Pens and Pages

I remember I once told a woman How I felt  And how terrible things happened And how I couldn't sleep at night For there were fears Of predators lurking around my home Looking for the next prey they would eat up whole I remember I bared out my heart and soul I remember I couldn't breathe as I stopped my heart to beat To tell her how I really, really feel How I wake up and I just want to go back to sleep How broken memories of a broken me Shattered my past, my present, my dreams... I told her how I needed a new home.. And she said, 'hold a second, I got a call' And she walked away for a while And came back as if nothing happened As if she didn't hear anything I just said As if she wanted not to be where I am Yet she didn't want me to be the one pulling me up, making me whole She wouldn't want to be my friend She wouldn't want anything more to know And later would pass around my past To other ears, of other people who didn't kno

So I haven't blogged in a long, long time but my self-enforced expedition on myself made sure I write this travelogue. Let me tell you how I landed up where I am currently writing this- an empty bus I am seated on from the past one hour. It was a long weekend and I was tired of the  idea of visiting beaches or metros on unplanned weekends. So a week back, I decided to visit this place called Pyramid Valley which I found on a listicle suggesting weekend getaways from Bangalore. The twist in my plan was that I will land up there by taking public transport and figuring out my way as I go. I was eager to breathe in the dust-filled air while traveling on a public transport without worrying much about the time taken while traveling. Me to myself: I was supposed to start early in the morning because of the timings at Pyramid Valley (9am to 6pm). But I woke up at 9.30am and left my house only at about noon. So I packed clothes for a one-night stay at the place. Leaving fro

B for Book Review " This book is filled with poems about loss and closure and for me it was heavy stuff. It takes you back to things you went through in the past and although it might re-open some wounds it may also bring some solace and give you a push to go on. If you are struggling, give it a try. No need to finish the book in one go. You can take you time and read one a day, one a week, one a month, … at your leisure. They are beautiful and I am happy I took the time to open my mind to them. 4 stars. " - Els, Book Reviewer from Belgium on The Art of Letting Go Clare Shaw " Many of these poems are painful to read but they still made me smile with recognition. It's a comforting thing to see yourself reflected on the page. So you won't be surprised that "Moving On" was one of my favourites! And how so many poems in this collection make a lie of it - you do move on! I loved the fierce imagery of "Burning Bridges and "Moonlit

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Most evenings tension lines form on my forehead. Most nights I can’t sleep well. I make sure the door is locked, I make sure the windows are closed, the curtains are drawn, and one or two lights remain turned on. I don’t know if growing up means living in fear because you know too many truths about how the world works. I am not sure if I can call myself very practical or a little paranoid. They say a child knows no fear and they only acquire it as they grow up through various environments. It would be fair to blame it all on my environment- toxic, untrustworthy, full of criminals. But I seldom find any solace in being blame-free. I would blame my own fearfulness as much as I would blame the environment. It was easier as a child to forgive myself, mostly because I thought when I’d grow up I’d be perfect. That there would be no mis-happenings, if that’s a word. * One really cannot blame a thirteen-year old coming back from school in public transport, wearing a decent uniform,