It was always your way to disappear as I fell into a slumber,

In your wake lay wisps of smoke and I, beginning to wonder.

Were you my fascinating reality or a terrible dream?

Either way, I could never confine you within my realm.

It was always with you I thought of taking flight,

But as morning came, you left with the night.

Come back someday, won’t you?

And take me away too.

Here I am, but the dreams won’t come true,

Not even you.



Versatile Blogger Award

A big, big, big thank you to Mike Evans for nominating me for this award. I never thought I’d actually get nominated, and this means a lot. And I’d also like to mention that I absolutely love his blog.

I was extremely surprised about the nomination as I haven’t added a lot of posts. But I’m determined to become a regular at blogging, and this comes as an excellent source of inspiration!

Now, the rules.wp-1473745747215

1. Thank the person who nominated you.

2. Share the award on your blog.

3. Share seven random facts about yourself.

4. Tag 10 other bloggers with less than 1000 followers and let them know they’ve been nominated.

Okay, seven random facts about me.

1. I’m in ninth grade.

2. I’m from India.

3. The first reading marathon I ever went through consisted of about 20 illustrated classics (I was six) and six of the Famous Five books.

4. My glasses are a consequence of spending hours in bed reading Harry Potter, laying in uncomfortable positions but never letting the book go.

5. My top two favourite bands are Coldplay and Arctic Monkeys, and I’m absolutely and incontestably in love with Alex Turner.

6. ‘I want to hold your hand’ is the first Beatles song I ever listened to.

7. As a rule, I don’t watch the movies that make me cry more than once.

And finally, here are my nominations. Check out their awesome blogs.











Lastly, I’d like to thank everyone who liked or commented on my posts or followed my blog. It has encouraged me to keep writing. I soon plan on writing about other things I’m passionate about. I’ll always appreciate constructive criticism, and hope all of you will bear with me for the time being.



It’s a plain picture. Just another grey day, and me, still waiting to burst into flames.

I always imagined how me bursting into flames might actually look. Whether I’d be a myriad of colours, or just another sketch in shades of grey.

It’s a plain day. The books are strewn across my bed, waiting to burst into flames too, probably. I’m waiting for inspiration to come knocking, as I always have. But like always, it’s still not here. I’m waiting for something to catch my eye, or whip me up in a frenzy, but being surprised is a privilege I seem to no longer have.

I’m looking around and seeing these things, but they seem to be in another dimension. And I’m waiting to be let in, as if it’s one of those exclusive parties with long queues outside them.

I’m dying of thirst. I don’t mean the thirst for adventure, I mean actual, genuine thirst for water. Like the type where you are thirsty even though you drank five seconds ago.

It’s a normal day, and I’m still waiting to feel normal. But that’s a word that lost its meaning a while ago. To me, anyway.

I remember being asked a question. “How can any human ever be anything as plain as normal?”

I know a poet. Or a friend who writes poetry, anyway.

‘But in a world where everyone aims for extraordinary,

Maybe normal’s not something bad to be.’

Maybe he’s right, or maybe I’m just too willing to jeopardise every belief I’ve ever held. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m addicted to ‘maybes’.

I’m the same as any other day, thinking in metaphors that don’t make complete sense to me. But they’re more familiar than this solitude, so I let them haunt me anyway.


Exploited colony to largest democracy,

And still fighting off illiteracy.

Robbed and ruined, but never lost our soul,

In world history we’ve always played our role.

Calculate our economy in whatever currency,

We created the decimal system as well as geometry.

Worldwide our army’s the third largest,

And in diversity we leave no room for contest.

No longer a land of snake-charmers and fire-breathing,

We love our culture and values more than anything.

Texture of land is not the only thing here that changes;

We also have the most number of post offices.

Our scientists and engineers outnumber all countries but one,

Even had a scientist for President – APJ Abdul Kalam.

Guess who invented chess,

But never invaded another country in all its years?

We have our faults and shortcomings,

But the world is still turning,

And so, even at the strike of dawn,

I’ll be proud to be an Indian.


(I initially wrote this for a school project, but figured this is a nice place to have it as well.)


My chest is heavy with the sediments of yesterday’s storm.

This wind tears me down. It shatters my bones. I fall apart, one piece at a time.

This wind is too strong. The remnants promise a dazzling fire. Ashes are all that’s left.

This wind hides them well.

Defying gravity.

He was my sun, my world revolved around him.

I was his earth, I was his world.

We lived on a planet that insisted that love was like falling.

Fell down too far, felt the darkness envelope us.

Until he decided to defy gravity, rising like a star.

He left me here, on this Earth.

But he was my sun, so my world no longer turns.

And I’m stuck here on this endless day, while my lover reigns over the night sky.



I remember the day we met.

You stood there, made of all the colours there ever were. You  were there, like this unforgettable portrait of  all the beauty in the world. You were there,  like a reference to every masterpiece ever drawn.

I gaped, in awe of all that was you. All the light and hope that you radiated all around.

And now that you’re gone, my world is devoid of everything. Even darkness.


Her inspiration lay in his eyes. It always had.

And maybe it was that what led her to believe his innocence. She believed the truth in his eyes.

But when those eyes closed forever, she was the one who was blinded.

The End.

“But it can’t be.”

The words seemed to hover in the air, slowly fading away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had never meant for things to end this way.

So this, this was where it all led? All the promises, all the dreams and their hopes?

But she said she would be here, he thought. She promised. His predicament did not allow him to see, but at least he’d have heard her voice. That cheerful tone. Did she forget or had she given up? But she would never forget. That could only mean one thing. They were history.


He knelt down, and his hands touched concrete. He let the flowers lie in their wake. Then he turned around, vowing never to look for her again. His walking stick guided him out of there. Out of the graveyard.

He had just fulfilled her last wish. He had left her flowers at her grave.