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So many years have gone by And age has made both of us A lot older than we used to be, A little wiser than we used to be. And when the yesteryears Enter stealthily through the doors Of a veiled moon and a dark cirrus, We look back at what we used to be And what we have become today. So many years have gone by And I don't see a single sign of you And you see me not in who I am today. I have changed as I should have - I have built a small hut in a new village now. You still are in the city we used to live in. And maybe we'd have been so much happier now, But I have changed as I should have And you, you still have those grey hairs Like the rays of moonlight falling on my face now. And when I have changed as I should have, You still live in the city we used to live in, Looking the way you used to look, And maybe, just maybe, you haven't changed a bit, The way you should have changed.

Of late, I have realized I left too many doors open. I have this habit of not shutting the doors when I should, of leaving some space as tiny as a cleavage. Some doors I have shut a long time back. I didn’t simply shut them; I slammed some, the way only a teenager does when she is angry because her father snatched away her iPod. Some doors I struggled to close, one inch a day. A few of these doors are still left ajar, not awaiting someone’s arrival, but knowing there is nothing to hide behind closed doors. Closed doors – I think it’s easy to close the doors, to hide underneath the blanket of comfort, to pretend there is no world outside. Of late, I have realized easy is no fun at all. I have been trying to unlock the doors I shut eons ago. The rusted latches refuse to comply. Some doors I closed a few years ago, are giving up trying to stay shut. I look at the rooms these doors protect – mostly empty, devoid of the life they once used to hold. Was it only after the ...

The star that burned Into ashes today Was once the star Of his mother's death. And the same ball of fire, She had seen When he was born, She'd made a wish. And now that you pick The stardust lying On the cold hard ground, You call it special, You call it lucky. But he picks the same And calls it dirt. So, what's its name, In this ephemeral world, Where identity changes And names don't last?

On some nights When no one else is awake She sits on my chest. She walks in and out of the door Till I recognize her face. And when he falls asleep In my arms, She gently cuts his throat And lets him bleed till dawn. She is named As she should be - The ugliness of glee. And the corpse That lie beside me now Was no one but a memory...

I was just going through my diary to find out what happened the same time last year. Here's what I found worth sharing. Food for thought for me. What about you? * "It doesn't seem like you're living a life, it's almost like you're travelling on a train with a destination unknown. You're sitting on a seat near the window looking outside, imagining how things are there outside, how is it like to live in the houses that you pass by. And when you’re busy noticing the outside, you at times do not pay heed to your surroundings inside the coach. And thus some passengers who got down at a station midway fail to capture your interest, or maybe it is because of your deviation of interest towards the outside. While at other stops new people get up, and you like their company, you share and you laugh. But sooner or later they get down. Because it's your journey, you're the traveler and they just accompany you for some distances. An...

I tried to save him From the demon I knew I'd be. He came a little closer, Claiming his love for me. But all the men Who've ever loved me Have loved but only For a short time of Spring. Now in the middle of this storm When he still hasn't left, I wonder if he's real If he isn't a daydream. For I've heard of men like him But never really seen one. I've met men like him before But only In my poem.

She rewrites history, Everyday, She says. I see lies. And when he smiles, And claims he is fine. I see lies. More lies. And when I look at you, And you make me feel good I see you through, I read your book. I see lies. More lies. All lies. Yesterday, When you said Things will be alright. I knew at an instant, That feeling, That vibe. You're going To lie, again. Shackles of lies, In everything I say. And when I write Our story today, I see lies, I see them, everywhere.