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49.5k · Jul 2018
Your's truly, Travelogue.
Miss Saitwal Jul 2018
That workaholic lady who's always on call,
keeping up with the market fall.
That newly married lady with chunky red bangles,
returning to her father's big castles.

That person who's scared to get lapse,
so stays active on the google maps.
That person who swings like a kid at the back door,
Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor.

That next door girl with a red lipstick,
flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique,

That dreamer gazing outside the window,
That overworked soul dozing on his elbow.

That 21st century kid,
listening to Eminem & playing video games.
Or That 90’s kid,
listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games.

That banker with a big fat stomach,
filled with his beautiful wife’s love.
That lady who eats like a thief,
in her big fat bag hiding a beef.

That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns.
That granny spotting & criticing  every fashion trends.
That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns,
thinking & chanting for earns & returns.

Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield,
in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field.

That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial,
than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central,
& tryna stay sane listening to George Michael.

That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy,
when the masses flee into the scenery.
That trader crunching numbers so rapidly,
when the stock prices go down hourly.

That person on the last seat,
diagressing from work & gazing around,
soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.
12.5k · Jun 2018
A sequin murderous soul
Miss Saitwal Jun 2018
They bruise their pupils with the sharp red roses.
They built in an empire with fur ruffles & sequins.
They lived with poise spark & jealousy.

Burnt yet alive,
torn yet together.
Eyes, prudent of all,
Minds, dangerous of all.

Survive, said the Father
Believe, said the Jesus
Miss Saitwal Aug 2018
Places where we go and free our headspace,
spreading our  hands and feeling the raindrops.

It felt like an unique amalgamation of fright, fury and pure joy.

Fright of all the obligations barged on the soul.
Fright of not being with the right people at the right time.
Fright of falling on our own feet.

Round & round on the playground,
with an overwhelming typsy feeling.

The joy of sliding on the slippery dip,
touching the sky hanging on the swing.
The breeze touching the feet, playing with the hair & ticking the ears, until we fear to fall on the ground.

The alarming feeling of how precious our life is.
The joy of constantly working on ourselves to improve in life.
The joy of keeping ourselves first.
The joy of not missing out & living in the moment;

The joy of emphatic long conversations,
The joy of selfless efforts with no expectations.
The joy of doing the right things,
always at an unsuitable time;
The joy of being intutive over calculative.

The joy of spending fruitful earnings;
& believing in karma.

Feeling no need to explain our way of doing things
& doing what makes us feel good about ourselves.
Absolute joy of not being too ******* ourselves.

All joyful things go wrong, because it is their job to.
We make all dreadful things right, because it is our job to.

It all makes sense now,
We must get up,
spread your hands,
feel the raindrops,
and say,

“We made it all worth.”
781 · Oct 2018
Salt & Pepper
Miss Saitwal Oct 2018
Spill the sass in your throat,
Sit in that infectious boat,
and swallow the fire like a Mod 90's Caeser.

Pull that rope of impossibilities,
and swing to the door of happiness,
like the enchanting fireworks in Brisbane.

Climb the ladder of odds,
and kiss the pole of awkwardness,
like Beyonce dropping jaws with her moves.

Misread, mistaken, misled by faith,
and drinking a glass full of honesty,
like you own your mistakes & fantasies.

Funny fulfilled fantasies,
and anonymous swallowed fears,
like a diamond over an opaque rock.
588 · Jan 2019
Smallest gig ever.
Miss Saitwal Jan 2019
This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Like tunes are inevitable without rhythm
And lyrics without devoid experiences
And them, without inspiration.

We know, no boundaries
We play with the highest & lowest frequencies
We sound just fine without a chord or two.
If you separate us, we’ll sound like a lucid dream.
Keep us together and we’ll find our voice.
Of all the enchanted hearts with no expressible bond.

Clouds are like a storm & breeze like a tornado.
We shall accompany you with a cup of tea on an empty chair

But, when the sky clears and you feel free,
You may forget our deeds over your feelings.


Incapable of love, but not of tenderness.
Mistake the one, & the other shall carry the baggage.
We carry the void of emptiness,
till you play your part in this peculiar life.

Coz what we had was like a one night stand,
Emotionally unavailable,
Juvenile and vulnerable.

Inspiration dies with lack of will & curiosity.
This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Untill we live happily (n)ever after.

— The End —