falling out of love..

Days, weeks, months and years of memories. 26,28,000 minutes of you. She still believes in every promise you made, every word you uttered. She thrives on the moments you opened your heart to her, but churned out lies and sweet nothings. How can you expect her to fall out of love, when you convinced her to fall so deep? How can you expect her to fall out the sweet haven she thought your heart was.
Fall out of the nights you made love to her, until she was all sore and spent. Fall out of all the times she let her soul and skin bare, for she trusted your deceptive gaze.
Apologies, su amor, for she failed her umpteenth attempt to fall out of your love. She misses your warm embrace, the way you kissed her gingerly. The way you looked deep into her eyes, her blazing passion, pulling you in. She misses how you stole a kiss or two, at a family gathering, and cleared the ruby woo off her lips, post dinner. Most of all, she misses her laughter, that bright smile, the effortless banter and dancing feet, which she never experienced after you left.
Falling out of love is no option, for paramours like her. Hers is the kind of love, that lingers and lurks, that questions and condemns, that fights for what it’s worth, but never leaves.


If only I could tell you,

How much I love ye face, and

What you do to the plants

As they dance in the

Diamond studded race.

You bring out the best

In the soil, the earth and me

You resonate splendour, sass

Most importantly, the

sound of glee

Oh rain drops!

You make the skies and land one

Whilst you chitter chatter,

Descending down in unison.

You make the trees a different green

The skies devoid of blues

And you paint me,

In rainbow hues.

                          -to the rain

I love the smell,

of new books, and

new relationships.

But alas!

Time runs its course, and

kills them both.

The pages of our

relationship, now

drench me in a spiral of emptiness.

Blank pages, the

book now lost,

just a simple lesson learnt

A relationship is a book, you

can’t read twice

Move on.


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.