Thursday, August 14, 2014

Conversations with self.

I have never been at a loss for words.
There has always been something to say
A side to take, something to fight for.
I have never made compromises
To comply with life before
There’s a different me in the mirror.
I am almost prompted to ask
Who are you?
But I don’t.
I know I am afraid of the answer.

This is it.
Everything you ever wanted,
Is this close to being yours
And this close to slipping away.
How can you say
There is no choice?

And so he left.
Did I not warn you?
His ways were fickle.
His manner was elusive.
No, you are not him.
And will never be.
Be thankful for that.

The poet of love
His words were ethereal
His pen was magical
His muse was unreal.

Saturday, February 1, 2014


Every alternate second
You cross my mind
And the spaces in between them
Are consumed with
 A struggle to push you out.

Every alternate second
I feel alive!

Monday, January 13, 2014

Stranger, stranger.

Stranger, stranger
Will you hear?
Stranger, stranger
Come, sit here.
Listen to my story
Tell me yours
My pencil's out of charcoal
My house is out of chalk

My story is out of ears and
My door to salvation's locked

Thank you, stranger.

Thank you, stranger.
Thank you for painting a picture
that echoes my own.
My emotion preserved
in your words
shall forever remain in my journal.
Thank you stranger
For a thought inspired
A silence revealed
A love, renewed! 


He contemplates
Sitting in his castle
On an abandoned island 
In a lonely sea,
That sketch of a woman
Recently caught 
drifting with the wind
Her eyes as transparent as a crystal
Bared to him, with all her secrets
Has he met her before?
(His inebriated mind fuels his illusions)
He is certain he knows her
Those arms, those carefree curls in her hair
That smile that wrinkles just beneath her eyes
He drinks his first glass of fine scotch
And then his second
And after that, loses count
Of how much alcohol consumes him
Before he tosses her into the fire
Dismissing her
As another one of his musings
While she burns in his indifference
Fueling her own agony
With these words!

Monday, January 6, 2014


On this page
There is the pressure
Of coherence
Of sense and sensibility.
On this page
There must be meaning.

For now, I shall keep to my journal.
Until, I find the right words
To explain to you
This feeling of complete chaos.