love and cowardice


you continued to tell me you love me,

until I started to love you,

suddenly you were afraid,

I know not of what, but

you ran.

Away and far, from

your dreams and mine,

from us.

You ran so far,

I couldn’t see you anymore, maybe

that’s what you wanted.

I still wonder,

why you did what you did,

was it me or was it you, or

just somebody else.

I wonder if this act,

aches your bleeding soul,

I hope it does, for

you’ve rendered me bloody and broken,


What compelled you,

to cheat and abandon, above all

to lie.

For men like you,

love women like me,

for the scent of our body.

It’s true, isn’t it?

You needy greedy souls,

adulterate and intoxicate,

rosy words like love, for the lust

lust that runs in your filthy furrows.

Alas! Little did I know,

that love as you call it,

is an excuse,

a false notion of emotion.

An excuse for our bodies entwined,

an open door, to me.

You liked the feeling of love,

not love, the feeling.

And I craved the latter.

Panic, you must,

when young lasses fall for you,

virginal and vulnerable.

Escapism is an art,

for bastards like you,

who pine for smokes and sex,

and run away, from the truth, love.



Running away

Sometimes, running away is the best feeling ever. Escaping the world of humiliation, chagrin and sorrow is what I’ve been yearning for lately. And today, the moment I boarded the flight to Delhi, I felt a different kind of freedom, a different zeal altogether. Sometimes, a change of surroundings and sorority can do wonders. I may be wrong, but there are times when old friends and acquaintances become parasitic, they begin to feed on you. And gradually, these parasites, become sadistic in terms of intentions and actions. I’ve been going through one such patch lately. One tough and tacky patch. But here I am, flying to Delhi, dying to meet my family and all set to flush the toxicity out of my life. InstagramCapture_cba47cef-287f-490f-b5cb-db1e5452632d

Sometimes, just sometimes, running away is essential, being an escapist can save you. Being away from what’s toxic doesn’t make you weak, but it makes you immune to what may have happened otherwise. Over the last couple of days, I’ve come to realise that I’m the only one who is to be/will be blamed for both, my sorrow and smiles. I’m the one in charge of myself. I am the one who needs to shield my dignity, honour and glee. If I can’t run for myself, who else will?

Yes, I am running away. Yes I am. But not because I’m a coward. But because I’m running towards the horizon, I’m running towards the sky, I’m running towards eternity.