I have these abandoned cities inside of me,
Named on the people that once used to love me.
All the roads and the towers are devoid of company-
No one there remembers my face.


So, pls, understand how hard it is for me to answer your trivial "tell me more about yourself"



I have been held before by a gaze as soft as yours,
He is a stranger now, like you'll be too.
I have been desired to stay, and been pleaded to go-
Both at once.

So, pls, understand if I tune you out sometimes and go whichever way the wind blows.


I have my hands stained in the color of ink,
All these sadness and I don't know what to do with it
I have been both- a sad girl and sadness wearing the face of a girl,
You pick whoever you like more.

But, pls, understand if I can't exactly tell who I'm and what is it that I want.

I have been seen - either on the edge; wary of the fall,
Or playing in the deep end, till I go blue in the face.
Adrenaline is who I court, but I'm married to the caution
Till sadness comes to take its claim, and his I become.

So, pls, understand if most of the times my eyes have layers upon layers of emotions, but my face is blank.

I have made words my eulogy, eulogy my beginnings.
I have so many stories to tell, but they demand to be left alone so stubbornly.
So quiet and out of place, like the last ray of sun in a twilight sky- I stay still to breathe.

So, pls, try to understand this is not poetry but just an attempt to understand my own self?

The rustling of autumn leaves, the snow dissipating in your palm, the fluttering beats of your heart as he comes close, a hundred Tsunamis clashing in your stomach as he whispers your name and kisses you soft. The first time you realised you were in love.

The faint humming of windchimes, the echoes of the winds amongst the mountain top, the homely smell of your favourite dish, the Handwritten love notes that are never exchanged, the subtle glances, his breath fogging up your spectacles. the feeling of invinciblity. The first time you ever believed.


The rush shimmering down to something warm, something more permanent, like the gentle embrace of your bed after a long way back home, like the  quiet after a chaotic stormy night, the steady way your hand finds his as if out of habit, the ease at which his name rolls of your tongue, all your favourite poetry books piled up on his table, late diary entries with half the words crossed out, mornings with his favorite chocolate shake alongside your espresso. The feeling that nothing could ever go wrong.

The arriving rustle of thunderstorms, the sea wrecking the sand castles we made with so much love, the rain pounding on my window, the shattering sound of glasswares that only I could hear. The first time I realised love was not always beautiful.

Abandoned buildings standing tall, an unplanned nap in wintery afternoon under the sun, the waning of flood slowly from your heart, the first intake of air after you make it to the surface, the sun fighting through the darkness every dawn. Love is not perfect but it will do.

The last murmured I love you before you fall asleep, dust particles dancing to the beat of sunlight, short pecks on cheeks, every thing frighteningly falling into a routine, fingers in my hair unknotting my stress, a comfort so overwhelming it shadows the love we felt, eye contacts and a sudden coming undone, naked souls stripped off all layers like the first time, unravelled by just one gaze. The first time I understood love is both- the grand confessions and the simple act of being there, and neither and so much more, all at the same time.


Spirited laughter playing in the background, the walls full of memories in frame, the breeze slowly singling lullabies, the fading music after the song has ended, a reminiscence of something so old you can't tell if it's a dream, sunlight dancing on the leaves. A book in my lap with you next to me. I still have not figured life out but with you I can finally live it.

Instead of watching the seasons change from behind my window sill, I feel it change within me.

But have you ever wondered that maybe the ******* moon is just waiting for the day the sky/gravity lets it free so it can float away to another sky where it is not so scarred and where it does not have to be the witness of all the lovers' sighs. Maybe moon hopes to be the sun in another horizon.

But have you ever wondered that maybe the ******* sun is tired of never having a loving gaze upon itself when it's shining so happily, brighter than ever . Maybe it goes and comes just to get the attention it never could when he is happiest. Why does one need to lose its shine just to blend in? Maybe the sun envies the lovers' longing gaze on the moon. Maybe the sun sets daily wishing it was the moon.

But have you ever wondered that maybe the stars are so **** tired of being left out. Like most of the people can't even differentiate between them and there they rest, looking warily upon us, trying to be content with being mentioned In plurals. Always as a part of the group, not as a distinct identity. They watch wistfully as the sun and moon long to be each other, but not them. Never them. Because who would want to give up who they're just to be the fading background for others to outshine them.