Finally I hear the compositions
rain produce with the ground.
Both, vivid and vague is the
backdrop sound that
floats freely into my ears
then to heart;
ever so serene
ever so dramatic.
And I puff up being unable
to stop swaying along the melody.

Somewhere far far away
a tree was uprooted,
a landmass moved down,
a boulder stormed up,
witnessing the winds
being gutsy;
meeting with the ground too.
Crushing anything and everything in its way.
The rains conquer the mundane roads
devouring all like a parched soul.

We click pictures of blossoming skies,
they are clicked for their lands when filled with floods.

So much so for two sides of a story.

Knock Knock!!

There was a knock at the door. At sharp 1 AM. Everyday, without fail. Like someone awfully aggressive to come inside. I was rejoicing in the perks of living alone but few hair-raising moments petrified me.

Sometimes I felt I kept a certain object at a different place but it turned out to be in another room and astonishingly I had a hazy memory of going there. I couldn’t recall as if it was wiped out of my memory. But I always had been too busy to indulge in this. So, tried brushing it off before retiring at night.
Then always at the same time I hear the knock and my eyes would flutter open in shock. Afterwards, the knocks would just fade away. I concluded it to be our new neighbor pulling pranks at the midnight. Dimwits!

Terror occupied me when on the next night the sound awoke me ruthlessly. That’s when I realized someone was touching my back while I was lying on my bed. I usually slept on my side keeping a folded left arm below my head. I could feel how the fingers contorted inwardly, moving in a gesture to poke someone. The way one knocks. I gulped. It was never the door. It always had been my back where someone kept poking their fingers at me. I bolted up in fright.
It repeated for few days. Seemed like I was dreaming about it but was too vivid to be a dream.

I called my friend to stay with me. At night when we were discussing and I told where I felt the touch she saw there were bruises all over my back. We both had mini heart attack and were trembling in fear. That’s when she proposed to pack my bags and leave this place tomorrow itself. Not remember when we both drifted off. Then it happened again and it was only 10 o clock. The knocking started.
I scolded my friend not to joke around and nearly yelled after it happened for 4 times. She answered me back from the bathroom saying she will back in a minute and can’t hear me properly.

I froze. I couldn’t turn. I never felt the touch while being wide awake. Suddenly the touch was replaced by a warm breath on my back. Someone was too close. And then it snarled at me like it carried a lot of hatred towards me. I started crying and yelling for help. Suddenly I sensed warm breaths covering my back to the ankles. THERE IS MORE THAN ONE.
I turned around and



(I love your imagination, Guys!)

Me to my Poem

I wanna finish you
in a way
that satisfies my soul.
I wanna give you a shape
of reality
that builds a massive history.
I wanna make
you a rebel
the most can relate.
I don’t want you
to stop at
Or heartbeats.

You have to outlive me.


I am quiet. I am a lover. I, unquestionably
romance with life. I want to fight back
and vent when I am lending my ear.
I’m grateful for every day tapping
on my shoulder so, I choose to
forgive but never forget. With
every passing pain the only
friend I found was that
sword that defeated
my fears with its
ink and made
my hidden
surrender to
mighty poems.
But I have learned
how to be in control.
I have mastered the skill
how to carry the weights of
my words along my fat dreams.
I am growing each day, conquering
every minute. I reign by being kind to self,
not letting verses of grief drown me anymore.
A writer is born and I’ll turn it into a greater one.

The ‘K’ in my name stands for a ‘Knight’.
(If we go by the trend) 😉

The Postal Code

“Jeremy you know, people leave but places don’t. They exist holding back all the memories, fragrances, silliness, shared meals and smiles over the cloudy skylines traced through the fingertips.

I declared all the strange places, my home because you stepped into that abode with me. The terrace of a skyscraper where we kissed with no care in the world, the roads in the scorching heat where you placed the edge of your hand horizontally on my forehead; to save me from the burn, the beaches where you playfully picked me only to throw in the water for me to get over my hysteria, the afternoons in our favourite though thinly crowded cafe for our brunch dates and crazy daydreams.

You see, Jeremy, all these places still exist yet I became homeless after you left. A vagrant begging to you, to God, to self to bring back those memories because otherwise this destitution would have cut my nerves with a blunt knife sluggishly, at every passing moment.
And in those knelt down, begging episodes at 5 in the morning; one thing I realised was that the only person who was there in my journey of agony and misery was I, myself.

So, thank you, Jeremy for helping me meet myself and finding a permanent, pristine home. Believe me, I have no qualms about the consequences because what we shared was inexplicable and otherworldly. So the result was somewhat unexpected too. And all the things; living or non-living come to an end. This was our end. But I’m now prepared to reserve the postal codes of my home only for myself.”