Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Rain Talks

The day the sun rises from the West will be the day we shall turn our backs to each other.

We were what they called the "unbreakables". It was We.

Listen to the rain, love. What does it say?

It doesn't call your name, neither mine. It tells me that we mistook the winter dew to be the monsoon. It tells me that Spring will be here soon, and that we shall our time, again.


Now Playing: Wish You Were Here | Floyd

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

She was The Jade

She. We were the world. Things were set straight soon. It was the only life I had. She. The only words I ever knew made her their Sun. She. The only bliss I had experienced was her touch. It soon fell under the spell of repulsion and withdrawal. She. The only eyes I saw while waking up were black. They soon turned black. She. Lost in her own soberness, she did away with my madness. I. It was all inside here...right here! The madness. The uncontrollable fire. I gave rise to the phoenix she was so proud of! I. She knocked me down with her smile earlier. I. She knocked me down with her smile now too. Only the connotations changed. She. The only hidden closet she had was the one with her hatred. That out, now I cannot exactly determine what she has kept in the hidden closet now- my name or the whole part where she said she loved me. I. It is not darkness I am going through. It is not even the enlightening moment. It is the only time I am talking about 'I'.

She. The only things which made her close to me were down in the dumps. Well, those included the way I looked at her. She. Today, she wants me to look at her differently, for she has always been right. I. Lets not talk about the million dollar question of what's right and what's wrong. Lets not get into the tiff of breaking the myths and bubbles of her little world. I. God only knows how many times she has peeled the skin off the cuticle of my nail. Oh well! I know that too. Approximately a hundred eighty five times. It did hurt.

She. There was one thing which opened her eyes. Well, the doctors asked her to wake up. No, I am not trying to be funny. Trust me, that is exactly what happened. The doctors did the miracle, as always. I. The memories are secondary thoughts at the moment. I want only one thing. She. Not. I.

I. Tables have turned, love. Promises were never broken. The only difference was that you were never the unattainable. You came too easy. Left more easily. She. Not. This day, she commands me to let her beg of me. Well, I have one thing to say to her. I. I sang for you. I brought rain for you, erased the clouds from the sky, even almost touched the bottom of the bottle. She. You were the sigh I took when I broke my first guitar string. I had tightened it too much. I. Well, lets rewind it. She. We were the world. Things were set straight soon. And honestly, I have some rum to finish. She. Not. I.

courtesy: deviantArt
Now Playing: Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You | Led Zeppelin

Monday, December 12, 2011

Colourblindness. Untruth. Illusion.

Its the colour of your eyes.

No, its the colour of the rocks.

Its the one which mixes well with white.

All colours mix well with white.

Oh then it is that colour..

Which one?

The one I believe it is...

Which is???...

Its the colour of the dreams we have.

Dreams are vivid. They cannot be contained in one colour.

Oh well, then its the colour of th sky when it rains.




Tell me?!

Are you sure?




You're colour blind.
Its amber. Not brown.
You escape what is real.
You cannot believe in anything.
You do not live.
You remain an illusion;
A speck of sawdust,
But still a part of me,
Of my being.

I like this song. Also, I am terribly hurt. More, later. Do watch it. Its called "I Believe"

Thursday, December 1, 2011

The Last Thing I Did Was Give The Street A Kiss

I was sunk in the snow. It was knee deep. Cold. Just like it was when the first time I made love with the man I have now forgotten completely. It was stagnant. Just like the first time I bled. Absolutely quiet. Just like the first time I was high on weed. Blurred. When the dew drops used to traverse all along the glass window, making maps which always seemed like iron bars to me. It was like that long lost illusion that the world will end. And I loved the streets. They cracked at the first snowfall. No one really filled them back.

They were mere things. Full stop. Like the little gravels on the street which ripe at the first sunray of morning. I lived in a wooden house. Yes. I set it on fire. Not because I forgot the man I made love with, in it. But for the simple reason that I could not bear the noise the wood made every time I got smashed into it. It had a small balcony- my room. When we were young, we sat there, sipped on wine. I could only see the street from there- my first love. I remember the man saying, “You cannot walk there. It’s too broken and cracked. There is not one place to put your feet on. I will get you a wagon.” I smashed the wine bottle on his head then. He smashed me into the wooden walls, again. Remember the first time I bled? It was stagnant. It froze. Dried. And chipped off. The man gave me a pink corset. He liked the cougar look. I poured acid on it. He smashed me again. He then tried giving me a diamond in a chain. It fell in the fire place just before the first night. Remember the first time I made love? It was cold. Very cold. Though I always liked when fire talked to me, that night the transition was silent; it was put off. Never giving up, he then gifted me glass bangles. No, I didn’t break them. I kept them safely until he died. He was happy for that. I was not always evil, after all. Sometimes, I loved him too. Alas! I cannot recollect his face now. He once gave me a bag full of pastel colour sheets and asked me to fill them with words. I made little rolls of them. Remember the first time I was high on weed? It was absolutely quiet. He entrapped my skin ruthlessly. I burnt his neck with the butt of the ignited weed roll. The man was never a quitter. He tried again. This time he gave me a pair of glasses. We were growing old. He asked me to wear them while he took me out. I melted them with the same fire. He punished me by making me stand beside the glass window early morning. Remember the dew drops? It was like I was behind iron bars running wild over the screen in front of me. It was blurred.
Then one fine evening, I stood right beside the street. He came and pulled me towards him. He whispered, “I love you so much. Can’t you see it in my eyes? You hurt me every time. I want to be with you even then. You never speak. You are mute. Cold. Quiet. Stagnant. A blurred image. Why don’t you love me?” I still kept looking at the street. Its cracks fascinated me. The gravels seemed to be calling me; they seemed to say that they wanted me to walk with them and bear the sunlight with them. The man kept repeating the same questions. I looked at him. I looked at the street.

The fire was enormous. It was all over the woods. I could hear the voice. I could smell the ash. The glass bangles were with me, broken. Remember I had kept them till he died? Till he died! I did not want to hear the noise the wooden walls made when I was smashed into them. I did not want to clean the blood stains. I loved the fire. It talked to me. It knew the colour of my eyes. It knew the freckles on my skin. Then there was the street. I travelled, in the direction of the gravels. Found myself amidst the cracks. Then emerged little illusions from the cracks; that the world was going to end. Why? Because I was sunk knee deep in snow. And the last thing I did was give the street a kiss. 

Friday, November 25, 2011

It's My Darling's Birthday

I know it is a little late for a birthday post but what the hell. It's still her birthday :-)

Mansa turns 19 today! ^_^

Not going to be a long post since she already knows what a kickass friend she is. But! She is one girl I really call when I am in the deepest emotional ditch and also when I am flying planes of happiness (with hidden connotations).

Well, she is someone who would do complete justice, and probably more justice than required to Applied Psychology because all of that comes very naturally to her.

So basically, she is awesome and my darling. I love you Manzaaaa. And I still have your gift which I shall give to you shortly :D

On a serious note, thank you for coming as this halo-donned-amazing-smiling-best-friend to me. We shall plan  your honeymoon very soon. Haha! :D

Thats us. Duh! Farewell 2010. We look like such kids. We should have more pictures.. New ones. (Without people in the background-with hidden connotations, again :D)


Thursday, November 17, 2011

Mad Mad Woman.

Do I look like the mad woman
Who got out of the skin
Of someone totally bizarre?
And who looked at you from the deepest
Of the mysteries and anxieties
And even more nerve-wrecking truths
Suddenly overflowing with stark amber eyes
Dripping every drop of water from the nape of neck
To the muslin carpet underneath your bed
Just to remind you...
Yeah! You should clean it!


Now Playing: L.A. Woman | The Doors

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Build You Again

Its the seed inside
A parallel to your relfection
My eyes resemble yours
And the skin is sunk in too.
You remind me of the stars
In the sky filled with scars.
The deep wounds of rays,
The last needle prick,
And the only tissue left...
I shall take all these
And build you again,

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Got Your Guns, Love?

Its when you took out your guns
And split the legs wide open!
How did it feel to taste pleasure?
Its when you smelled the gore
And realized I was a nymph
Whom you got by luck.
Your stars were good.
So were mine.
It was like we were Trojans
Bound by the common thread
Of misery and war and ruthlessness.
Its when you bore the grief
Of being stripped of every single piece
Of humility and honesty that you ever possessed...
And gave me a pretty mirror to look at
When haze was the paradise
And illusion was your food!


Light Years Away | MoZella

Sunday, October 16, 2011


Just one song
We get to live.
Just one illusion
We get to hit.
Just one wall
We get to cover.
Just one love
We get to lose.
Just one goodbye
We get to give.
Just one lie
We get to say.
Just one promise
We get to break.
Just one life
We get to bang.
Just one gunshot
We get to screw it all.


Now Playing: Bang Bang | Nancy Sinatra
courtesy: deviantArt

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Tell Me What You Want To Hear!

Recite me what you learned
When we were young and virgins.
Whisper it in my ears,
The ecstasy we knew of swinging in the air.
Reveal all the secrets we had
Before we began to touch the winds.
Remind me of the story of our palms
And how we made homes.
Read the letters to me;
Those I wrote in moonlight.
Blabber about all the days
When we laughed in the rain.
Show me the paintings I did
Of that drop right beside fire.
Straighten all the memories of...
Of a 1000 days we met everyday!
Build me a boat...
A yacht...
A house on the hills...
And then...
Tell me what you want to hear!


Now Playing: Secrets | OneRepublic
picture courtesy: deviantArt

Friday, September 9, 2011

Fix You.

Try to fix me.
Things, we merely are.
And high up the ground
When the sky is only one road
Just watching birds turning
Into vehicles carrying
Motionless weight.
I got lost in the glamor, instead.
I envy the birds.
"I am stuck in reverse."
 Bring me the happiness 
In a box,
And not 
Just a paradox.


Now Playing: Fix You | Coldplay

Saturday, August 6, 2011

The Despicable.

Its a myth.
A corrosion
To the inner walls
Of Your very being.
Its a path.
Spiraling down to hearth
And never missing a chance
Of deluding You in the morbidness.
And then,
You realise...
There never was the storm.

It was always just the myth...
It was always...
The Silence. 

Now Playing: Bang Bang | Nancy Sinatra

Saturday, July 23, 2011

In My Big Black Bag.

A thousand steps.
Many visions.
A very small mirror.
One guitar string.
Two hearts.
Thirteen careless whispers.
Four curtains.
Just one amazing day.
Many used tissues.
Some unused parts of brain.
Lifetime of scissors-claps.
Eight moments of hope.
Ninth moment of faith.
And then...

A very big watch
To hold time.
I shall keep all these things when I find a bag big enough to accommodate them. 

Now Playing: For All We Know | Bettie Serveert

pic courtesy: deviantArt

Sunday, July 17, 2011


It was never about
The cracks in the walls,
The drops in the pots,
The mist on the pane,
And the crevice in the curtain.

It was always about
The pain of the eyes,
The haze in the vision,
The brutality of the Zephyr,
And the depth in the madness.

Now Playing: Plane | Jason Mraz

picture courtesy: deviantArt

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Who is Afraid of the Dark?

Everything glittering.
Everything shining.
Shooting stars.
Fire flies.
SOS rockets.
The Moon.
Its crators.
Who is afraid of the dark, then?


Now Playing: Everybody Loves Somebody | Frank Sinatra.

Picture Courtesy: deviantArt

Monday, June 27, 2011


Our lives, they are a glimpse into what they called the jeopardy of a lifetime. We lost it all... when I laughed and you slept.

Our house, it is a well. They call it the potion of darkness. We lost it all... when I spoke and you stood still.

Our walls, they are the scrapped pieces of our love. They call it the light that led everyone to the wars. We lost it all... when I stripped and you stared.

Our hearts, they are the holes everyone wants to fall into. They call it the brutality of those two sperms that won the race of millions. We lost it all... when I died and so did you!


Now Playing: You've Changed | Bettie Serveert

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Going, Going, Gone!

We had been lying beneath the sheets. My eyes were bloodshot; so were his. We had been drugged. Lithium. It was too cold to even feel my own limbs, leave alone feeling his.

He would always stare at me with those bloodshot eyes. Drought. Bare. Naked. And stark blank. The drug was too strong. It started killing him. Bit by bit. It changed him. It made maps on his body
His touch changed too. And then... I lost him.

I lost him.


P.S: Just deleted my first blog, Lithium, because every time I saw it, something bothered me. I couldn't figure out what.You should get rid of things when they become more than mere "things".

Now Playing: Say It Ain't So | MoZella.

Sunday, June 12, 2011


Caught up in a moment
Of mere quietness,
Extinguishing every restlessness
Or just fueling the irresistible desire
Of crushing little cubes with words,
"Your mind is mute"?

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Make Me Music.

Sing to me
The lines you once scribbled on the walls,
After the day we measured each other's veins...
The blue tracks on our wrists and ankles.
Sing to me
The verse you had whispered in December,
Just before the year left us behind...
And finger nails turning blue with erotics.
Sing to me.
Just this once.
Sing to me...
And I shall be redeemed
Of the crimson feathers,
The ill-fitting wish fulfillment,
And the urge to self destruct!
Sing to me
And make me your music.

Now Playing: Everything | Lifehouse

Wednesday, June 1, 2011


She wrote poetry.
Complex words, twisted meanings
With strange voices, limbs.
She would sit for hours
On the busy street, amidst million lights
Wait for me, drop a tear or two
And then wrote poetry
About strange little butterflies,
Papers, baskets, and estranged seeds.
She would stare me for hours
In our bed, with glare in her eyes
Amidst the chaos of her mind
And softly say, "Don't leave me."
No reply from me upset her.
Waited for it for days,
Sometimes even months.
She wrote poetry.
It made her strange.
She forgot everything;
The creek, the clothes,
The little reminders of reality...
The chits on the wall,
My silence and her pity.
She wrote poetry.
It made her speak one day,
"I know you want to go."
It made her lose the tempo.
She forgot bidding me a goodbye.
She wrote poetry.
She wrote her journey,
Back and forth with me.
She wrote poetry,
Of losing the only one she had.
She wrote poetry,
Of all the things it made her lose.
Of all the things she lost.
Of the day she got lost.
She wrote poetry...
For me.

P.S: It is one of my favourite songs.!

Monday, May 23, 2011


Window panes, glass doors
A glass of red and white wine
Some cigars, excuses.
A pair of odd slippers,
Spectacles, frozen dew drops,
An ill-fitting bra, a pair of thongs.
Jojoba hair serum, branded shampoos
Designer hand bags, and watches.
Designed wishes, and constructed smiles.
Carefully built houses,
Carelessly built homes.
Washing machine, dish washer,

Mere things.
Mere life.
Merely living.
Now Playing: Understanding | Evanescence
picture courtesy: deviantArt

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


Just four inches between the walls.
Some friction and I shall be fine
In the fluttering of the humming bird;
The distance is two now
From the vanishing point over here
To the blemishing walls there. 

Wednesday, May 4, 2011


Someone longs for a miracle. She wants her father to tell her that he never gave up on himself, his life and most of all, his hope. She wants to know if her father ever had the most helpless in his life...so helpless that he wanted to leave everything ( even his wife ) and run away...far away from everything and everyone. She wants to know how her father coped up with it. She wants to every minute detail of how her father lost all faith when he felt defeated...and then how did he revive? Or did he not revive at all? Or was he so disappointed that he gave up everything? She wants to know if he did, then will he give up on her too? Will he think twice before she is born or will he just pass? Will he be scared or disappointed? Will he be weak or strong to raise her? Or will he just never answer these questions? Or will he hold her in her arms and say, "I never gave up on anything, my child."?

Now Playing: Change | MoZella

Thursday, April 28, 2011

The Green Room's Chronicles.

Whatever happened to the creative ghost in me! Right now, I'm living on Jibanananda Das' creativity. What a poet! I've fallen in love with "Windy Night". Anyway, the crux is that my university papers are here. So studying of late. And yes....watching some really lame movies in between. Watched "Its a Boy Girl Thing". I mean, what was it. Friggin' lame! But I watched "Lajja" too. One word: Powerful.

And...also listening to this song which I used to hang on to while watching One Tree Hill... Its by Bethany Joy Galeotti. HALO. You wouldn't know who she is if you haven't seen OTH. She was Haley in it. And and and.... seen Dexter yet!?
Another HOT series. I'm absolutely hooked on to it.
Also, I have been clicking pictures of me. Come on! I am a friggin' girl. :P

More, Later.
And that is my favorite neck piece. Some nine stones something. 

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Indian Fusion-BAD CHOICE.

Just figured out that I am really wasting my time and talent on this common blog called Indian Fusion. I mean, I thought it would be nice and a good experience sharing creativity but I realized that its just a waste of time. The members are too rigid and the content too boring. Happened to write a few posts there, including one poem. Guess not many people were up for it. Its a good space for people who want to share what they think about creative writing but I personally felt that it is not something which would help you to grow in how you write. It was quite funny to see that a lot of its members had given their employment information on Facebook as "Employed as Columnist, Reporter (and other blah) at Indian Fusion". Okay.. is it just me or do you, my readers (if any), find it weird. People are really confused, including the founders. I do not intend to speak ill of it. Just writing what I felt. They call it a "student run organisation" while it just a group blog on WordPress with 70 odd members. Finding it really irritating. Some people write on pretty different issues but others are more or less conventionally stuck in their bubble. Whatever it is. I've had my stint. And trust me, it was BAD. Wrote this one, which I consider very close to my heart. Guess how many people read it? Just one. Funny.
It's called: Mera Mulk, Mera Chowk.

Steps swirling into pavements
And the pebbles coming out from the street tar,
Melting away till they are lost somewhere near the stars;
I have taken all of this and made a pole.
It stands tall in that busy street with a thousand people,
Talking. Sweating. Spitting. Hoarding. Talking;
Hugging tightly in my arms, I have the scroll
From the Mughal Shah Jahan.
Stating immediate arrival of a thousand and five men;
With incredible forearms, straight from the glen,
To be carried out on the sixth day of October,
They built another ruby in Dilli’s taaj.
The pole still stands tall.
The people still talk in appall.
The streets still melt in the heat.
The flies still hover around our feet.
But they couldn’t resist staring at this moment.
Those who said, “The pole is too dirty to look at”
At the minarets which touch the sky and
Smile calmly at them…
“You’re still eating the parathas, my dear. Don’t forget,
You’re in my mulk, my chowk.”

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

I Once Painted A Rainbow.

When it was night, it bled crimson.
When the moon settled down, it bled scarlet.
When the clouds stormed red, it bled white.
I then erased the sky and began all over again.
It suddenly turned black.
Then it bled thick strands of copper clots.
When it looked at me with green eyes, it bled violet.
I turned my back, it spilled dark blue water on it.
When it met with the blank brown eyes,
It scared and dropped it yellow soul, abandoned it.
I saw defeat in its lips.
When it was dawn, it bled amber from the slits.         (pic courtesy: deviantArt)

Monday, March 21, 2011



I shot him. First in the groin, then in his bloody eye! Thought he could get the better of me. Loser!

It all ended that day baby when the thought of fucking me came to your mind. You were born on the streets, you belonged to the streets. Not I. You wanted to make love on the streets, die on the streets. I fuckin' killed you on the streets. Last wish fulfilled. You see, I am a dutiful human.

It ended that day when you called me beautiful because you saw the perfect shape of my ass in the rain. You didn't even remember the colour of my eyes. But you knew how my skin would have tasted.

I gave you a piece of your own, baby. You were right. I am beautiful. I am what M.J. says... Dangerous.!

Now Playing: Dangerous | Michael Jackson
Picture Courtesy: deviantArt

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Sexy Back!

She stood right in front of me. I thought she'd come and kiss me, or better... just strip and give me a nice job! She came really close. My heart thumped. I was born on the streets, lived on streets and I knew I'd die on streets too. That day I thought I'd die of anticipation. I swear I thought I'd die of adrenaline. Her red lipstick was moist... I guess they call it the gloss. Yeah! The gloss. She came real close, put her hands in my pants. I closed my eyes.


And the very next moment I was down. I smelled m y own blood gushing out of my groin. I saw her strapless shirt moving with the wind. "Gosh, she had a sexy back."

She looked back with fiery eyes and shot him in the eye.

"I got your back, baby."
... to be continued.


Now Playing: Sexy Back | J.T.
Picture Courtesy: deviantArt

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

New Ink Spells.

A new blog! Ta-da!!

Needed one badly. Why? Because I love to reinvent spaces. Lithium is and will be very close to my heart. But then, I started it when I was a kid. And now that I growing up, I think I should make another ( read better) space for all the memories I am building in this process.

First up, the title of the blog. It's simple. I am a pretty girl ( winks ) who loves to dance. Now I still don't have a navel piercing but what the hell! And Thugs have always fascinated me. They're so cool! :D

Thus, the name...

Secondly, I will be 20 this year and since I had already bid Lithium goodbye I needed change. I created it in a state of mind where I was this little teenager who wanted to voice her opinions. Having done that, I am going to be just vocal. (:

P.S: Hope all those who used to read Lithium read this one too.
Love and Peace.
Pic Courtesy: deviantArt