A bullet journal entry

  • Go to gym
  • Cook something healthy
  • Start a new project
  • Clean the house
  • Meditate to clear your mind
  • Take a deep breath
  • Throw a glass at the wall
  • Enjoy the shattering sound
  • Thrash your room
  • Take a look around  and cry aloud
  • Kill that buzzing fly
  • Squash it gently and smile
  • Be dramatic
  • Storm out of the room
  • Shout out loud
  • Weigh down on yourself
  • Kill your dreams
  • Crush your soul
  • Surrender without a fight


Dreams, an embellished view of life,
Vividly rich with characters, places & stories.
Why are dreams so profound,
And life not ? I wondered!
Distracted by past and future ,
we miss the splendor of now.
If, lived one moment at a time,
Maybe, life gets as rich as dreams.

No, I am not a know it all,
I just figured this out
And went right back to sleep,
To my pensive dreams.


A chilly November night,

When the world lies dead asleep,

Even the wind too frozen –

To nudge a leaf or a crystal dew,

The poet awakens!

With wide open eyes, 

Stares at the distant stars,

Tries to smell the chill –

That is stagnant in the air .

Having slept peacefully for long, 

In content, in the coziness of love,

The crafty pen has rusted, 

So have the fancy thoughts. 

Unable to acknowledge –

Even the grunt of the stomach 

Or the sleeplessness of mind

Goes back to sleep, 

Once again in the cushion of love.

A pseudo-awakening!

Letter 1: The beginning…

From the hundreds of faces I see every day,

Life chose you for me, I don’t know why.

Maybe there is a bigger plan in this coincidence,

We might have to wait to find out.

It could be my fear and insecurity speaking now,

Still I want you to know what they are saying.

I want us to grow beyond kisses and hugs,

For fantasies fade with time.

I want you to know I am a crippled spirit,

But you don’t have to fix me.

Know for sure what you love about me,

Make sure it survives the challenges we face.

As for me, I love the tenderness of your soul,

The innocence and the warmth of it.

I promise to do my best, to preserve

The beauty of this kindred spirit.

All this said for us to grow-

With each other, into each other.


I am no artist, for I’m rarely in mood,

Neither skilled nor motivated.

I am no poet, my verses don’t rhyme

Nor convey a message.

I am no writer, my scriblings are just scriblings,

With no stories or morals. Prosaic!

I am just another emotional human being

with wildly exaggerated thoughts.

Music and them..

They stepped in, as music, into my life,

Seeping in, to become an indispensable part.

Desi and 90’s stepped back for a while,

When classic rock conquered my heart.

In the company of an alcoholic mate, I enjoyed –

The Beatles, Eagles, Zeppelin, and all the whiskey songs.

Then a summer came, gave way to another winter,

Alcohol and the mate dissolved inconspicuously in time.

But I kept playing back Don McLean and oasis,

It grew on me, more closely entwined.

A mid winter’s day, bought me another surprise,

He asked me, to hear it in the silence of the night,

And gave me Enya, Serenity and Sade(ness),

So was my encounter with the trance.

Though it never caught up on me so well,

I did play it back in the memory of a thought,

How well was he defined by the music of his choice,

Saying so much more than words could dare.

Everything melts in eventually, and they disappear,

Leaving behind traces of thier music, and on me a smear.

Now playing is ‘A tree for my bed’, and I close my eyes,

To the symphony by John Williams, a lullaby.


With you I share, my weirdest dreams,

No pause in indecision, no fear of judgement,

I pour it all out, my pellucid thoughts.

You touch my soul, as it were yours,

You see though me uninhibited, and –

My faith is restored, with your presence.

Renewed madness

The glorious madness fades,
From where reality begins,
It chokes at first and
Like a fish out of water,
Puts up the fight, for life,
To give in  eventually.

Amidst all fake tears,
Pretentious melancholy,
You show up, at the mourning,
And life floods in once again,
Gasping for breath, but –
This time, to the wakefulness of life.

Story repeats itself a million times,
But the hope never dies.

Truth of words …

How can I gauge the truth of your words?

It doesn’t dance around or shout aloud.

There are no eyes, reflecting the depth of it,

There is no voice, reverberating the feel of it.

Tell me how? How can I trust,

The stream of words filling in for your absence!!!