Life of I’

Yesterday i watched “life of Pi” again and felt like to be a non believer would be such a hard working life. (those who haven’t seen it, please watch). Even the things i cannot control i have to take responsibility thinking that it is necessary so as to control my output in life i meant.

Although mechanical sometimes but it does come to what i have learnt and am i putting my own emotions back to practise. We get lazy when the bad times pass by, our own association only becomes limited to the sadness we may feel in that split sec nostalgia, that is i think because the reasons we have to put as to why something happened are limiting. I am seeing the life just as if it had no meaning to it, but still its there to be done felt dealt and loved maximum to.

Why should anything mean anything, but once i know myself, it is also important to give our own meaning and then flow with everything nevertheless

It may seem like you would die but you wouldn’t

the brain of heart may seem like a physicality but it isn’t

lungs have more of a mind of their own

choking on bad air is knowing

memory knows history but

to blow away into the proportion of opposite

I believe I should believe this too

being wrong is a dimension of its own

and believing you are, is another

what should I leave to get what

matters on what I leave when I get what I want

I am good then leave behind cramps in body of dead

or take their misery with me

why to hold what should flow

so live life

but do go deep deep deep into the soil of deepest oceans

and kill yourself

that is how you will find

that nothing beats as much as roots that float

with darkened hardened seasoned bits of soul

You can now take a fall

but take with you a foreword for life

Whatever you do

don’t live a insipid life knowing nothing of anything

or an ignorant one knowing everything of nothing.


Camphor Ball

June July August and now September.

Three months and no posts. I have been learning magic for this while. Well anyways this post is about the world and our default learned behaviour that never wants us to know that we are all we need. What is simple always doesn’t become the obvious answer, why ? Because we are the complication. We unnerve everything around us and ourselves as well because simplicity always begets contempt in how easily it’s available, there are no forms to anything but many, limited by our visibility. It is the visibility that manifests itself in our future and present, in what we create recreate or destroy. Everything we see, everyone we meet keeps triggering our defaults and we can’t change the pattern because we either do the same thing or the opposite when we are afraid of old results. How we can resolve this to follow our conviction with simplification of thoughts. In such thoughts I feel like I am absorbing the universe and maybe we all are always doing the same just unaware of it. Cheers to those who understood 👆

Camphor ball

Reduced by whiff of trust lethargy of hope should not take me over
or else
how to see the monotony of vigour?
where facts derive me out from sweat of procrastination and take future out my hands before
I had dwelled deep and dug all the corpses of brain but couldn’t touch the past
as if
I didn’t exist there and memory just absorbed what it found in the transcendence of mind
an lon an anion
kept what it felt in the friction
a negated packet
a hyped paradigm
a dusted love
absorbs me and expends me
I absorb the world in return and expand me per breath
traveling in my own brain

a camphor ball.

Old with time for youth..

Hi Everyone.

I am not verbose on the blog and I just post poems when I feel like sharing. This time it has been long since I last posted but now getting back to it. Just felt like writing this note to tell how in the last year where I have gone through thousands of storms this blog, the sharing and your comments have time and again come to my rescue. I just want to wish everyone peace in whatever they are dealing with and that we should keep expressing. Our souls have no barriers and I am thankful for the internet 🙂

This poem stemmed from a thought while just walking on the street. I saw group of old people and myself and just was trying to think what an old person would worry about and what they would be thinking about the choices they may make about people or things they may have wanted in there life. The process of growing up is happening so subtly but so directly that we think it’s pain or yearning or achievement or failures, while so much is happening we still think that we are left behind and are in such hurry to live that we don’t recognise that living is not in age or achievements but it is always a direct result of our own thoughts and the actions we take to satisfy those thoughts..just that..

Most people kill to die
some would die but not kill
some talk
some spill
How to gift a rose without cutting its stem?
by gifting a plant
but there are hassles in growing up
Who would want?
The old walk
toe to toe
hand in motion
just as doctor said
no curiosity
we are all one less then the allowed chance
but age helps
bills and hearts
everything bulging was taken care of
no refuge left to take
love career body parts
everything is now together
no matter how much it were apart
But there is still time left for me
I have this youth
and years for free
Though there is nothing left unsaid
pain memory love hope regret
but still I have to churn out more
I am not settled
that’s the lore
come wish me luck
people say
I will have to live a little more.

Mirror Meditates

Through the broken glass of a shaken house
paradigms shift to let in the light
when and how much
too hard to decide

reflecting in the angle it was set in
traversing the light
shining on things as they were thrown
Mirror Meditates
to change angles.

shadowed on
horizons of reflection
it’s a straight image
hiding the streets
vision fails to intrude.

I sit and call for purpose in pain
confidence in vain
and wisdom in shame
light strives to direct reflection
I get back
whatever I ask for
it doesn’t go sideways
there are few things I would rather not say
it’s my own mirror
it ignores my ways.

changes in surface
go on to imbibe
what kind of darkness it is
I have to decide
under spell of my own ways
expand out
look inside
I change my mirror
Cant change my sight.


I know people
and they tell
they know me
this time it will be different
my grave will not be lonely
they will bring me
flowers and love
decide if I am rotten enough
kiss me or bid me luck.

I will know soon if
a new message I will have to inscribe
one more grave then
to kill and hide
there is blood on my lips
and dirt on the hands
again the silent trance
and hunger pangs
punch me
to vomit it all out
I have again eaten
my insides out.

Each time I dig a new grave
and fill new crowd
bodies on bodies
crying out loud
warned to lie still
sometimes they wriggle
trying to climb uphill
they hold my spine tight
and try to break me
to be their light
and I gasp for air
to loose this sight
their versions I keep
but I let them slide
every new man
pulls me down
questions ways of my heart
on me he frowns.

And You
I have seen you before
when gardens were lush green
you were like a purpose
that has dreams
while I try to see you differently
you come using the same means
you don’t know how you bring
the same scenes
of us
drinking the blood
being both hungry
and half filled
the continuously rekindling love
in unkindled will
I cannot help but still hear
in this closeness
the echo of dead screams
going in same vicious circles
of flowers and rings.


What would you sit there and wonder

let me tell you

love fear hate derision pretense 

all were true

it was best to not wonder more

so we did not

but if you sit and I cross your mind

know you cross me too

now when we swim across 

to more oceans 

and different lands

if you find me in another 

find me then for her 

and you will find me for me

I will till then try to loose you

and un-clinch my fingers

grappling your version with me

hoping that you find 

the same unsettling love

which settled in me

and then maybe you will see everything left behind 

was same and more

but now lost 

on the edge of our past. 

Whole Death

a walking graveyard
of still houses 
to be scavenged little more 
is left open

what can pesky beaks do
                          carry on the task 
death and rest follow 
graves digging body 
and body itself 
to end it all
the savage picks up the taste
half rotten stuck in the beaks
body evolves 
birth to the burp
making it alright

whole death is whole 
unlike half hearted meal
not eaten
not forsaken.

Meme evenings

neural efficacy it dictates

carving replicating transcending 

subatomic space of the peripherals where

it was killed, alive again 

dusted by hands of now a celibate brain

niching into the broken links

of surviving neurons 

to expose hide reside in a scarred alley

trying to invade again 

breaking open the bubbled spaces

you. yet again a meme of everything prefect 

I. an uninspired host

Fickle life of grandma & noor

I would have written better at the time

when you used to churn ghee out of the malai collected by me

but that thought was lost before I could write.

It was constant process but

then, mother changed the method and she instead made curd out of it

she would churn the curd for butter and chaas

with that your hands too changed from firm to soft

in the process whole house evolved

malai was now a distant thought.


But reference of it almost never died

turned into a skilled fight

although with malai a lot of stereotypes dissolved

but somehow ones with curd evolved

for house was her commodity now

where her life would revolve.


Noor, you should know how to claim what’s yours

but why, if it’s truly mine

it’s not about the curd or malai, she would say

it’s more

it’s always more

good books have rubbed your innate core


why didn’t you tell her – said Noor

sometimes Noor you will have to ignore

ghee can be made out of butter too all the more

because to know is not good for her

but for you it will help you take your path

everything fickle is not always lost

what’s important is to let go

as life’s only hope is change

and our will to live up to its game.






Malai – Fat layer on milk after its boiled

Ghee – clarified butter

Chaas – buttermilk



Old and Content

Don’t ask me for courage

I dropped it in the nutshell of peace

The wolves hunted my bravery

My women was put to leash

The girls who giggled at wake of puberty

Silenced themselves in the hook ups of past

The men who surfaced

Went mad trying to make them last

Hunted were hunters and they did the same

Each relentlessly becoming insane

When there is no path that you can lay

All paths eventually lead astray

Always a flag on horizon 

For which they would ride

People told me to go there to hide

I reached there 

And came back to save my sight 

Blisters of my journey still wake me up in the nights

I smile when Old and Content

Means to have paid all the price.