I write

I write.

I write because nothing else makes sense to me. I write because everything I see speaks volume to me. I sit at the edge of the world questioning every celestial being of how they keep going with years old job without any complaints.

I ask a pigeon if it can hand over some scriptures of their language and the technique of their flight with nothing holding them down.

And then my lips utter some verses; of life, of death, of excitement, of quarrels that somehow withdraws as well as connects me to this world.

I talk to a bird. How we don’t share a conversation and yet feel happy in each other’s presence. I write about my old keys, the tea I like, the kiss I shared and the time I cried for my mother.

When the light around me mellows down and the blood flowing gets cold, words wrap me around in an old comfy cardigan. A candle lit table gathers my disoriented thoughts and sweeps me away from under the cold tongue of January.

And I write. Because I don’t feel it’s just a hobby for me. It has surpassed being a passion either. It somehow has become, close to, my reason to live. I started because I wanted to survive but my subconsciousness has now accepted it as a second-nature-friend, like your mood swings, the one who would never leave you.

I don’t wish to write only about the pain. I want to write about everything. I don’t want to use writing as a coping mechanism anymore but as an instant mint that refreshes my breath and brings back the confidence that I don’t always need rainbows or unicorns to feel better. I can fix myself before turning into ashes and rising again. Because believe me, the process is draining and exhaustive. And I just want to do better than how I did yesterday. So I write, to keep me fierce, to keep me grounded.


If only…

You always used to wonder
what book I’d be reading at the moment.

And I always had one answer
‘An interesting one’

If only I could have gathered courage
to admit your company was as interesting
as any book I held.
If only I could tell that
sitting beside you,
under the shade
of our big banyan tree,
and kissing through glances
I rejoiced my existence

Then today, you wouldn’t have left to
be a big writer in the city
whom I could touch only through
the spine of his best books written.


Happy New Year 2022

My vision isn’t only in my mind but in all the things I’m surrounded by. It’s in the teacup of words I use to describe myself, it’s in the cardigan Monday wears to give Discover Weekly warm songs in my Spotify playlist, it’s in the band-aid my lump spreads over the anxieties brewing in the stomach to pacify it, it’s in the idea of saying goodbye to one piano key to peacefully move on to another and creating a gentle music for myself while remembering the past
It’s like each day, each moment I reach to my mature yet childlike self that teaches how to calm myself and be clearer in my ask from life.
And be grateful. It’s time to manifest 2022.