A note to self 

Don’t dwell too much on who you are, the meaning & the purpose of it all. 

Do what you want and you will find who you are and aren’t-

In your triumphs and falls. 


Like | Comment | Subscribe 


A Telephone Story

The telephone rings. 

Murdering the unsuspecting silence. 

I pick up. 


The silence resumes. 

No answer comes. 

And yet I’m afraid to cut the line. 

‘Is that you?’ I ask; tentative, unsure. 

A slight sigh, a give away. 

And my lungs cling on to the air. 

I can hear my own heart beating. 

Or maybe it is hers?

I do not know. 

It’s been a while since our silence talked. 

The tears gather and join the time parade. 

A free fall. 

The ghosts get a touch of life. 

The world heals in silence. 

And the naïveté of imagination builds castles in the air;

Always a sucker for happy endings. 

…And then my cell beeps. 

‘Shit!’ We both say at the same time. 

I fumble around and switch it off. 

But the damage is done. 

The silence is gone. 

The castles fall. 

And the reality takes it’s roots again. 

‘Yeah.’ She exhales. 

Maybe convincing herself all over again. 

‘Yeah.’ I agree. 

The line clicks off…

Maybe this is what, we all can ever get. 

A life punctuated by a series of blank calls and missed chances. 

I make my way back to my room engrossed in my past. 

‘Who was it?’ My present asks. 

‘Nobody sweety. Let’s go back to sleep.’ I reply.

‘Another blank call?’ 

Maybe she knows.

‘Another blank call.’ I reply. 

Maybe she misses someone too. 


Like | Comment | Subscribe 


I’ve always loathed the monotonous, drag of a routine. 

And I know we are genetically designed to be optimistic about the future. 

But maybe constance is not such a bad thing. 

Once you realise the flip side of a change. 

And don’t believe everything your gut says; It ain’t a fortune teller. 

The simple truth is- 

No matter where you are; Things can always go from bad to worse. 


Like | Comment | Subscribe 

A Movie Review 

Once me & my grandfather were watching his favourite movie. 

A vintage tragedy; An epic romance. 

And afterwards we discussed the cast, the plot & the screenplay; 

And lost the track of slippery time. 

It was that mesmerising… 

But once I returned to the realms of reality, I said- 

‘I don’t believe it. That’s not real. Love like that doesn’t exist!’  

The bitterness of my past dripped sour from my tongue. 

‘What was the length of the movie?’ The wise man calmly asked. 

‘Two hours?’ I replied. 

‘Did you know it took them to eight months to shoot that two hours worth of perfection?’ 




Somethings don’t exist. You can’t just ‘find’ them. They need to be built & looked after everyday. 


Like | Comment |Subscribe

Chocolate Wrapper

I’m a rogue chocolate wrapper. 

Even a gentle breeze sweeps me off my feet. 

And again and again I land in the dirt. 

On the window sills, in back alleys, on greasy poles I don’t wanna be. 

I want the wind to carry me to the world. 

All the nice places where all the nice people go. 

And when the winds are kind, I do. 

I land on the lush, green lawns- 

I sunbathe, I refresh.  

I’m slapped against statues & monuments- 

I ask great people what life really means, I reflect. 

Sometimes I’m in corporate marble lobbies- 

& I sprint around playing with busy people’s brisk, business feet. 

And one time a little girl even put me into her purse. 

I’m not trash anymore. 

I’m a cherished treasure. 

Freedom for a little bit of love- not exactly a bad trade, isn’t it? 

So I sit there crammed into a corner of her world. 

Feeling happy in a warm, suffocating hug. 

And I realise what the statues meant when they said- 

‘Happiness is just a state of mind.’

Mulling upon my newfound worth, I wait. 

I’m fooled by my own lies. 

Do I miss my crazy, windy days…?

And then one day her mom asks her to tidy up. 

I‘m optimistic. 

Or am I arrogantly confident? 

I’m tossed into the trash can. 

I’m broken. 

I land into a tin of carbonated drink. 

I’m crumpled. 

The lazy, bubbles give me a half hearted lift. 

I drown. 

I cry, but nobody knows. 

And then, after who knows how long- I’m free again. 

Back on a greasy pole. 

I’m struggling to see the bright lights. 

The wind is worried. 

It carries me to the places I used to enjoy. 

But I don’t flutter, I don’t play. 

I just sit on my butt and lay there. 

Getting stepped on by busy, business feet. 

Loosing my sweetness every time I’m squeezed. 

Thinking trashy thoughts knocked down people think about. 

Convinced I’m nothing more than trash. 

Lying discarded, on the edge of the life. 

A neglected protector of the sweetness of the world. 

That’s my story… 

I’m a crumpled chocolate wrapper. 


Like | Comment | Subscribe 


I’m a blind sheep. 

And he’s the expert shepherd. 

He orders, I follow. 

No questions asked. 

I’m not allowed to think.

I’m just an eating machine- A liability. 

No scope for emotions, opinions or dreams. 

He decides everything for me… 

He’s a sloppy pacifier. 

I’m the curious rebel- Always trying to slip through the gaps. 

No more soured, burdened treats. 

I’m intrigued by the raw, freedom leaves. 

But like all the things that bring joy, soon the golden age ends. 

For he’s the master trapper and I’m just a naive prey- 

Drawing too much attention. 

Ecstatic with the triumph of my escape. 

Sometimes I think, he purposefully lets me loose, 

Just to crush my newborn hopes- in time- once again. 

Just to highlight the futility of my struggles. 

Now, I’m back in his cage… 

I’m a criminal to be tried for the crime. 

There are no rules or rights. 

Hesitant- I raise my hand. 

But, how dare I speak my mind? 

He’s the true victim, not me. 

I’m just an unreasonable, ungrateful brat- a stranger to the ways of the world. 

An entitled tantrum ensues. 

The jury applauds his touching performance. 

He’s good with his words and he’s good with his whip. 

And he establishes my life as his right! 

Reasons how it always has been that way. 

Follows a tale of sacrifices & debts. 

And now the other prisoners agree, too. 

Afraid of his ferocious strike. 

And the drama is ceremoniously dismissed. 

I’m the declared culprit!

‘Hey, but I never got a chance to defend myself!’ I scream. 

It echoes through the reinforced walls of maximum security. 

The inmates crack up with laughter. 

The society clowns are my frequent visitors. 

They bring the prescribed doses of smirking, ancient wisdom. 

Gauging my subdued stubbornness. 

Congratulating the shepherd for his work. 

‘Soon he’ll be one of us!’ 

He assures the inspector as he sees him out. 

Another rebellion is crushed. 

Another example is set. 

The despot smiles to himself; content. 

He collects his hunting gear, 

And heads out the door. 

Looking for another sheep- 

Whistling along his innocent tune. 


Like | Comment | Subscribe 

Sweet Migraine

I taste the world through my words. 

I paint my pain through a verse. 

The secret pieces suffer. 

Never graced with a day’s light. 

Stashed away in the shadows. 

In invisible sorrows of my smiles… 

My heart yearns for her. 

The organs play their favourite bits. 

The eyes see her thousand avatars. 

The skin remembers her velvety touch. 

The ears ring full with laughter. 

Her laughter. 

The lips quiver softly. 

And the brain burns. 

And I know it isn’t real, 

But I’m happy with the torture. 

The migraine grows. 

It’s got a beat of it’s own. 

A continuous throb. 

I’m a ticking time bomb. 

Sadness drips from my sharp eyelashes. 

A gash opens with a scarlet stream. 

Pink embroidery on the white porcelain sink. 

The water creates intricate patterns. 

And then drains my traces clean. 

My skin looks pleased at it’s neat work. 

The tears stop. 

The migraine dulls to a distant thud. 

She’s a jar’ plays on the radio, as I silently empty. 

The world fades. 

I’m a singular white light. 

I float. 

I’m a balloon tied to my own feet. 

And yet somehow I’m on the floor. 

A shattered jar, few missing pieces. 

I don’t understand how this works. 

But I’m content in my crimson pool. 

The music continues to play. 

Hammering away a new migraine. 

But I don’t care. 

I’m a balloon tied to my own feet. 

I’m a singular white light. 

I float. 


Like | Comment | Subscribe