"Go Slow", I told my life in January
"I want to take this journey at your pace"
"I want to build those bridges again"
"I want to complete you as I would always want"

"Hello!” I heard a call from the near far.  
Was it really a response from the healing heart of February?!
"I hold the right to set your pace"
"I hold the right to bless you sleeps"
“I hold the right to curse you sleeplessness"
“I decide the right for you in everything"

Until the obscene April summer turned up,
It was not life; but the Cyclone’s desire to fell everything en route.
I learned; there might be things to cherish
But would not want to own again

Rains in Kerala carry the rhythms of life
I once again made those paper boats
At my pace, as the 10 year old,
And as July demanded
Life grew deeper within, in that rhythm of rains
Nursing the one who nursed me for long
I learned, there are only cycles in life,
There is only movement in life

The flight took off, despite the pedantic reasons thrown over the tarmac
In that morgue of frozen mummies, I felt the futility of expectations
My Wings of fantasies halted, on top of the panoramic Great Wall
In the arc lights of award night, I enjoyed the pleasure of losing
Walking alone the Washington streets, I found the walks of life...

November comes concealing a lot; it conceive sorrows
It grows a detached attachment within and around you
November reinforces the relativity in everything
Life, love, respect, trust and confidence

I like the reds in December, it's flamboyance
I like the irony of "hope" brought in by this very end!
There are only cycles in life, no gains or losses
There is only movement in life, some forward
And some stuck in the maze and not knowing which way.

it's soaring through flaming green hills
your heart races with the curiosity of discovery
it's dancing on a secluded mountaintop
with the drunken energy of a motorino zipping.
it's the endless time spent laughing
lips tingling with wine and philosophy
furiously awaiting l'autobus
and saying basta to the pasta.
the hazelnut aroma of hot cappuccini,
and suddenly you have the bravery
to get lost alle tre in Trestevere.
it's watching sunrays part mountains and Corinthian columns
and sparkling on salty waters
and you inch toward the edges of cliffs
just to catch a glimpse.
it's the comfort of friends and Nutella
when Ryanair lands and Rome becomes Home
and life, and death, and carbs follow you.
it's the homeless and the hungry
sleeping in the strong arms of St. Peter
and disappointment and shame
consumes you.
it's sobbing when you are alone,
foreign, and strange
and sobbing when it's time to say
arrivederci
it's when you fall, your stupid heel caught between cobblestones
that you realize you're in love.

I bet you didn’t realize that most of the things I told you I hadn’t told anyone, and still haven’t. I know that I didn’t end up telling you a lot of things, because I knew that telling you would be admitting to myself that everything I said was real. but now that you’re gone I can’t help but wonder that if I had told you this, then maybe you would have stayed. or if I had told you that, then maybe you would have just ended up leaving with more parts of me than you already have. I don’t believe that I’ll ever truly be able to be myself again, or at least my old self because of you. almost all of the old parts of me were shared with you and now I’ll never be able to get them back. So thanks for stealing everything that I was..