If Inks were Wine

My ink betrayed me,
spilling out my vulnerable heart;
No, I don’t want to start.

But here I am, wishing,
my pen on hand — the magic wand;
dreaming for words
to console me, define me, unvex me.

In my mind’s eye, I look like a puzzle,
perplexedly unresolved;
A pat on the back, the Author of life draws nigh…

Nonetheless, a nincompoop,
losing grip playing with words;
No, I don’t want to start and sigh,
pining for clean white sheet again.



Here’s to the ones who dive deep
the ones who strive to understand

Here’s to the thinkers,
the dreamers,
the lovers,
the listeners,
the demon tamers…

I hope you don’t get all consumed
by the depth, and the chaos.
I hope you’ll find your way out

For every ocean you dive in,
don’t forget to come back to shore.




Still waiting for my first gray hair
Still holding on to my teddy bear
Still overthinking thoughts in my head
Still finding it hard to get out of bed

Still hanging out late at night
Still choosing flight over fight
Still reminiscing good old days
Still stuck with old fashioned ways

Still bad at meeting deadlines
Still consuming trivial headlines
Still crying over little things
Still working on my dreams

Still waking up insecure
Still finding the cure
Still sky watching
Still star gazing

Nothing’s changed.
Nothing’s changed.

Still here.

* * *



Penning my thoughts of the season
revisiting memories of the past–
the shadows that clouded my reason,
places where memories of pain seem to last

No matter the number of bridges you burn
there are pages that cannot be unwritten
And as you patiently wait for a good turn
the gloaming words and anxiety heighten

But the twisted tale that ever haunts me
is that of conquering and re-conquering selves
for as I write and edit and edit and write me
this recurring battle ground never ends

* * *

The silent warriors

Listen, the universe is being lifted up by the silent warriors
The ones who work even without facing the limelight–
farmers who break their backs trying to bring food on our table,
teachers who help our children find their way through life,
the working mothers and fathers,
the domestic helpers,
the care givers,
the nannies,
the firefighters,
the street cleaners,
the peace keepers,
the healers,
the listeners in this noisy world…

They remind me of the battles worth fighting,
They are the ones who are truly worth celebrating.

Another note to wall

Another chain list on your wall;
the world to self, another call.
But you loathe opening up, for fear
of ideals to be mocked, them jeer.

But for dear friends, you try to jive
in a social jungle, trying to survive;
And then you ask the need of it–
out there, is it really worth it?

The other side of you dare bends,
dancing in their tune and blends…
finding colors reaching out to you
painting a bland life, hue to hue.

Yet there are letdowns in the trying
for not all music are worth dancing;
some–those not that good for the soul,
ends as just another note on your wall.

When the light comes flooding back


If you see yourself at the end of the road
and wondering
where to begin again…
while all around you is darkness;
What would you do
when the light comes flooding back?

The world you are in is one big messy blur
of foggy highways
you’re on your way, but where to?
Just like being trapped in an endless eerie night
stalking the dawn…
But when it comes, would you be prepared
when the light comes flooding back?

And when at last your sleep is nigh
down to nature’s bed
where every weary traveler arrives;
The reaper of the soul, when it knocks,
Would it be a welcome or a bid goodbye?
when the light comes flooding…