A little miracle is all I need,
A real dream is all I breathe.
I hear a perpetual knock on my door.
The sounds of chime doesnt depend on air.
The lines get blurred and I delete them often.
Even then they come back at many times.
A deep sleep is broken by harsh silences.
I get up and pretend to walk in my sleep.
I put my words on paper,
and see them all in front of my eyes.
I soon know about your ignorance,
when you burn them alive.
The words look sombre and listless,
even they need a miracle to fly.

My summers have just begin,
But there is craving for the chilled air now...
The sunshine looms large,
I want to go back to the moon.
The light is harsh on my eyes,
There is nothing soothing like the stars..
The rays build a vaccuum around me,
I feel starkly isolated.
The loneliness of the night lets me dream,
This bright day is tearing me apart.

Scared?

My roomies clearly hate me for being so short tempered and for snapping at everybody who tries to be even a little smart...May be its something to do with my insecurities or may be with the feeling of being a vulnerable 'single in the city'....The recent murder at Bandstand for refusing to pay Ganpati chanda has almost gripped everyone (atleast my roomies) with fear...As it happened, today almost four tall well built (scary looking) guys came to our house to ask for Ganpati chanda.

I outrightly refused to pay them. When they refused to budge, I asked them where had they come from.They said this chanda is for the Ganpati of the west area.I didn't even understand what they meant by 'west area' cuz we live in Lower Parel east.Anyways, so one of roomies overheard the conversation and quickly jumped to pay them some money. That's when we started rant against each other as she said that what if they murder us if we don't pay the money.....I was taken aback at the bizzare sound of that sentence....I shouted my lungs out, "If fifty people come asking us for chanda on Ganpati for each different nooks and corners of the area then are we gonna pay them. And more importantly, are we gonna pay them cuz we live on fear?"...She argued saying that we live alone...It would have been different if we were staying with our families.But my question if some fucking psycho can murder somebody on the road then is there any guarantee that thay can't break in to murderpeople even if there are twenty people in the house.How can we keep getting exploited only on the basis of fear.

I know of a person who has stopped following her daily ritual of going for a morning walk in Joggers park,Bandra because she just can't get over the murder that took place ther some days ago...Again my question is for how long are we gonna change our life course just because of fear...

Even if we are not turning ourselves into heroes, lets not fool ourselves of being martyrs by succumbing to the most irritating thing on earth, Fear...

My roomies won't let me argue with the taxi vala even if he is being a complete asshole just because we are girls and we shouldnt argue with him as 'things can turn nasty'...I mean,how ridiculous is that!

May be I am being impulsive or as I said its my own insecurity ...but whatever... the only thing I Refuse to do is.... live in fear...

Exception-Making

“ I HAVE NO ANSWERS…EXCEPT THAT PERHAPS IN THIS PATTERN OF LIFE, I WAS FOR A MOMENT EXCEPTION MAKING.”
....a friend

CrackUp

The leaf never remains the same,
It changes color with changing season.
It tries hard to stick to the branch.
Sometimes it breaks down,
Sometimes sustains with a crack up.

The shell gets weaker by each blow.
Its hurt increases with every pressure.
It tries not to split in pieces
Sometimes it breaks down,
Sometime survives with a crack up

LiFe

Should I pull apart the moments?
Or should I count the uncountable moments?
How do I figure out life?
Is it the cluster of moments?
Seems antithesis to life…
No blacks.
No whites.
So death can never be an antonym to life.
Possibility of two merging together,
That’s the zone where breathing begins.
It’s a phoenix everyday,
Grandeur out of the ashes.
Smoke feels the throat,
Eyes burn with ashes,
Yet grandeur makes up for it.
Life after death,
With traces of death.
Death is a moment.
Life is a moment.
How do I find a difference?
ME

poem

A touch that feels the skin,
There vanishes the pain of anatomy.
But the pain of soul still stays.
It feels the blood, only to cut it apart,
As it pierces through the body.
A nerve catches up with life,
The blood flows faster.
The music of cacophony is heard.
This is what the dreams are made of;
This one is a dream of hell.
Heaven seems a speck.
The hand that touches feels compassion,
The intense throbbing goes to waste.
Throbbing might break the nerve one day.
Its an endless deep abyss that’s needed,
Not a narrow tunnel.
A story ends. Alright
Life entwined keeps it alive.
This story is a death of stars
Unheard passions rush like blood to the head,
Loud they scream and cry,
As they get naked in front of hollow eyes.
ME