Yup, Thin It Is…


My hope? Faith?

Yes, it is

Delicate infact…

Brittle and breakable…

Barely there…

Like wisps of smoke


Is my will to live… definitely…

Some days I am barely alive

Every decision seems wrong

I have lost my way

Lost my place, purpose

Thin is still my group of friends

What is not thin is my waistline…

A lost cause!

No doubt…

See, I can’t even make proper thoughts


How will I wade through all this sh!t?

I am falling backwards…

There is nothing to break my fall

This is probably gonna hurt more



Chewing Gum

I am traveling somewhere and all

No mentor, without center

No roots or routes

Not sure what the places are

Not sure about the faces of people either

Like a sticky chewing gum on a stranger’s boot

I am going places

And still not seeing anything

Not feeling much

Except the crushing weight of the person standing on me

Tell me, what traveler wants to write about a journey like this?

What traveler wants to remember paths like this?

I am leaving bits and pieces of me behind

One day, like that, I won’t be traveling anymore

No more roads, no more destinations that I cannot see

I am leaving myself behind in bits and pieces…

Electric Eyes

Little electronic eyes are stirring to life as the Sun withdraws to rise on a different horizon…

In response to Daily Prompt: Radiant

From 14 Till 30

At 14, I didn’t know why I was this attracted to the rain. I did not understand why it made me want to cry and still stare at the cascading water for hours together. It made me very depressive, still I did it. The thunder and the lightening scared me. The paper boats got crumpled in my hand, while waiting for the thunder and rain to subside, so that I could let my dream boat sail. Little did I know at 14 that it is going to drown anyway, even without thunder and lightning.

At 18, I was massively fascinated by rain. Continued to stare into the falling sheets of water and think of love, the face of the man I was crushing on. I thought of him and walking with him under one umbrella, without umbrella, didn’t matter. All the romantic films and songs played through my mind, sly smiles escaping my lips, every now and then. I turn and look around, is someone watching me? I don’t want to be caught. The shy blush, the fire in my eyes, the burn in my gut, ah! The lovely sentiments of the young and the naïve.

22. Now, that’s the peak of romance. I am in love. Definitely in love. Sleepless nights. No hunger. A feverish thrill runs through my spine in anticipation for the morning where I can see him, anticipation of the night where I can whisper into his ears, look at the moon and relive the feel of his lips on mine, anticipation of the dreams where skin meets the skin, breath mingles with each other. We plan our life, vacation, marriage in matching costumes, name our future kids and make retirement plans. All the while watching the rain, dancing in the rain, soaking in the feeling called love. The water penetrating my skin, making me more than wet, the lightening blazing through me. I am in foreign country, cocooned in familiar feelings, drinking in the new sights and smells. By the time I was 29, this happened a couple of times with different people. The novelty of new sights decreasing each time, rushing like never before to get back home. But home was so far that I am yet to reach. I am trapped in a foreign country, a displaced citizen, abandoned by all familiar people, uninteresting for new people, leaving me not even a refugee.

Now standing at the threshold of 30, the max I do is peek outside the window if it is raining. Shut all the windows and curtains and get lost under the duvet, and sleep. Alone. I stare back at the lightening. It hides behind the clouds as soon as it slithers out. Thunder barks and retreats. Rain washes, without cleansing. I can smell the arousal of earth, pulling the water deeper into her core, I turn away and close my eyes.

Then, it is then that the self-depreciating thoughts appear as uninvited company and keep me warm with tears and regrets and hurting memories. I have exhausted the reserves of romance and hope. No more peaks to scale in love, only fall in the deep abyss of loss.


Red. Pink. Crimson. Black. Green.

The shades of desire are many.

So what if I have a few scars…

The depth of my desire is the same as yours.

My blush is as Red as it is Violet.

What is yours?

In response to the Daily Prompt: Blush

From Your Heart

My dear,

It is not getting easier, is it? With each passing day, it’s getting harder and harder. The weight is more than I can bear, more than you can carry. Some days are a bit better than the others, most of the days are more difficult than the others, and the others days are somewhere in between better and worse. I hear you, day in and day out. The silence inside you is sometimes deafening. Your laughter is sometimes just a noise. It kills me to hear your hollow words, to see the love inside you left to rust. I carry this burden along with you, my girl. I am right there along with you. Like you, it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten what it is to be free and light. My autopilot mode might just crash anytime, thought I might as well give you a fair warning, before it’s too late. The broken pieces of yourself you discard, to make it easier for me, are not enough anymore. The space it leaves are taken up by the festering despair faster than a bolt of lightning.

Baby, this poison is spreading. I am dying. At least it feels like it. I am sure this is not called living. I hate to tell all this to you, something that you already know. It’s killing me as much as it is killing you. In case, if one fine day, I cannot muster enough strength to beat for you, I want you to understand that I tried. I gave you my best. It’s is hard to beat, it’s harder to let go too. I want you to know that all your efforts were appreciated. Everything. When you threw out every unfulfilled dream, wish and unrequited love and tried pull me out of the ventilator to a normal life, I knew that you were trying your damnest for me. But sometimes the world becomes too mean to live in. It pokes and bullys you. And you cannot be mean back at it. Because that is not who you are. And I love you for that. Baby, you are a tough nut. Just not the toughest.

I am not giving up yet. I know you are not either. Admitting your weakness is not admitting failure. So that is what I am doing now. I am right now at my lowest. I hope to hell that this is just a phase and I will bounce back and there is still more fight left in you.

Love, let’s make a promise to each other, to let it all out — the pain, the disappointment, the misery and everything that draws blood from your soul. It will take time, but you’ll get there. I know. Let’s be each other’s hero in this world of villains. I promise you, the millionth sigh that leaves your chest will not be of sorrow but will be of contentment. Start counting and make every breath count. We rely on each other, you know that right… Your strength is my strength. Your will is mine. You live and live, I live and you live. We need each other. Now more than ever.

Cry. It’s okay. Don’t be ashamed of your tears. Beyond the river of tears is a smile that sparkles like a crystal. It’s gonna blind so many sweetheart, you wait and watch. Till you reach the end, just keep going. Keep breathing. I’ll keep beating.
Lots of love,
Your Heart!
PS: All the heart beats are praying for you. Don’t give up.

In response to Daily Prompt: Noise