The Blues of January
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The blues of January are mixed feelings, like drinking a warm hot chocolate. Not quite right, but still good enough.

(Full poem in caption)

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Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Let calmness sweep over.
What are you seeking to give you hope?
Who are you seeking to give you hope?

Here comes November
With its chilly warmth
Like the hug you’ve been longing
That brings up a smile
Like the kiss you’ve been awaiting
That warms up your heart
Like the moonlight meeting the ocean
And speaking of eternity
And of the futility of life’s unending dance
Yet of the beauty it never ceases to relay.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It’s yet another day. It’s yet another night.
It’s yet another chance. You’ll be alright.

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The turtle that learnt how to fly

“You don’t have wings”,
They said to me
“You can’t do everything”,
They chided me

Continued in caption...

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been broken, fallen, abashed by the storms




have never let them kill the warmth in my heart.

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existential questions about the universe





thankfulness for waking up alive

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you are at peace with yourself.

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these turning points in your life.
The moment you realise there’s no going back
The moment you realise no one else will save you
The moment you realise you need to choose you
above everything else, above everyone else.

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that my words don’t need any explanations.

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It’s been over a year since we met. A crazy year that made me fall crazily in love. And I fell so hard that it hurt so bad. And unlike Ronan Keating’s song, you weren’t there to catch me when I did.

Yet, I’m addicted to your presence like a cocaine addict. There are days when the craving to hear your voice again is so bad, my mind is at it’s anxious best and there’s this incessant voice in my head, telling me to go ahead: one more call to you wouldn’t be that bad.

And call you I do. Suddenly my dark misty room is transformed into a bright rose garden, each flower filled with effervescence, longing for your touch. I imagine you standing next me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear like you always did, while we both laugh over the silly thing that life is.

You don’t pick up the phone. You don’t call back. It’s yet another day I’ve to pass off as a ‘busy one’ for you. The anxiety is gushing in. But like the humble sun, which sets on us while coming back up the next day, as if to try again, I hope. I hope like the bird from Emily Dickinson’s poem, unabashed, waiting to hear from you again.

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When I first saw you
My heart didn't skip a beat
No loud trumpets played
No guitar in the background
Instead, my smile widened
Everything fell in place
As if my heart had found peace.

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