Monday, 9 October 2017

Now and Then I Live Eternities

fall under my shine
for you and me belong
to the same set of waves
that paint us in the kind of love
people die of
and reject
in the name of immorality
and lack of consistency
for I often remain a part of your dreams
and you of my unwritten parole
from what I say words that sting
the edge of my tongue
and right under the pile of
emotions you lie on
for I am with you
a lover of no existence
I survive a million days
                                                                                    a million seconds
                                                                                    now and then
                                                                                    I live eternities.

Artist : @artidote 

Sunday, 3 September 2017


but darling,
there was a time
when i was so whole
my crevices cracked
of my fullness,
i am open for
you and them
to put my pieces
back in my grave. 

I like my men vulnerable

But then moments back, I was lost under the same sky you shunned away as yours? Are privileged are you in love?

They tell me you've been softer before
but breaking hearts is an art you learned
when women grew looser. Their exposure was as reckless as the emotions you clutch under your cold fists. I've been there, been sat on and crushed by a man who gave me slow breathless kisses but then went away to find happiness in women who fell in his arms, right after the ruin. Love making can be tough among strong men history teaches you to be.

But listen,
I like my men vulnerable, the one who looks into my eyes holding back his years of turmoil and love, the one who gives in the moment he sees my arms open, the one who kisses scared to be left by me, the one who isn't reckless but is careful of the falling rain on our sullen faces, the one who puts me to sleep when night isn't close by, the one who gazes at me from far off corners, the one who cries when hurt, the one who i can call mine, the one who softens every second of the life we share, the one who isn't tough when in need.
I like my men, the way they like me. Hopeless and vulnerable.

Artist : @artidote love

Monday, 24 July 2017


some days you are more
than just a memory,
some days you are
a mirage with no trick
to catch,
some days you are as
hazy as our first kiss,
some days you grow
in my chest like a
pelting pain,
some days it's easier to
look at you with eyes closed,
some days i melt
under your skin,
some days i fear
your departure,
some days you leave me
notes with no love,
some days i scoup
from your fantasies,
some days I am as
delusional as your existence,
some days, you come closer
with no intent,
                                                                                some days I see you
                                                                                sitting on the moon,
                                                                                some days I breathe heavy
                                                                                catching hold of
                                                                                nothing more than my
                                                                                own forgiven conscience
                                                                                and that's when i know    
                                                                                that some days i dream
                                                                                a little too hard.

Image Credits : Artidote 

Sunday, 16 July 2017

//Behind your Back//

how many times have you gone back 
to scratching your old wounds?
Healed, they stay there
reflecting a forgone time
of lost consciousness
and drunken amazement,
here you are
sitting and loitering
back in a time
that passed away in seconds
walking on a path full of
wet sand and cranky winds
they begin to define you now
and yet
you go back to it
for the kind of solace
that only makes you drop
down your shoulders
till world itself
rejects you sorry apologies
and half dead attempts
to go on in life.
How long?
                                                                      how long have you been
                                                                      waiting with your eyes shut
                                                                      for your tears to push through
                                                                      and take a final fall of resistance ,
                                                                      to sit adamant on your dried skin
                                                                      and lie unassisted
                                                                      on your curling heart,
                                                                      it bleeds no more?
                                                                      are you listening?
                                                                      to those murmurs
                                                                      slow whispers,
                                                                      thrilling silences;
                                                                      they still talk about you
                                                                      only this time
                                                                      behind your back.

image- @pinterest 

Thursday, 23 March 2017


I have memoirs within me, they unfurl when I travel alone, noticing and un-noticing many that pass by. Sometimes they belong to me so I smile engendering memories we shared and bred together. I click and click till they blink their eyes and vanish but then there are those I don't know, those new to my existence, those who pass by without smiles and warmth, those who are busy making memories with their own people, those who have their own clicks, those who have their own memoirs. Those who don't belong to me and yet every time I travel alone they pass by me and it clicks.

Image - Pinterest 

Friday, 10 March 2017


I have unmade veins, they are a mix of green and blue, traveling through whatever little is left of me. They are no maps to where my intention lies, they are his doing, he made them to find my own ways, ingesting hollowing smoke into them, puncturing my flesh, oh! there is none left. They spread among the redishness of my burnt skin, he often leaves his traces down where he travels. You won't find me, I am lost within my own veins.

Image- Pinterest 

Friday, 3 March 2017


I call myself a man with open wounds, fresh air and sun fills up my entrails with love and loathe, blood rushing to the ends. I have no women to name these scars after and yet I have them evidently placed under my sleeve, that's where all of them left their slippery kisses hidden to reconcile with in times ahead. None of them returned. I drew a line every time she left me with a staying smile and then in no time I had too many to sustain. It was to remember the number of kisses I got in a lifetime, the number of women who left a part of their existence with me, the number of women who moved on without taking them back but it was too late to realize that my number of scars long proceeded the number of women who unloved me.

image - @Pinterest 

Friday, 24 February 2017


When I read, I fly off to unknown places. There are no people really, just characters, many of whom I like and connect with, many of whom I have despised, but then there are those I have fallen in love with. I look at them and they smile knowing that I know them, inside out, belonging to them. They know that they have my attention and have captured my soul, it has been long now. I feel freer than before knowing that they acknowledge my presence. Their gallantry and heart amazes me and I want to be like them, call them my own, represent them. I travel with them to places, breathing in the experiences alike. They are not just a fainting memory, they are much more than that. They are the ones I remember and smile myself to for having read good literature.
Have you ever flown?

image - Pinterest 

Wednesday, 22 February 2017


Do you feel it? The way I do, the morning sun peeking through my half open window and un-ordered blue curtains. A landscape is my morning ritual. Do you feel the soggy rays falling on your dry skin, finding its space, settling. Do you feel it needing acknowledgement through your sealed eyes, you flicker and it rushes with all the warmth it sustains. Do you feel it sitting on your parched lips, open from last night's sleep. Do you see it forming beautiful messages on your body. Do you feel it befriending your slow exhausted smile. Do you feel the morning sun the way I do?

Image - Pinterest 

Monday, 20 February 2017


And sometimes I wonder at my forbearance to do nothing, contemplating on the time that I have wasted I'd think I haven't actually wasted any. No poems generate within my beating heart, no prose finding space within my shady brain, no inch of my open skin seek books and characters engendered are of no interest to me. Sometimes, I just want to look out of the window observing nothing, I don't crave fancy views and the only thing I really can focus on is emptiness. Sometimes, I crave it too much for it fills me with hope of abundance in future.
Sometimes, I look out of the window for nothing.

Image - Pinterest 

Saturday, 18 February 2017


Sometimes, I feel the need to go out and stand in the cold, to face the alluding mist till exhausted it melts on my burning face, to run with the winds till they try hard enough to catch me. Sometimes, I want to behold the white picturesque in my vision and seal my eyes forever, to let the winter gush infuse in me the crimson that conceals itself from the fading world. Sometimes, I want to breathe in the callous cold till it freezes me from the inside, sometimes I want the winter to be all mine.

Image - Pinterest