Other external forces,
like pests and weeds,
reduce the yield.

The health of the crop
can be improved
by frequent irrigation —
not too much, not too little.

Frequent ploughing of the field,
regular manuring, and
assurance of no interference
is more than enough
to bear fruit.

Hello fam!
I'll be posting lesser poems,
'cause I'll have lesser time.
But, I'll keep in touch!
Until then,
Goodbye!

I am Ice-cream!
I am the winter in the summer!
Sweet in taste!
Cold in touch!
Sensitive in heart!

Somethings changed in me.
I'm no longer the tough and bold girl I used to be.
I no longer cackle or laugh my heart out.
I no longer yap, scream or shout.
I'm no longer the girl who was disgusted by love.
I'm no longer the girl who was worn like a glove.
I'm no longer the girl who was thin and lean.
I'm no longer the girl with the good jawline.
I'm no longer her with red and brown spots.
I'm no longer her with a face full of dots.
No,
Then what am I now?
That I know–
I am a girl who's sensitive and sweet.
I am a girl who's fragile and weak.
I am a girl who let's out small giggles.
I am a girl with a voice so soft, it tickles.
I am a girl who melts, when I see love and care.
I am also a girl who's independent, no longer a pair.
I am a girl whose put on some weight.
I am a girl just accepting fate.
I am a girl with dotted lines.
I am a girl with wrinkled smiles
Which one do you like? If you'd ask me,
I think I'd say
The new new me~

Summer's coming to an end,
It's time for school to begin.
Classes shuffled,
Noises muffled—
School's never been this silent.

In a class of 34,
I've never felt this alone.
My pen, my only company.
Though there's less time for poetry.
No more free periods,
Just teachers shouting.
Period

Reading and reading—
A slow misery.
Just four more years—
Then I'm set free.

Summer's coming to an end,
It's time for school
to begin...

Looking strong,
Isn't always an advantage.
    Sometimes,
They forget you're human.
                They break you
                               And break you
                                              And break you,
And won't even bother to ask,
     If you're ok.

Honk honk honk honk,
Honking till our minds go bonk!
Honkin’ here, and everywhere,
Honkin’ even if no one’s there.

Honking like they’re driving high,
Honking like they’re ’bout to die.
Still honking after seeing red,
Honking till our ears bleed blood.

Then there enters a tortured guy—
Probably the wisest in Mumbai:
“Gimme a *****, lend me a hand,
Let me show them well who owns this land.”

One of the greatest makes of mankind:
The decibel meter—time to shine!
You wanna honk? Go ahead—
If you want the timer reset instead!

The more you honk,
The more you wait.
Stay within the limits—
You’ll be safe.

No more honk honk honk,
No more minds going bonk!

Once upon a time,
there lived a family of four.
There were always disputes and quarrels
behind the door.

All four brothers
stood firm and high,
while the father looked back at them
with a sad little sigh.

With all failed attempts
to resolve the fight,
he would teach 'em a lesson
to set them right.

"Go fetch a bundle of sticks,
just near the cattle!
Lemme teach you all a lesson—
a lesson to never battle!"

As they trudged along their paths,
under their breath they mumbled,
"Now what are these for?!"
They groaned, and they fumbled.

In the house, the father
told them to break the lot.
They tried and tried and tried,
but in the end, could not.

Then the father said,
"Now, break a single one."
In just a matter of seconds,
it was already done.

Now this is where they realize the moral of the story...

When we are together,
we are strong and hard.
We have the gift of unity—
thank the Lord!

When we are divided,
we are easy to break.
But when we are united,
a good team we make.

"Now do you realize
the mistakes you've made?
Now do you realize
the values you can take?"

"Yes, we do—
we're proud to say!"

Stems of memory
sprout from the roots of our heads,
nourished by cleansing rituals and events.
As we mature, so do they—
a young, shaggy tuft flourishes into thick threads,
looping at the ends like grapevine curls.

Some strands grow weak and brittle,
corroded by storms of stress,
waves of sweat,
droughts of heat,
and floods of chemicals.

Eventually, they loosen—
too exposed, too old to thrive alone—
and slip down the drain in scribbles of ink,
pulling along unfinished stories and thoughts,
leaving gaps, holes,
blank spaces in memory.

In time’s wrath,
what once bloomed and burgeoned
wilts and withers
into dry, forgotten clumps—
until one day,
no roots, no memories—
only silence.

Your poems
need not necessarily be
an ocean of metaphors,
brimming with lofty words.

Sometimes,
all it takes
is a drop of water
to quench
an ant’s thirst.

Life, a living orchestra —
a slow, steady climb,
the beginning of an overture,
greeted by the ****** of bells,
a gentle lullaby.

Gradually ascending —
a hum of the cello,
followed by a whisper of drums,
and a surge in pitch —
an escalating crescendo.

Emotions of music —
an overwhelming symphony,
dances alive,
attains its pinnacle,
an immense apogee.

A languid fall,
Into a pit of echoes,
all life enervates,
fading;
the final moments
before the end begins.

Aftermath creeps,
ushering in silence,
inching along,
devouring bit by bit,
towards a silent cadence.

A hundred thousand homes destroyed,
A hundred thousand souls trampled,
A hundred thousand dreams crushed.
All that remained was red–
Hearts surrendered,
the color of blood,
All for her–
a love worth the world.

The process of life
is like knitting fabric-
A slow, tiresome art,
calling for a lot of patience.

There are ups,
there are downs,
encountered by twists and turns—
and eventually,
in the midst,
tight knots.

But that is what sews it up!

In this course,
none are left in abeyance.

Every thread is distinguished,
with its own sole purpose
in making "living" whole.

Even one plucked out—
and the garment entirely unfolds.

All of us are strands of yarn,
crafted by the hands of God
bound together by the cosmos,
to make one beautiful piece:
Life.

You loved me.
I've hurt you.
I'm sorry.

It's all on me.
No one else is wrong.
Let them blame.

Is this enough?

I've cried rivers,
Become a desert.
There's no more life left.

Is this enough?

My friends are gone.
I took them for granted.
I stand alone and empty.

Is this enough?

I slap myself,
When a smile creeps.
I don't deserve it.

Is this enough?

Your needs come first.
Trample on me.
I am your slave.

Is this enough?

I've lost it all-
my tears,
my friends,
my happiness,
my respect,
my humility.

Is this enough?

Will you forgive me?

"Look at that fatty!"
The crowd starts roaring.
The poor kid's laughing too,
As the insults keep pouring.

"You're flat as a table!"
They snicker out loud.
She shakes it off with a laugh,
Silently wishing she was round.

"Check out those juicy melons!"
They praise the boy’s sight,
As the girl gets devoured
By their monstrous delight.

Stand up for the bullied—
Tell ’em, "That's rude."
They'll start mocking you:
"Aw, you tryna be someone good?"

Call the perverts out,
And tell ’em to shut up—
No, they won’t listen to ya,
They'll call you the ****.

Why?
Because in this generation,
The good's the bad,
And the bad's the good.
It’s sad to say,
There's nothing more to be understood.

You say I have an attitude
'Cause I don't mingle a lot?
Sweetie, you need a wording check —
That's called being left out.

Even if I preferred the space,
It doesn't make me an egoist.
There's a term called "introverts" —
Do add it to your vocab list.

People like you destroy innocent souls,
All for the need of your own
Self-satisfactory goals.

People like you don't deserve praise —
Instead, y’all need dents on your face.
For luring us into your sweet-scented trap,
Expecting joy — all we got was crap.

I curse at you loud in my head,
But when it comes to words,
It just can't be said.

And now I'm trapped in your sorcery,
With nowhere to go.
It just keeps repeating —
The seed's been sown.

A free-flowing body — within my grasp,
yet it slips through my fingers.
A vast mirror reflects the morning sky,
glistening like floating diamonds.

Yesterday, a gentle ripple caressed the shore —
the calm before a storm.
Today, a whirl of conflicts
devours all, whole.

As clear as glass — yet mysteries lurk,
in the uncharted waters of your deepest thoughts;
escaping light,
blending seamlessly into the eerie dark.

Drowned in your tears,
you became the ocean itself...
while I stood frozen in time,
slowly watching you drift away.

I am a lock without a key,
the salt and tears lost from my sea.
As I scrape my arms and pull my hair,
please free me from this twisted lair.

For a girl who has all but none,
is it too greedy to ask
for just one person who sees the truth
behind her painted mask?

For a girl who used to fight for space,
since when was "alone" her normal case?
For a girl who used to yap all day,
since when did she have nothing to say?

For a girl who did zit but act —
doesn't she deserve a reward?
"For the best acting skills of the decade,
we present to you... the Oscar Award!!!"

God, you're such a cruel witch,
throwing me in this pile of ditch.
Why do I have to be the one
to get your ***** work all done!?

God, I am SO fed up of this.
Fed up of playing the morning sun,
with a beam on my face, as I lighten your days —
"***, this is so fun!!!"

Just gimme a BREAK,
GODAMMIT!

I am SO done.
I am SO done.
I am SO done.