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. 


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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. 


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What are you trying to say Oscar?

“All bad poetry springs from genuine feelings.” 

~Oscar Wilde 


Maybe this is what consolation looks like… 

But, does this mean all good poetry springs from non genuine feelings? 

Or does it mean good poetry also springs from genuine feelings?? 

But then what’s the point? If all poetry comes from genuine feelings, then this quote is useless. 

Maybe, he’s trying to say that poets are the most genuine people on the planet. 

Yes! That’s it! Now, it’s all making sense… 

But wait! Does that mean all non poets are non genuine? Or does it mean that all non poets are also genuine?  

Okay! I get it. He’s not saying anything about non poets. Just like he wasn’t saying anything about good poetry. But one thing’s for sure. If you’re a bad poet like me, you must be genuine. 

At that very moment a poet kid- both bad and non genuine- enters the room. And as usual I completely loose it. 

‘NO! You can’t be both bad and non genuine kid! No, no. It doesn’t work that way. You have to choose one. You know how your mother doesn’t allow you to have ice cream and chocolate in the same day. It’s the same!’ 

‘But then what are you saying about chocolate ice cream?’ The kid asks. 

Yes… I knew, I shouldn’t mess with kids… Maybe I’ve lost that knowledge, too. 

So, let’s get back to what I know. Yes. I know adults who earn can have as many desserts as they want- daily. But what’s that saying about their gum health? And what about the gum health of adults who are jobless? 

And what about bad fiction poetry? Is Oscar saying it doesn’t exist? 

I don’t know. I simply don’t know anything anymore! But wait, does that mean I’m John Snow? 

P.S. for the dummies : A poet kid doesn’t mean a poet’s kid. It means a kid who writes poetry. 

Wait! Do we still have those in the insta-world, where a picture speaks a million words? What are you saying! 

P.P.S. : I’m non being sarcastic. I’m merely trying my hand at being comic. 

Yeah. I know I’m bad at it. But again, does that make me genuine?? 

3P.S. : I know this sh*t doesn’t sound like me. Maybe this WordPress account is hacked…. Shh! 


Anyway there you go. That’s your quote for the day. 

Yeah. That’s what we title these posts with these days. Just don’t expect them daily!