The nightmare

Maybe, bad things will only happen to us in my nightmares.

Maybe, we’ll never have ugly fights

That make us scream the roof out of its place,

Maybe, we’ll never get chances to be insecure,

Maybe, I’ll never cheat on you

And you’ll never lie to me,

Maybe, we’ll always find time to eat together,

And maybe, we’ll always want to come home to each other, no matter what happened in the morning.

Maybe, you’ll always be the first person I’d want to show my poems to, and you’d always want me to hear your songs first,

Maybe, I’ll still see the sun in your eyes seventy years from now, and you’ll still find pearls in my tangled hair,

Maybe, our kisses will still make us weak in the knees and we’d never run out of passion while making love, as if it’s always our first time,

Maybe, you’d always help me finish my fries and I’d always offer you my last slice of pizza,

Maybe, we’d still do crazy things together and laugh at each other,

Maybe, we’d always fight our schedules to be with each other even though it’s only for a few minutes,

And maybe, funnily enough, we’ll even brush our teeth together every morning and every night,

Just maybe, unlike the tectonic plates, we’ll never drift apart.

Our love will be like in the movies,

Perfect with happy endings.


The place

There is this faraway place, you see, in my head,
It has a big white balloon for the moon,
A ball I accidentally set on fire, that defies gravity and acts like the sun.
There is no man or a woman, there are only humans
And there are only fences separating countries not armed men or women with risked lives.
And then there is me, (obviously​, what did you expect)
I have this mind blowing confidence.
I talk like I have nothing to lose,
I don’t even stammer or run out of breath,
And surprisingly, people are willing to listen to me.
I never really have to worry about my wild untamable curls,
And my black clothes are always on fire,
I have perfect boots that click clack on the floor.
I’m fearless and I eat without counting the calories and I don’t suck in my stomach everytime I sit.
I don’t doubt myself every now and then, and my poems are bomb.
I’m carefree, I flow with the wind and I have no shackles.
And, funny enough, I have a decent face.
From this place to the real universe must be a long distance.
Because from this place to the real universe, every good thing falls to dirt.
There is no saving.
Here, I have puffed up cheeks, no boots, messed up hair and equally messed up life.
I don’t talk on stages because my poems are nowhere near being bomb.
I always step on that goddamned weight machine first thing in the morning.
But, strangely, you, my love.
You are the same in both the worlds.
You, beautiful, are constant.


“I want to build a home with you”
I chant over and over, and time stops to hear.
But it still claws at the back of my head, the dread.
The question.
“Will I get to?”
Or will you be a mere thread of memory, like all the fading lovers,
That I’ll weave into a warm sweater to wrap myself in,
When the cold from the memories begins to drip down my spine.
Will I have the time to tell you about our little house that will only be built inside my head?
Will I tell you that our bed will consume the major space of the house because that’s where we’ll be all day long?
Or maybe it’ll be a soft mattress on the floor because the economy is fucked up and it’ll drag us down too?
Will I tell you, that in my head, we’re humming to your favorite song, reading my favorite poem, with our limbs entangled that it’s hard to tell us apart?
Will I have time to bid the last goodbye on your lips,
Or will you lie and run away too?
I hope not. I certainly do hope not.
I’ll take the chance.
I whisper to my heart that maybe we’ll turn out differently.
I try to fool it into thinking that maybe you are willing to stand in my storm,
That maybe you won’t gasp at the blood in the shower,
That you’ll hold my hand and pass me a smile, and that you’ll let me curl into you.
I’ll yell too, my love, if the universe will only listen.
I’ll yell that I have a home in a small corner of it,
And I unabashedly have carved our names on the wood till it bled.



“How dare you speak before me like that,
You’re a woman”, you yell before you bring your hand down on me.
You try to belittle me.
But it does the opposite.
I’m a woman, yes, with rage filled in my lungs,
Thunder in my voice,
And I have the strength to bring you down in one roar.
So do not spit the words “woman” on me like a curse,
Aiming to pull me down and throw me at your feet
Because, you know it well enough, when I rise and pull away your hand and spit in your fluttering ego, and punch you in the fucking jaw, that you deserve it.
I’m a woman, yes.
I line my lashes with my confidence,
I wear dangerous words on my lips,
I wear the air of pride around me.
I will wear the backless sari and I will put my scars on display for the world to see me as I am.
I will not hide myself under the veil of fear.
I have rage filled in my lungs,
Thunder in my voice,
I have the strength to bring you down in one roar,
And I will be your curse.

Made You Up

Made You Up

Ratings- 4.5/5 stars.

“Was there some kind of law about drop-kicking assholes in the face? Probably. They always had laws against things that needed to be done.”

     Made You Up, by Francesca Zappia, is a story about a schizophrenic girl, Alex, who fights against staying sane every single day. Figuring out the difference between reality and her imagination, she wishes to pass through her college year without ending up in an asylum. Enter Miles, somebody Alex was so sure she had imagined when she was ten years old, she’s having a hard time to cope up with reality after she runs into him, and as the year proceeds, things only keep getting worse.

   Made You Up is such a beautiful book. It’s equal parts dark, messy and magnificent. The writing is flawless. There are so many uncommon and fresh characters in the book, you’d never want it to end.

  I have always been fascinated by mental illnesses and it’s one of the few reasons I decided to read Made You Up. I have never been able to understand what it is about mental health that pulls me towards it but I’ve always been curious.

   The cover of the book is the bombshell. The colours falling in their entirety and then flowing off to the side, the perfect hue, it attracts you towards the book.

  Made You Up will have you on the edge of your seat at times, and will make you laugh, mess up your mind, but in the end it’s just pure beauty.

One Of Us Is Lying

One Of Us Is Lying

Ratings: 3.5/5 stars.

“I guess we’re almost friends now, or as friendly as you can get when you’re not one hundred percent sure the other person isn’t framing you for murder”

One Of Us Is Lying, by Karen McManus, starts with-

Bronwyn- the nerd who wishes to get into Yale, Nate- already on probation for drug dealing, Cooper- the famous basketball athlete, Addy- the beauty queen, and Simon- the creator of an app that reveals all the gossip and secrets of the entire high school-walking into the detention room. Only, Simon never makes it out of there. The other four are held as suspects for his murder. Simon dies on Monday, and had planned to reveal the biggest secrets of the other four on Tuesday. Is that why they killed Simon? As the investigation starts, things begin to tumble down because secrets are never meant to be hidden. Right?

   One of us is lying is Karen McManus’ first book ever. Said that, if you’re used to reading a lot of high fiction books, it will sort of take some time to get used to the writing. But the book’s storyline is enough to keep you engrossed in it. There were times when I couldn’t put the book down. As the story builds, it gets harder to stop reading and carry on with your chores. I actually also read it during my lectures, and I have no regrets. It’s basically a page turner.

   The book keeps taking a lot of twists and turns. And there’s a whole new level to the ending. It’s unthinkable. The character development also keeps you hooked to the book. Also, I won’t lie, I picked up the book because of its title.

 So if you’re looking for a quick mystery read, I’d recommend you One Of Us Is Lying. The book makes you keep wondering about what’s gonna happen next.




You can not describe art, you can try, yes, but you know you’d always fail.

Because there will always be something you’d miss, be it either a small part, or a big one that you failed to notice.

You could either not find words, speechless by their brilliance, or you’d be tongue tied because you have so much to say that you can’t figure out how to start,

It is really unfair that you only get twenty six letters to describe art, art which happens to have a language of its own,

For the depressed, it’s the happiness,

For the broken, it is the tiny ray of hope,

For the soul, it is  the daily food,

And, for the lungs, it is  the oxygen.

Art is the beauty you travel the entire world to find.

Art is your that little contribution which makes you feel a bit more significant in this huge universe.

Basically, art is what you need along with the blood rushing in your veins.

But, even after all the incredible feelings it makes you feel,

You know, in your heart, that your definition of art will never be good enough, will never be adequate.

And, my darling, if they ask me to describe you,

That is what my answer would be.