Something inside me dies every time I see regrets hanging around my shoulders. I think I should give them up but they won’t leave me. It’s all emptiness doesn’t want to go way at any cost. The world around feels so bland and even in room full of darkness, I still find fault in tickling of the clock. The agony doesn’t need. No words of intrigue hold any spark. I need to feel something strong and solid that is consistent like the daily sun. It scares me to think I won’t bat an eye to anything that for once makes me feel really alive and consumed.

My sheltered heart


I don’t want to replay that
Fucking scene in my head
Yet once again it slammed
Through my mind again
I kept lurking around
To that corner where you
Stood Uninterrupted
Even by the shadows
I had to stay there
Waiting for you to
See me approaching you
I hated every second of
Waiting around the corner
Counting seconds before
I had knee down in front of you
And let you make me
Take back those words
I said with a sane mind back
Pushing all limits
Still tainted with scarred issues
I breached that subject again
But this time to your liking
Fucking hating every second of that
Encounter, I fled away with dissipation
With an agony that pleased you
Yet made me subtle and aggressive
Everything that once made me happy
Now evaporating like bubbles
In the sky
I stand still
Under the same sky
Where no one grieves
Except my sheltered heart.

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Distracted and oblivious
That’s how Istarted
Pretending before
I could make a joke
Of myself
I knew nothing felt right
With the daily banters
Or killjoy moments
That tender corner
Of her heart deliberately
Turned stoic
Maybe the delirium
Of estranged relations
Got her in shambles
They say nature of a
Person never change
Yet I saw her changing
Getting more fragile from inside
But more gritty from outside
I let her cry away
Maybe that was her
Way to purgatory
To be able to cleanse away
The stream of tears
In those red rimmed eyes.

*delirium: acute confusional state

Never Good enough!


Even in my early twenties, I still can’t decipher the attitude of people. Some might be pro in keeping the waters even but I can’t seem to master this art. I have had enough shares of brow beating, inquisitions and facsimiles. I can deduce that gnaring special place in heart for these people is next to impossible. You might curse yourself or feel bad about being a villain even if things change. circumstances become less excruciating. Yet why does this nagging pain of being a victim to such atrocities never end? Why does we welcome such nerve wracking audacity? Isn’t it a high time to be parable in such verbal assaults?

That believe to stand up for myself vanishes in Hades. It gets locked away in a remote corner of my heart where there is already cache of previous incidents. They trigger the devil in me wants to give them the taste of their own medicine; to be like what they want me to be; to be a constant pain in the ass.  The devil did turn the tables. It made me act self-conceited, unfathomable and disgusting. They started to loathe the face I had dawned. The face they patronized me to have. That face scrupled the moment I was done playing the lead of every story. I craved to play the role where negative will show the real me. The real me that once strolled in the world wasn’t enough. It could get raged or pin-pointed at. Even if it was exemplary; it still was never enough.

What’s the world out there doing? Your constant derailing or depreciation seems a trick to slay you off. Your stand on one foot and doing gymnastics to entertain them is not good enough. Your heart of gold that melts with their kind glance is never enough. Your devil-may-care attitude syringe a wave of nausea in them. Your love life becomes a talk of town? Your ill behavior shuns you to be a parallel universe. Is there for reconciliation? Is there a way to fight these odds? Is the soul in you recover?

Probably not! Your soul isn’t immortal. It is going to leave you in ashes soon. You are going to get buried in your own grave. You are going to answer for yourself. Your good will not go unnoticed by the Power. What they all do is their own freaking business? Dilemma is they are unaware of this breaking bad moment. They won’t live till eternity. They aren’t going to relish their jabs turning futile. They are going to alone grieve your absence. They will realize and then it will be too late.

Calamity is not on us to dawn faces.  Good or Bad- I dawned the both. Good was satisfactory- Bad was an agony. The mix of satisfaction and agony was way better than extremities.  The thought that everyone is going to reap for what they sow is comforting for now.


il_570xN.181859517It’s not simple, it’s not easy.

It takes a great amount of time.

It makes you question your abilities.

It’s what makes you focused.

It’s a blind fortune worth grasping.

It’s pragmatic but we consider it deceiving.

It demands attention like a seeker.

It makes us fussy for the future.

It smiles with affection for substantial.

It stimulates fears to become favored.

It’s like a charisma once discovered.

Its Stardust will give you wings.

Its requests you to surrender.

It’s a call to fame the jerked life.

It works you to save from ruin.

It’s there flaming in you with roars.

It you who need it, so listen close.

Embrace it with longevity to overcome depression,

Madness, hurt, pain, remorse.

You know what this stereo is?

It’s the key to peace called TRUST


Soul of discretion..

The dilemma getting an upper edge
In my brain was powered enough
To make me go hysterical for wanderlust
For a very long time;
The dreams kept selling me
In that forsaken world
Without giving any precept to , how
Will I able to achieve them;
The different tangled musings I was
Shackled in welcomed me to bare
My soul to that brain I got anxiety from;
The frenzy to get things in a haste
Was sabotaging the castle of forbearance
In me leaving it to rule in the clouds of
The terror in me to attempt the
Yearnings I long for were imprisoned
In a Jail of fatigued sense;
Now hypothesizing I believe
No matter what weary notions
I get in mind, I just have to surplus
Them to best myself in my own lunatic
Ways to get an empathy from brain
Which isn’t no longer discrete from me.


Journal #2

That beat in her heart is no longer alive ; It’s died or maybe,somewhere lost in the depth of an ocean, deep down thoroughly stitched with sorrows, and expectations of a world,where every pulse is recorded, measured to a level of perfection . Perhaps, who cares about that died beat, it was meant to be there,found,and brought to display in the monument of wagers,eager to lock it away,in a matter of seconds, after witnessing a little thumping,bringing in a little escapade for a perfect end to the beat allowed to breathe happily hereafter, if not here.


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