making poetry out of broken bones and dead leaves

I do not want melted cheese dripping out of your words

because I have decided to go vegan since

the memories of mint chocolate chip ice cream

won’t erase itself from my amygdala.

I believed in braided manes and pink bows till

You swept in like a tornado over my untamed inferno and

Blizzard got into my roots and home,

Became a non existent entity.


I stopped going to family functions because

Their tongues seemed too distant and faces

Broken down into senseless metaphors under

White lights and blazing sunlight and I

Am more comfortable in the dark.

As I sat on the swing and

Let you make me taste the sky over

Fierce promises woven with laughter and bloody kisses

Like a mattress that now I sleep on

Because the bed doesn’t hurt me enough and

A ceiling separating the sky from my ludicrous notions.


I think I prefer the smell of dead roses and

have found solace on empty benches with

Whiskey replacing my blood, making

My head so much more clear that I know

I was in a hallucination these last four years.

Paragraphs and prose don’t mean anything more than

Collateral damage over empty sheets and yellow parchments

Because they need to stay as they are/trust me,

I let myself be written on with ink and knife till

A seismic wave hit me and

My skin is a canvas of awry scars and subtle stab marks.


Profession of love and candle light dinners

Are not even a part of my history book because

The pages got burnt the night when the candelabras shattered

Over them and love

Got punctured even before it reached your palate and

I stood there listening to moans and haunted echoes

Like Chinese whispers they don’t make sense anymore

And I am deaf now.


My hall is map of broken glasses and

stench of my bare feet and uncombed hair/ walls blanketed with

Lines that I cried every day/ my throat hurts because

I drank from the last glass that was half chipped where my

Lips touched them and

I could taste metal on my tongue but

I did not stop till I retched it all out and slept on the floor

Curled up into a ball because the last time I was at peace

Was when I rested my head inside mother’s womb.


Today I drank tea from my last splintered glass and

Carried myself with poise because, yesterday

I smashed my furniture and the walls could not contain anymore alphabets, so

I wrote a poem over dead leaves that littered the cobblestones of our relationship

And the lines somehow penetrated into

broken bones and still tissues of my chest/ my heart

has finally found a way to pump its way to live, another day.


(Artwork by Shalu Sanklecha. Follow @artisan.affair on instagram for her work)




because those lungs won’t stay young for too long.

they say the air is turning wild

unfathomable humans have woven their magic.

the surface seemed too unscathed too beastly

with untamed splashes

of stains all over wrong places.

We have this problem you see, we want our presence felt at a place we have laid

our body parts on

and footprints are only but a temporary means to leave marks.

They started with red. Too much of red within and hardly a streak outside,

yeah sometimes a splash across the evening sky doesn’t count.

So they found a way.

Why not, in the name of a better life a better world a better god, play the game of cutting each other?


Earth has been tainted and coloured now.

Pieces of meat strewn around, oh look at the rivers.

They won’t boast of purity now.

Red. They like things red. It has a primal force

that no green blue or brown of the world

can match.


No. Something is wrong.

This doesn’t feel complete.

Something is missing


Yes! Her skin is too clear and ego rampant.

The rage and storm is brewing faster than the Harvey. Let us mark her.

Leave imprints of naked fingers over her empty arms and unmarked legs, complete the artwork with cigarette butt marks at other places.

There. Now you can breathe.

What were you saying about the air?

I know you haven’t slept more peacefully.


Spread your arms wide enough to contain

all the happiness there is.

You don’t find it easy these days.

Fill every ounce of air there is

within those alveoli and let the vocal cords do their magic.

Inhale happiness and exhale laughter. *breathe in-breathe out*

Don’t forget the eyes.

I see them happy today. Moments, like these is what I live for.

Just let the feral take over your body and

Let the wolves know you are home.

No no. Don’t stop because they are looking.

They always do.

I told you.

Happiness doesn’t come easy here.

Remind them of sunny oceans and warm cups of tea in monsoon

of Christmas lights and fairy tales because

Claws of hierarchy has gnawed into

their arteries and the veins too, haven’t been spared.

You see, they are hurting everywhere.

Laugh and make them believe in piggyback rides and mistletoe kisses

of tooth fairies and sheer old good luck.

Let them see you laughter and burn on a pyre built on their altar

because they are way too high on vodka

to remember how it feels to

have heart broken and skin sutured

to have the ground crack open beneath bare feet and fall.

But more importantly, they have forgotten to swat away dust

from the back of their khakhi shorts and

find their way away from the riot

to set the world on fire.


because you are drowning.

And what better place to hide those useless, unwelcoming tears

Than under water.

You think you own yourself? You are the masters of your fate? Your destiny?

You think you decide what’ll happen to you?

Think again.

I will give you two seconds.


there. I just proved my point. I made you think, made you hear me out.

Everyday you get up to the drumrolls of feminism, secularism, nationalism and the likes

yet, every frequency of those sound waves hitting your eardrums

doesn’t manage to make it’s home inside your skin.

You still hope that the guy whose eyes your eyes met

at the bar of your friend’s funeral would text you.

You expect piercing bullets to not leave marks and trees

to offer you shade when you have cut them all down.

You expect the city to offer gold when all you have showered it with,

are your whimsical tears. Go on. Let it fall.

It’s the least of yourself you can give.

Cry, because a woman is raped every 15 minutes.

Cry, because someone’s dies on the road every 4 minutes.

Cry, because 21 children under the age of 5 die every minute

Cry, because we are meticulously killing humanity to silence the holocaust within

but we forget that Hitler, was one of us.


Because reasoning is light years away and

emotion is hot metal over wet tongue.

You are made up of star dust yet

you aren’t shining bright enough.

Frantic nights spent over long distance phone calls and

equal number of days of being sprawled over the atlas

Making paper dreams and combustible promises won’t leave any mark.

G strings and polaroids done right may

seem like a bloody paradise but

oh it is all a facade, so do not remain silent.

i see the blazing inferno behind monkey masks and plastic laughs so


Stop with the filters and the god forsaken hearts.

You are an incomplete page of an incredible book

And you need to scream out loud.

Scream, till words are forced to leave the comfort of A4 sizes and dear diaries.

Scream, till it is not monochrome everywhere and shops don’t just sell the bedsheets red.

Scream, because your laughter has left the distorted shadows that haunt the roads you once called home and threaten to wipe away a little more.

Scream, till every syllable that never left your mouth

finds a pyre to burn off ambiguity and bring back hope into newspaper headlines and shadowed baggy eyes.

Scream with every father, friend and daughter till their demons are murdered in their own nightmares and they find a corner to lay their head to rest.







you will go with fall leaves sans epitaph over your cold tombstone.

Build a fountain over your coffin while you still can

because tomorrow

no one would be left to mourn.


The Vanishing Whisper

To all those stories that didn’t happen when they should have
To all those stories that have unfinished business
To all those stories that would never be written
To all those stories that would never see an end.

He loved her.
She didn’t.

He saw the sun
And the stars
In her eyes.
She didn’t care
To look him
In the eye.

He waited till
The vines of
Strangled him.

He left.

The tree
Was bare
And the sky
Was bereft.

She remembered.
The glimmer
Of hope
In those eyes.
Those eyes
That she didn’t
To look into.

She begged
And vowed
And cried
To no avail.

She wanted more
He didn’t.



“Top your class Beta. Why did you score less than XYZ?”
“Put in your cent percent and ace 12th grade; your life is set.”
“Get good pointers in college, will you? Companies won’t recruit you.
Do your PG and you will get an amazing job.”
Get married, have kids and settle down now.
Welcome to the world
of worrying about them topping, acing, getting a job
and settling in life – And the pattern goes on.

Before it’s too late. They are talking about paper wings and castles
of sand.

I got a pair of paper wings that
Will take me to Brobdingnagian heights.
They have speckles of gold over blotches of rainbow.
Oh! Such a beautiful sight.

‘Fly my girl! To the mountains.
Move boulders with all your might.
Then come to rest in the Shore Castle
And have a beautiful night.’

Patience and perseverance
Clouded my mind.
The shroud of happy times kept me
Awake all night.

Today was the day when I shall finally give
Wings to my dreams that I
Saw perpetually every night.
I wore them with pride
And carried a small smile.
Nor rain nor hail could falter
My vow to rise.

Grey clouds announced their approach.
They lurked their way through
And caged the sun from all sides.
Rain and wind gashed the earth
Quavering my stout resolve.

I looked hopefully at
My harnessed wings.
Alas! The colours were oozing their way
Towards the brown terrain.
They were nothing but a pair of muck
That mocked me.

I tore them away from my body.
It wasn’t the cold but
The Hope
Which crumbled before my eyes
That made me tremble.

‘It’s ok.
Get yourself together. I still have the
Shore Castle waiting for me
To have a beautiful night.’

I reached the shore.
The sea was high and uncouth,
Lashing the shores with
All it’s puissance.

I searched frantically for the Shore Castle.
They had promised
It shall shelter me from rage and snow
That danced
Among the mortals and bones.

I tripped and fell
Face down on the shore.
Salt and grit hit me hard;
Supervened by the ugly truth.

They lied to me and fed me
With desires, hopes and delusions.
‘You are doing all this for a beautiful tomorrow.
Envisage a happy face.’
It took me apart – One pearl at a time
From the necklace I had woven every day and every night.

They gave me wings
To fly to soaring heights.
And built castles made of sand and bright.
I didn’t know that wings of paper
Would decimate when I try
To let my dreams fly.
Nor did I realize that
Castles of sand shall disappear
When the Sea will rise
To erase the prints of yesternight.



hope and sanity




She looked proud and pretty.
But have you trodden her soul?
Some places are scratched,
Others have healed.
Most of it , though
Is empty.
The hollowness that looks
So charming, pure and tempting
Shall be filled
By Tomorrow.
A Tomorrow that offers
Everything ; yet nothing.
Her journeys will
Etch the words
And carve the stones that
Lay bare in
The Garden of Life.

Be like the sea.Don't let trivial deeds mar your shore.




Have you ever been lonely?
I am sure you all have.
You feel abandoned; worthless; despondent.
It’s like a never ending abyss.
It creeps into the deepest
And the purest part of you
And drains you completely.
You feel helpless and
Utterly disappointed.
You don’t know if you want to
Blame yourself
Or your neighbour.
Or the world, for that matter.
They all say that they will be there.
Sacred pinky promises were made.
Vows of brotherhood taken.
In good times and bad,
Just give me a call
And ill be there, they said.
They, who?

One day,
The most awkward,
Out of the world situation
Arrives at your doorstep.
And you are pulled into the shambles.
It’s like a chain.
An eldritch one too.
The harder you try to get away,
The tighter it holds on to you.
All you can think of is one thing – Who will take me out of this?

You think of calling someone
Someone you suppose is the closest.
Who shall
Be what may get you out of this
Uncanny predicament.

You call him(or her).

He may come to rescue you, for good.
An act of kindness with(out?) expectations.
Expectations that
You will be there for him.
A debt that you shall be weighed upon,
Which you shall have to remember
Your entire life.

Or he may not come.

And the shambles you see, doubles if he denies.
All the tears and memories with that person
Crumble into the already
Crumbled world.

You lose the tiny hope you have
Of getting away from
The sickening feeling that
Has now enticed every
Molecule in your body.
And you go deeper into the quick sand.

The grip tightens and
You start to choke.
All you have
Are a few breaths to count before
Oblivion merges with you.

You have to stay aloof.
You have to find
That glimmer of hope
To survive.
Not for anybody
Or anything.
For you.

You fight all the shenanigans
That have clouded your mind for so long.
It’s only you who can
Flush it out of your system.
Only you can unshackle the bounds
That have bound you
Time and again
And forced you to question
The rules that
You have been told about
All your life.

They all said they will be there.
And then there were none.


Life will present us with so many instances where we have to run solo. And mind you, you will always expect company. Don’t. And sometimes a situation arrives where you are in a mess that seems impossible to get out of. My advice? Do not depend on anybody. Take it up as a challenge and get out of it. The satisfaction you get out of it is amazingly insoluble. And you don’t owe anything to anybody.