Pens and Pages

I'm far from being a romantic person. Loving? Not at all. I giggle at the wrong time. My laugh is too loud. I dance weirdly. I often find myself away from people or I find a way to push them away. But I giggle, laugh and dance anyway. And whenever I find myself alone, I sing, I think and I write. That's the closest to love that I can ever be. And when I hug the trees and kiss the sunset, when I admire the birds fly and I dance on the beach, that's the closest to romance that I can ever be. I make poems in my head. I make them all the time. I have always been in love. I'm still in love. I pour all my love to the notepad I write on. I romance the pen. The poems that are still lingering in my head, they say I'm incurably romantic. I still keep my poems. I live more in my imaginations than in reality. And if that's not love, I don't know what else is. I don't need a him or a her. I'm in love with love itself. I'm a story in another story. I'...

Like a cup of warm coffee Kept on his table from long, He takes a sip from me As he kills a little piece of my heart Every time he does. He then keeps the cup away. I long for him, hurt, For just one more sip, One more kiss, One more time together. "I promise I'll forget you," I lie. He gives it a thought, Reminiscing the last kiss. Bitter. He refuses. Another chance? He reconsiders. Our lips meet yet again... And while he takes the sip gently, Taking in all of me slowly, Killing a part of me as he does, I know it is not over Because after a little while I'd ask for another chance, He'd comply. I'd call it love, Knowing very well That someday the coffee will be cold, He will move on to another Cup of warm coffee Probably not as bitter As my so-called love.

I’m 23, turning 24 after a month. I weigh 8kgs more than I should. I walk clumsily. I’m prone to colliding with objects that don’t move. I can’t cross busy roads alone. I can hardly run a few metres without stopping for breath.  And I do not know cycling. In my defense, I never got the opportunity to learn cycling nor did I have much interest in it when I was young. Now that I realize I’m 24 and I just theoretically know to drive a car and nothing else, I decided to learn to ride a bicycle. First Blocker – There are hardly any schools that would teach you cycling. Of course, I think there are none. Solution – I spent 50% of my savings (Yes, I hardly save anything) and bought a new bicycle – a blue Avon Foster bicycle (I call it my bike, no other names, I’m not 8 anymore :-P) on 29 th March 2015. Second Blocker – They laughed when I asked for training wheels. “Not available,” they said. Solution – I decided I have all the time on earth, so I can do witho...

You're all words, When it is your death. For people by then Would have forgotten How to love you, again. They would remember You not, for your deeds Were forgotten too soon. You lived on the smell Of ephemeral cigarettes, On the taste of bitter beer And the whiskey that burns Your guts as it vanishes. What is it that you'll leave behind? Your beauty was forgotten When you succumbed To the wrinkles of aging. Your smile is no longer charming When you hide the gum That misses a tooth. So what is that you'll leave behind? Probably, those words, Never spoken, Only written down, On the bark of a tree To be read by strangers Who know nothing about your struggle. And when the tree dies, And the soil embraces your words, Probably it is then That your soul will rest As your words will finally leave love For the soil, That you couldn't.

It was more fearful than I imagined and I screamed my heart out... But once the hardest part of jumping off was done, it was a wonderful experience... Now I know fear is natural, so is screaming... That fear can turn you into a timid person who backs off at the last moment... But when you overcome what's pulling you back, you know you're much more than who you know you are - you're infinite. I'm the river and the mountains, The calm and the hurricane, I'm the fear and the fearless, I'm more than just enough, I'm infinite... Photos taken during Bungy Jumping at Jumpin Heights, Shivpuri

Feed my soul, Cover my skin, Save me from the grave I dug for myself. The dark deep pit, It's labyrinthine corridors, My own serpentine silhouette, Slithers around my neck. I crave for a single breath. Air, please. Feed my body, Its desires are strange. Feed my soul And cover my skin. Dirt, everywhere. Is thy soul too stale? Mercy, please. Save me from the wounds Of falling from paradise. Cover my naked skin. Save me from the grave In the pits of inferno, The grave I dug for myself.

May be I finally understand now or may be I never will... She escapes a country to find herself in another. The rummage, she knows, can never be over. Perhaps one life is not enough to find one's true home. You travel to places, you seek comfort, you travel the entire world just to find a sign of it. Perhaps this world is not enough. Another world, another life or may be just another day could be it. May be now I understand why he has given up trying to chase his dreams, why he has finally given in to mere dreaming. The world is too realistic for him to be. Dreaming is comfort. He travelled the world to find his home - not the home where his family would be, but where he could sleep peacefully. He now knows his fears aren't real and so his scars. He hides behind those scars, while in another country, she wears her scars proudly and continues her rummage. She is living her dream, albeit unhappy. But he, he knows his dreams are more real than his fears. And someday, in their ...