Sometimes you can’t tell a person , how you feel. Even if their are endless ways of describing what you feel, sometimes the only answer is silence , sometimes you just have to feel. It’s so beautiful , how words become short to express your feelings, and still the other person hears what is said in the unsaid.

Brevity, Write Ups


Every now and then, I brush off the dust that tenderly settles on the keys of the piano. Impressions of your fingers tips are still printed on them. It seems as if the dust particles have been caressing them much longer than I have.  I am standing in front of our piano right now, its weak legs are almost on the verge of giving up but not just yet. Its teak frame reminds me of your collarbones that were deliciously highlighted every time you wore your red satin dress. The creaking sounds of the chair you sat on for hours reminds me of the first time you decided against what was wise and held my hand firmly, like you were never not gonna hold it in the warmth of your hands. I lay down on the floor, feeling the surface of the hard marble floor underneath the table. I press my face flat on the floor where your feet continuously tapped on as you played rhythms of your heart. My hands roam in circles around the shiny floor just like they wandered around your chubby body discovering the  insecurities that stained your smile everyday. I sit upright and rest my face on the foamy cushion of your piano chair. The way I’m sitting hurts me to the limit where numb becomes a trait that is used to describe my body.I believe that a little more would help me succeed in silencing my aching heart. I do selfishly hope though, that the tunes of ‘Claire de Lune’, that you played the last summer night we were together hits my ears, one last time.



Something controls my mind,
It knows my soul well,
It never lets me be truly alone,
It’s the breathing down my neck,
The devil on my shoulder,
And it’s taking me too close,
To my last breath.

Brevity, Quill


While the Instagram stories are filled with boomerangs of rain descending down from he heaven above, and the rain lovers are oohing ahhaing about how much they love rain. I find it cringeworthy to love rain. like ew, no. It’s humid. It’s always raining, you can’t go out. It’s always wet. And the cars on the road never fail to splash mud on me, Thanks to the famous Indian puddles. My skin wages another war with acne, which the acne always win with the breakout, and my hair, let’s not get into this. And I don’t know why but rains are always synonymous to lovers, heartbreaks and this definitely turns the knife in the wound (my imaginary lover are you listening? ). I detest rains and the emotions involved with it. FOR ME IT WILL ALWAYS BE A SEASON OF GLOOM, UNCONTRALLABLE SWEAT AND HUMID. AND ALSO CHAI PAKORA ( the only reason they become a little tolerable)

Brevity, Poetry, Quill


Why do I still believe in you,

Even though you let me down,

I lift you up, off the ground ,

maybe because I have been alone,

an loneliness is not a dream,

instead a harsh reality,

that shows you heavens up above,

and pulls the ground below your feet


My Wish

Ever feel like, just sitting under,the blanket of stars and just gazing into the night sky at 2:00 in the night? Just putting on your headphones and listening to Coldplay. Lying down next to someone you love? Carefree, sleepy, and a fire in your heart? Yes, Me too!!


Little Things

Some days you’re on the verge of breaking down, because you’re tired of what you are. It’s a feeling that leaves you empty, and you feel the world is breaking down and so are you. But you still hold on, not for you but for the little things, that tell you, “Live a little more.”



In the same moment, you implanted two feelings

  1. home
  2. homesickness

Brevity, Quill


We are remnants of people,

some we moved on from,

some we hold onto.