It is often said that good stories and poems can lift up your mood in no time. As for me, I am just an ordinary human with a colourful vision. We all have our own shades through which we look at this world. Here, I would be presenting some of my pieces; join them and you’ll exactly know how my shades look like! You’ll find an arcade of emotions wrapped up in a surreal blanket of my imaginations, every tale will tell you a different story.

So, if you’re bored with your daily chores, stuck up somewhere, entrapped in a myriad of complications or you feel lonely even with a cup of coffee and music on a moonlit night, my compositions will be your companion. You might not be able to connect with all of it, but some of the pieces are sure to cut through your mind. Keep reading, persist in relating!

Twenty four on Twenty Fourth

Hiding behind the kitchen wall,
A chubby girl eats chocolates;
She sings all day and plays with a Barbie doll,
Her restless legs now refuse to crawl.
Two shiny ponytails swing turn by turn
As her head revolts against boredom
And moves back and forth;
She says annoyingly,
“How long do I wait for March 24?”

The years,
Unable to keep track of untold stories,
Reflected on her face with utmost honesty.
That smile now beguiled some of the shiniest stars in the sky,
The teary eyes plagiarized twinkling happiness
And died every moment in the fire of a new lie.
Her restlessness has succumbed to contemplative rantings,
Yet she has her childish ways of loving herself.
A daring sweetheart with a heart of straw,
She says,
“I turn twenty four and I’m bold.
Even by mistake, don’t call me old.”

P.S.: I just turned Twenty four today and I thought of treating myself with something unique and hence, this poem.

Who are you?

Who are you?
Somebody whom I think I know
Or just an imagination,
Who claims to know me?

Are you that unearthly tuft of grass,
Lying on the ground,
Years ago,
Seemingly real,
When I rewind, it reads,
“Error 404: File not found.”?

Are you an era,
Where parody becomes the new praise,
Clarity defines haze?
A face in the crowd that stands still,
And when I look around,
I fall prey to my demons again.

Who are you?
The face of the one I see,
And the soul of somebody I feel?
Do you know who you are?
Do you belong to this unreal reality?


Hey, can you see?
The flowers of my presence,
Confide in your evening.
I try to stand strong,
Why do you shake me up?
Why do you make me sink?
Why do I die broke in your penury?

Hey, look up!
Will you please?
I see strangers,
People like you and me;
We stand quite,
They hit us like nobody.

Hey, don’t you worry!
By mistake,
I won’t tell you to anybody.
A battle you are,
Never to be fought.
I am lost in myself,
Liberated in your thought.


Flashes of light
Drowning unknown faces;
You cannot see yourself,
How can you see anyone else?
You’re lost
But you don’t know in whose world.

You don’t even know
Whether these flashes of light
That you’re holding on to
Will die out
Or just
Enbalm you for a moment.

A frizzy moment;
Scratching your nerves,
Ticking on your mind,
Preying on your soul,
Fading out in a moment.


The doleful night begs for a calm closure,
Sleepless eyes hanker for darkness;
Nostalgia screams out in agony,
To get rid of it’s existence.
I wonder,
How strong is my Persistence?

Whenever I look back,
I see your eyes stealing the smile
Of your lips locked up by Denial.
Seconds spin yarns in seconds
To give rise to a number of years;
You stand behind me,
Ageless, flawless and speechless.

You dwell in the intricacies of my silence;
Words flow out of my eyes as droplets of Reminescence.
Trials of forgetting you have
Etched your presence deeply on my mind.
Far away from the ‘Fading Green’,
We will see each other in the woods,
Once again.
And there, you will be mine.

Remembered the roses

-“What’s your favourite story in our prose book?”

-“Remember the roses, by Avery Taylor.”

That story was not a part of our syllabus but the sweetness with which he uttered it’s title, aroused a “brow arching” curiosity in my mind.
I went back home, left no stones unturned to avoid an unnecessary round of questions from my parents,  headed straight towards my room and kept on flipping the pages of the book until I found the right one; I was startled to find two roses stuffed in there! I couldn’t read the story and it has remained untouched since then.

I stopped seeing him after that; I wish I had not tried to find the answers to some questions that were lingering inside my head, a demise blends “forever” with “never” in a tricky way, that makes denial more consoling as compared to acceptance and at one point we are left with no choice other than succumbing to the situation.
He left behind a memory that haunts me even after years and it grieves a lot to say, “Yes, I remembered the roses…”

The coin

In an unpleasant moment of silence,
Emotions bottled up in years,
Unable to break the confines of the rosy liars,
Twinkled in her eyes.

Goodbyes got exchanged in a handshake.
A coin was all that she could hand him over,
Parting from each other was inevitable;
The conflict between “once more” and “one last time”
Cleared up the haze in her mind.
At once, she knew what she wanted.

Did the wait of expectations end there?
No, she wasn’t allowed to expect.
The silvery souvenir knew the depth of her feelings,
Being expressionless,
It felt sorry for it’s owner.

The willingness to linger resulted in looking back often,
The trembling followers of her senses
Craved to hold on to the fading lights.
She wondered,
Does every beautiful start need to have an abrupt end?
Or maybe,
The ending is delusionary.