Monday, December 15

Velvet In Wonderland

When I was little, I would often dream of falling. I would wake up petrified and perplexed only to find myself in the warmth of my mama’s embrace. I would toss and tumble on my bed playing my worst nightmare in the head again and again while I counted one hundred and eighty three sheep. After minutes of struggling hard to make it through, I’d finally get up from the bed, grab my favorite teddy bear and go to the study. I knew very well where the light switch was in the dark room. The table lamp has been there ever since Aunt Vivian gifted it to me on my fourth birthday. I climb the book shelf with my pudgy feet and bring down a heap of books. I place them all vigilantly on the table and go through the covers and titles one by one to find my best escape.

‘To kill a mockingbird’

I would like to believe my love for the flora and fauna has been growing ever since I adopted my first kitten at the age of three. Oh, how I loathed that title back then! How someone could possibly kill a tiny little bird, was all that crossed my mind. I tossed the book across the room. What do you expect from a child that is merely seven years old? I never tried to find out what was inside the downbeat titled book.

Thursday, September 18

Say no to fairy tales.

But, before I left, I left behind traces of my scent on your shirt and a trail down the alley for you to come find me. A year has passed, the roads haven't changed, maybe you never followed me. At 18 making love felt like a big deal, so I saved it for my soul mate not knowing they are never looked for. I happened to bump into one in a grocery store while I was buying blueberry candies. He took me by the hand and swept me off the feet and I landed straight on my face. And wasn't it beautiful to see the red on your shirt was a stain of my blood and not my lipstick. "My baby, I'm sorry, I would never hurt you again." You swear by me and I shook off the dry blood stains like dust on autumn leaves. Then Cinderella rode in the carriage to be with her charming prince, but it seems like, fairy tales now end before midnight. It's five years since I wore your ring and there and varied marks on my skin . Seems like yesterday,when you expected a yes, I should have said, "No."

Sunday, August 31

Find my words like a trail of breadcrumbs.

A hundred times I'd seen you before, and I never loved you in either of them. Just closed my eyes for fifteen seconds reliving entire lifetimes where we loved and abandoned each other. Oh how we often love the things that are broken or leaving. You always said that you fell in love with me as if I had everything else that you needed. Shuffling lives for months, having starved for consistency, I still wouldn't want to stay here for more than a moment. I lingered around the lobby of the hotel where we had our first date but you tasted better than anything on the menu. We walked along the beach where the waves crashed on our feet and you held me close to your chest. I will try to keep that picture of you as a memory, for you were vulnerable and willing to be loved and I was a girl that you'll barely survive, and wish you hadn't. Your kiss claimed ownership and I'm not the one who easily gives away. For a split second I saw hope in you, but that was just fire from the burning ruins of your past. From mine I'd build a castle for you. We could build forts in the sand and write our names together until the waves washed it away; then we'd write them again. I've never known anything of consistency; sometimes a single drop of rain and sometimes a hurricane. I'd either love you violently or not love you at all. I need you to lie next to me so you can remember what rain's supposed to sound like again. Your words were like wildfire and I was a forest waiting to be consumed. My kisses don't always claim ownership, but relax baby, you were meant to be mine. The wait has ended; the spark has died. I cant find the motivation to love you. Maybe you're hiding it from me. Every new memory of you erases the picture I'd already drawn and I was never good at sketching again and again. You found me in the dark corners of a night club; that one girl who would make you want to be infinitely better than you were. I have nothing heroic to say to you. Some days I'm flowing like the river of hope. Some days I am barely breathing. I have always lived like this; torn between staying lost & wanting to be found. It's just the way of things. You were no better. Switching sides between just existing and trying to just exist like your fancy theories. You're not numb, you're feeling everything else. 

One day you'll find my words, like a trail of breadcrumbs.

You'll be longing and lost.
Come find me.
We'll make love again.

Monday, July 28

The Kind Of Love Letters I write

I started off with a couple of notes from my diary, willing to undress my deepest secrets, thinking you are the only escape left in the world. Wind in my hair and storm in my mind: how I didn't have to be a field of flowers for you. Great stories begin with an even greater adventure; mine was when you smiled at me and I lost control. Maybe, love for me is to be able to like someone that makes you weak. I think I might be in love with your eyes, they speak to me more than you ever did. You kept yourself engulfed in distance, too busy looking for someone to ever notice the way I looked at you. I wanted you as much because the mind directs you, violently & longingly wandering, towards whatever is destroying you. I destroyed a hundred of them too. How everything about you, felt like home and to you I was a foreign language. Hence, I put those letters back in the old drawer for some other time and I wrote this instead. 

Tuesday, July 1

10 Things I Will Preach My Daughter

1. On body: Your body is yours. No one has the right to touch or objectify the skin you live in or in that case, tell you what you should be doing about it.

2. On high school love affairs and heart breaks: Don't worry darling, like fairy tales they are all fake. You'll find a grown up, mature romance but once in your lifetime a fairy tale will flash in too.

3. On sexuality and other morals: Virginity is not something someone else takes from you. Your sexuality is yours. You do not lose anything to another person. Have it, only when you are ready and with who you want to. Don't take sex lightly. And most importantly, enjoy it.

4. On make up and beauty: Ignore the prep talk on being natural. If you like make up, do it right. If you don't, you're still doing it right. Darling, you don't need to look like the girl in the magazine. The girl in the magazine doesn't look like the girl in the magazine.

5. On consensual rape: There is NO SUCH THING as consensual rape. Any sexual act even after denial is assault. Any sexual act of no consent is also rape. If you are super drunk at a party and someone tries to do things to you when you are semi-concious, tell them. Don't be ashamed. Don't be the victim. Tell me everything.

Friday, June 13

A Letter That Almost Made Me Cry

Dear V, 

I hope you are fine. First of all, please accept my apology because reading this would take a while. And if you’re reading this it means I actually worked up the courage to mail it. You don’t know me. There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just say it that you are amazing, you are terrific. It's great to know that a person like me exists and also feels the same way that I do. This letter is basically a confession, comprising all the things that I think you should know. I was going through a bad phase, love issues followed by a death in the family. Everything around me was breaking down to chaos.The pain was agonizing but I knew that it would logically pass however it was seemingly endless. .Reading your blog since you'd started writing has been one of the many good things happened to me. You stopped me when I was on the verge of harming myself. Without sounding harsh, I feel that the scar reminds you of the reason why you self harmed in the first place.And I feel we're all fighters, yeah? So I gathered the courage to battle it out instead of finding an easy way out. For that, thank you. :) You don't know this, but you've taught me many things, you have taught me how to laugh at myself, you've taught me to believe in myself the way you believe in yourself, in a way that makes all dreams a possibility. You've helped me to move on. I've learnt that its very important to overcome the sorrow that accompanies any type of separation,continue advancing. Then not look back. Just Forge on.

Thursday, May 8

5 Things Women Are Always Asked To Hush Up


Hi, I'm on my period. My vagina bleeds for an average of five days every month, until or unless I am carrying a baby in my womb or I'm incapable of carrying one. Why do we have to hide that we are menstruating? Why do the mothers have to tell their young girls to stay home or not go close to men or even family members or a male sibling in that case? This is how nature created us, so that we could reproduce and have carefree sex days marked on the calender. We don't need to wrap up the tampon packet in a newspaper or a black plastic bag. We're not ashamed of being how mother nature created us. You shouldn't be either. P.S. The carefree sex days part is fine; still use rubber. Respect your body enough to protect it first.


Hello men. Let us get this straight. You wear underwear (or you don't), we do too.  Stop defining us with the size. The bigger breasts, the better? A size 42 is good; no thank you. Would you want to carry two heavy mounts of flesh on your chest? Good. We neither. No, we won't be embarrassed if a known male spots us buying lingerie. "Calm your tits down,bro." We know you digg that shyt.

Sunday, April 27

Leaving a note at your bed

I want you to have sex with me,
but more importantly
I want you to let it loose
when the strings can't find any music,
and get goosebumps when I kiss your ear,
and hold my hand when you're nervous,
and to tell me it's all going to be okay
when I am freaking out
and to distract me while I study
I want you

to exist.


Thursday, March 27

Looking With A Mouthful Of Forevers.

You're not the first person she loved; the first person she looked at with a  mouthful of forevers. She has lived at the edges of cliffs and in little mountain houses that tell horrific stories. It was a tragedy that whenever she could accept herself truly, she changed. She romanticized her lovers so much that it poisoned her every other beautiful memory. And every time her blooming heart was shattered, she loathed them with every piece of it. She craved for a new lover with her unguarded way of existence. You wouldn't understand how sexy that was. Her raw, carefree laughter that would fill your winter mornings with warmth and joy and her silent loud cries that oozed pain every time she made love to a stranger. Cigarette smoke filled her summer afternoons and a heart wrenching pain clouded her autumn nights. It wasn't that she never loved enough. She'd just fall in love with too many things at the same time. She was the queen of drag and drama, a heartthrob of the riders and a home to many wanderers. It was unlikely that she could ever understand what platonic love means; for she could move from places to places, from one man to another yet she couldn't feel like home.

Friday, February 21

Hello, lover.

She's not afraid to love you; she's afraid you'll love her back. I know of this girl who has hair spun from words of the musicians and dust from the stars. He is a cold broken bulb of love-lessness; but somewhere the light still burns. Her mind like a library; leads you to worlds you can't enter. Her heart a classic Shakespearean tragedy, ends in death only when you've started liking it. How poignantly addicted was she, to the writers and their crimes, their incessantly romantic lies and all the brutally beautiful things that break your heart eventually. In her vivaciously vivid day-dreams she touches you in ways more than one; the kind of touch that breaks your voids of silence, crumbles the monotonous adjustment of peace into letters distant lovers write to each other.

Monday, February 10

I Wrote This For You

Your words collided in emptiness of noise and it won't stop storming in my head. The way your lips sync and the color of your energies replace everything else I've ever learnt of. The beauty of transient things: everything I've ever loved has made me unrecognizable. Eventually, everything reduces itself to poetry. And I loved my poems, but only for the moment you lit them on fire. You're my storm amidst the hurricane and I'm the violent sea that crashes repeatedly in the calm shore. I wonder if we will always be strangers, you and I. If we will ever know each other enough. A cup of coffee, a cigarette, the penetrating aroma of its smoke, an empty room, silence, solitude & poems on paper and no more from life than this. Then there's you. I will always hunger for more. I'll always keep running like a wild soul and sink further into this madness. I'm not your Sunday morning or your Friday sunset. I'm the dark night sky of impulse and indecisiveness. And every time your cold lips touched mine, it tasted like haikus of spring and destructive work of art that were passed through royal generations. Of all the books I read in my childhood you're the one I'd often often lie and dream for hours longingly picture myself amidst a world of infinite sunshine & endlessness. Cause you're not an emotion, you're one of my experiences.

Sunday, January 26

Romantic Insanity

We're inevitably drawn towards the impossible and the insane; the ones that drive us crazy, the ones that make us fall in love with every rejection and ignorance. The louder their minds, the silent your thoughts. Your cigarette burns in the dead of night trying to find words, that you hope will make them stay. It's not what they are when you are around them, but what they hide when you are not; the way the roots are protected and the branches out in the open. They give you back your feelings the innocence and you wish you could just write them back to life. They are your favorite inspiration, but for a second do not imagine that could be a complement. You like to play with the demons in their head and suddenly they become yours. You enjoy their piece of insanity when you question yourself if this is what they said romance would be.

Sunday, January 19

The Way You Make Me Feel Like Decades.

You said I look the best in red, like battlegrounds from books of history, pressed against my hips like sadness in the sea, before a storm, that keeps calling out my name. I tell you I am a horror movie with a script that you could sing as a lullaby. I'll wrap you in words soft as smoke from chimneys and love as fierce as a cyclone. My dreams are made of melancholy & cold December nights and my passion burning bright as the winter morning sun. I'm closer than the objects in your rear view mirror and farther than the nearest constellation. The gentle breeze that brings me to sing and sway also takes me away as a tornado never meant to stay. There is war in my mind that can bring devastation and life all at once. I long to wander in the labyrinth of your eyes and explore those dark places inside of you where the things you do not say go to sleep. I want to write something about the way your words turn into a place I wish I had known.

It's always after midnight and everything is waiting to die. How strange is the language between us, so familiar, but without saying a word.