For home is still home
With cultured curtains
And bricks of beliefs
As I lie in my bed, the door locked
The opinions clog my head
Like the blocks
Of jenga, all over my thoughts
An opinionated burden
No more in the structure
They moulded me in
Eyes edgy with interrogations
Neck swirling in doubts
Unnecessary snap backs
Uninvited courageous bouts
For home is still home
With mother in the kitchen
Father at work
Except the constant dilemmas
A mind fresh; going berserk
Limbs growing repulses
Not hair
A mouth brimming with despair
A misfitted set of rules
The clever; mistaken as the fool
The constant struggle to shout
Then to fight yourself
Into silence
For home is still home
Thorns disguised as cushions
A field of blatantly swallowed violence
Where you can be a flower
A cherry blossom or it’s child
But they become the cruel gardeners
If with the thunder, you roar wild
For home is still home
Where they say you’re welcomed
Where you can speak but not be heard
The more often; the better seldom.

poetry · Prose

7 Mouths

Not even seven mouths

Were enough to make him believe

His demons were

Only his, to keep

The curve of my neck

The graveyard where

Each night, his sins

He’d clumsily bury

Then each morning he’d cringe

At the sunlit sight

Of the kinship between

My skin and his teeth




Mourn your Heartbreak

You don’t celebrate heartbreak. You mourn it. You let your insides dress up in the blackest attire of emotions stacked in the last only broken hanger at the back of your head. Then you weep. Like a detergent soaked sponge that just doesn’t run out of froth. You weep all the intertwining of fingers, syncing of heartbeats, jokes meant for two and hours envious of all the sleep you found in the rhythm of his balanced breathing every night you could hear your demons sneaking out of their burrows only to feel the intensity insane enough to put them back to sleep.
You don’t celebrate heartbreak, you mourn it. You mourn it until you’re worse than a raisin kept in sun till it’s rotten to the core, until you’re the one beat of the song they always forget the next line from, until you’re howling louder than the screeching of chalks on a black board, your eyes more swollen than stubborn soap bubbles that just aren’t fragile enough to burst, switching finger after finger, never giving up hope.
You mourn it till all the love glazed handwritten notes are crumpled under your feet worse than leftover confetti, till every single lyric becomes a horror story in its own, till every chuckle of his becomes more foreign than home.
You mourn.
You mourn yourself for being blinded by the shine in his teeth
Blocking the sight of the poison ivy seeds
He carried under his tongue
Planting them in you the first time his lips
Graced yours
Nourishing them each time you kissed
Your eyes shut, his tricks wide awake, all ready with the smirk
As he carefully watered the birthing venom in you with tender fingertips, eyelashes like the end of a paintbrush, calling you a masterpiece, then watching you get crushed under the lies coated in sugar, you mourn the branches that now wrap themselves around your ribs, sucking in the air that enters garnishing it with the life that remains in you.
You don’t celebrate heartbreak.
You mourn it.
You mourn the day his gaze met yours, you mourn his silhouette that blended into every dent of yours
Leaving you emptier than a rusted vessel.
You don’t celebrate heartbreak. You mourn it. You let it murder the best of you, abandoning you to start anew.

poetry · Prose

Tongue like the Minute Hand

Despite the chattering teeth
The click of my heels
I remember the heart tiptoed on its beats
Stood at the door knob
Turned it in slow
You opened your eyes, I knew I was home
The glasses clinked against each other’s edges
I remember tying my hair in a knot to be able to contain the urges
That came rushing in faster
Than trains with damaged brakes
I felt like a treasure trunk in chains
As you wrapped your hands around my waist
And I laughed
I laughed louder than the final strike
Of thunder light outside
For that night the light
Wasn’t the greatest in the skies
But in your tongue swirling like the minute hand
Between my thighs

poetry · Prose

A War in my Head

And about the fact that you left
I came to terms with it
Absence wasn’t easy. Breakfast wasn’t accompanied by the clinking-clanking of your side’s cutlery anymore.
So what, I told myself.
Over and over again till the words were inscribed on my brain like the spelling of your name all over me, only this time, the brain thought it had the upper hand.
So what if you left, so many have, anyway.
So what if rain didn’t mean singing and giggling anymore and only cleared as another reason to not do the dirty laundry lying there since over a month in the same corner of our bedroom floor.
In my head, I was being productive. Going around, talking to people watching films reading books writing blogs eating good.
Only outside my head, I was there.
In the same position, at the same place, hours and hours till my sleep was chased
Away by the depression that came in stronger than any regret I had, braver than whatever courage was left
But I swear, my brain tried its hardest to make peace with your absence not being he only reason behind my pain
It prepared its stock of pretense it used bit by bit to bring back the strength it thought I had somewhere locked
Not realising it was dead and burnt and gone.
I swear in my head nothing at all was wrong.
I began setting 33 alarms and still missed out on morning class
No matter how trashy the alarm sounds, no matter the number of snoozing rounds, I lay there in bed cursing my fate
For having to acknowledge, yet another day.
I tried my best to become all that I was, the glass of the locket you brought once long ago
Reflected back the good days, now scattered like Jenga blocks all across the floor
They went around my throat like a pendulum
Left and right
Left and right
Until when sanity was out of sight
Until when I was devoid of all the might
I had till when you were here
Guarding my fears with the sound of your chuckles
Finding my quiet amongst the self destructive rubble .
About the fact that you left
I came to terms with it
Trying my best to believe
You aren’t someone I regret
Trying my best to pretend
The fight was won by my head


A heart too hard to love

My love seethed from my lips into your mouth, draping itself like vacuum around your tongue.
I thought it will make your mouth feel safe.
But it worked worse than venom, in your case.
My love was wilder than thunder tides.
A million tones deeper than the brown of your eyes.
I sowed it in you like a seed.
You didn’t need so much
You began struggling to breathe.
What I thought would be
My magic on you
Instead pulled you
Far away from me.
I waited there, for the longest time.
Waiting for the green to show
For the love to grow.
Instead you turned a weird shade of blue.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.
I was always too deprived of love
I always had too much to give
Once again I forgot the line to not cross
That too much love, could make you sick
You were rotting, from the toes of your left feet.
I spelled mornings in your name
Preached your name in my sleep.
I didn’t know the nightmares that made you scream
Were nothing more than montages
Made out of me.
All this while I thought I was the cure
The warmth to secure
The insecure that you were
You however didn’t know how to let me in
Over my insanity, you let your devils win.
I tried sucking back all the love I poured
I got too late, you were hollowed to the core.
I often thought i’d be the easiest, one could need.
Didn’t know on your fears, my love would eat.
Perhaps to my madness, no justice can be served.
Perhaps i’m the heart, a little too hard to love

poetry · Prose

Bleeding Art

I won’t lie
I tried
To become a preacher of the truth. To say exactly what I wanted to.
But everytime I opened my mouth, I tasted all that was left of you.
I couldn’t let my lips part afraid i’ll lose whatever of your absence remained in me.
I didn’t want to be quiet.
But silence was the only way to have your company.
You go places with me.
You reside right there, the central notch of my head, like the favorite song from 7th grade you never forget?
I often hum to your remains.
Often you come wrapped in sentences of romance fictions that stack my book shelves only… they have love to boast about.
The love that can never escape the clutches of their hard bound.
While i am nothing but skin and bone trying their hardest to not let loose and fall apart.
My fingers too weak to be clenched in fists
My heart too tired of bleeding art.