A love letter to my parents

I wish I was a painter
So I could paint you a beautiful picture
I wish I was a song-writer
To write you lyrics that would make you cry

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Between the shadow and the soul

As the shadow protects and hides
Does the soul reveal and attack
Where shadows show false but safe paths
The soul takes on dangerous journeying.

To hear the alluring music of shadow
Or the embittered words of the soul
Should one not regroup in the shadows
So the soul may battle again in the morrow?

Between the shadow and the soul
Lies the extent of the human war
To go one way or the other
Is the sum of all experience.

For December, I will be writing stories based on prompts I have gotten from friends, family, friends of friends and some generous people on Twitter. Thank you Saumya for this prompt.

With makeup on and off

A dab here, a brush stroke there
Perfect face. Now a touch of red,
Some flowery scent, a quick head tilt
And all is in place.

Go out there, entertain the crowd
Go out there, bask in the applause
Go out there, lose yourself
Go out there to break, to recreate.

Back, back to the green room
Get the cream and cotton out
Dab, wipe, dab, wipe
Half face done.

But wait right there!
Under the harsh yellow light,
With makeup on and off
Who is she?

Without the stage and the audience
Who is she?
Without the applause and adulation
Who is she?

With makeup on and off,
Who is she?
Is she the mask of makeup – ON
Is she the mask behind makeup – OFF.

For December, I will be writing stories based on prompts I have gotten from friends, family, friends of friends and some generous people on Twitter. Thank you Mrinil for this prompt.

Seven #MicroTales


As the chemo nuked her, she thought of the times she had not allowed herself to express her anger. But it had found another way.


Failed to succeed? Or succeeded to fail? Only fear could make sense of an equation where failure equaled success.


The blood drip, drip, dripped from my cut finger. After you, I should have known that a beautiful rose was full of painful thorns.


He was choking her…then why was he struggling to breathe? He did not know that while she struggled, her hand was choking him.


“Why’d you do it? Why did you kill them?”

“The man in the moon told me to,” he said tilting his head, his eyes owl-like.


As the smooth Bailey’s Irish cream ice-cream made its way to her mouth, she closed her eyes in ecstasy. Life…was good.


She was shaking from inside as she held her dream in her hands and her friends did a mad dance around her. It had happened.

Looking in the mirror

Looking in the mirror
I saw an image that did not belong to me
There stood a young girl
With a smile on her face, stars in her eyes
And the world at her feet.
Who are you I asked a little perturbed
She looked familiar but still so different.

She said I’m your soul
Whom you seem to have forgotten
In your race against time to win all battles.
Remember we played hide and seek
As we rejoiced in the simple pleasures of life
With food, sleep and dreams
As our constant companions.

No no don’t remind me said I
Of the days that are gone
I was a different person then
But now I have evolved.
For better or worse, she asked
And I responded with a smile
There is no better or worse just movement.

Dividing your life between good and bad
Is a waste of time, said I
For all meaning comes from both the sides.
You truly have become your person, said she
If ever you forget this lesson
Knock on the inner door and here I’ll always be
To remind you to live as it should be.

The credit of this poem’s rhyme goes to my mother.

Get up!

Get up, get up
Didn’t you hear me?
You, hello, yes you
Why are you staring at me like that?
Didn’t you hear me say GET UP
I can’t it’s too hard
Get up you fool
don’t you want to get better?
I do, I do,
But I can’t – don’t you get it?
I would if I could
But I can’t that’s why I need you
Stop being a lazy bum!
Get up, get up
Oh no, he won’t listen to me!
He won’t even get up
There is nothing we can do
So what we give up?
Yes we give up
He’s someone else’s problem now.

This was inspired by ‘real’ events and the impatience of ‘real’ people providing care to someone who needs it. It is easy to proclaim that someone is being ‘difficult’ and not trying hard enough. If someone is going through a bad phase, it is up to us to show perseverance and not the other way around. After all, if they could ‘get up,’ they wouldn’t need our hand now would they?

Starting September, I will be trying to commit more to my blog by following an editorial calendar. This is a part of Blogchatter’s challenge – #MyFriendAlexa – to better your blog’s Alexa Rank by the end of the month by #BetterBlogging.

Five #MicroTales

The door must hold…that order lost him the war. The door indeed held – held while the troops were slaughtered, as they tried to break free.

And as the sun rose, he returned to his empty bed and she walked away from her funeral pyre to return to the light above.

Though they were together, he was thinking of another’s kiss while she was dreaming of the lush, full breasts of her lover.

He saw her and tears rolled down his face. He had helped made this. If nothing else, this would be his legacy – his daughter.

She came into my life when I least expected – so beautiful, so perfect. And then the torture began. Is this what having a muse means?

Starting September, I will be trying to commit more to my blog by following an editorial calendar. This is a part of Blogchatter’s challenge – #MyFriendAlexa – to better your blog’s Alexa Rank by the end of the month by #BetterBlogging.


How very fragile your God must be

To be threatened by little old me

How very insipid must He be

To be belittled by the likes of me

How very powerless this limitless power

To lose His significance to the powerful me.

Is it your omnipotent God

Or your impotence

That cannot tolerate my perceived defiance?

Is your God so in need of your protection

Of your crying wolf in His name?

Why then he is no god at all

But a mere mortal who cannot permit dissent.


I am (not) sorry

I am sorry I am not convenient

I am sorry I am not perfect

I am sorry everything I do gets on your nerves

I am sorry I am not the image you hold of me in your head

I am sorry for being a disappointment

I am sorry for being lazy, for struggling,

I am sorry for all my non-achievements.

But most importantly,

I am sorry for needing your approval

I am sorry for making you think you can achieve your goals through me

I am sorry you have a difficult life

I am sorry my idealism irritates you

I am sorry I don’t listen to you

I am sorry I hurt even when you try your hardest to protect me

I am sorry I go through identity crises, which you think are excuses

I am sorry you don’t understand

I am sorry our images of ‘who am I’ don’t match

And I am sorry but I have to find my own way, because or despite of you.

Somebody that I used to know

Hello to my once upon a time best friend

Who is now just a number in my contact list

Do you feel the intensity when I stare at your name?

Do you miss me or do you pacify yourself

Remembering the fond memories we had?

Do you look at my name,

Now a statistic on your phone

And wish those simpler days would return

Where we used to need each other?

Was it just need or did we have a connection?

Was it just me or did you feel it too –

The warmth, the comfort, the love

Of conversations and wisdom shared?


Years have gone since those inseparable days

You have moved on and so have I

Now we meet each other in social gatherings

Pretending we are still best friends

We meet, we greet, we talk

But do you feel the chasm as I do?

And then in moments of weakness you say –

“You’re still the only friend I have”

But do you know how to be a friend?

How can you when you never learnt?

Who am I to blame you though

When I made a new cult and forgot

The “somebody” that I used to know?