I write not because I miss her,
but because it helps me
find myself.
I spill words not because
I'm at grief, for
if I were depressed, I'd act lame,
like I did when I was in love.

It's when people have too much either of life or loss, it leaves them hopelessly inebriated and poetry is the hangover it causes.

-

Sometimes I write
to leave a little bit of myself behind
in the pages
forever
so when I need it
I can just skim through
and have a little rendezvous
with the self
that might not exist anymore.

-

I feel
a lot more deeply
while writing
about moments
I have lived through than
what I felt while actually
living through
those moments.

Retrospect provides
a bigger picture
to observe.

Distance provides
a bigger heart
to love.

-

Start writing your original quote here.

Start with a word that you have
always been afraid to touch.
TOUCH. Maybe touch is that word.
The playful touch of an uncle.
The educating touch in a tuition class.
The crowded touch in a bus.
The senior touch inside a hostel room.

Touch them all
until you start writing to touch others
with your words.

WORDS. Maybe words is that word.
The disappointed words of your father.
The ridiculing words of a headmaster.
The betraying words of a best friend.
The dumping words of the first lover.

Word them all
until your words start to see no end.

-

They write love letters to strangers
And eulogy for themselves,
When some writers sit with ink and paper
Cosmos fuck up royally.

-

// on being a writer //

you'd cut your vein to laugh
at the throbbing blood,
and weep hard at being loved.
where you'd shun laughter
and friendship to close yourself
in burning silence and let it kill you; slowly.

(contd. in caption)

-

Because the grief of your departure
was too much, you began to invade my poems.

-

When kids conjure imaginary friends it is normal, if adults do...
Schizophrenia!

-

It's 11:08 PM and I've no poem written,
Slam it is and best poets lined up and it's an opportunity to get feedback from the right kind of people who will call a spade a spade,
And, somewhere deep I kept thinking what to write the whole day and it's 11:08 PM already. And, a blank word document stares at me,
This suffocates, this burdens, this checks my threshold,
For, I am not a machine yet who can write a poem in an hour or two,
Metaphors and plot ideas,
Are these lines rhyming or how about a twist at this chapter?
Spoken word poetry and whom should I kill in the middle of the novel?
I'm suffocated, my mind keeps working 24/7 churning out ideas, finding metaphors, observing people for character sketch.
Isn't this too much? I ask.
Day job and be done yet. I say.
Call it quits?

There's something that says,
2 reasons to recall,
One is your dad who gave you life not once but twice, when a knife was ready to glide on your wrist and he begged on the call to stop the bullshit,
Second is your mighty pen that filled your vessel when empty with hope and direction,

Call it quits? And, I firmly say no.
Not today but someday, I'd go back and the mighty pen would smile!

-

इक गुबार सा,
भरा रहने देता हूँ,
फटता नहीं हूँ अब,
क्या बात हैं,
पहले जैसा,
लिखता नहीं हूँ अब

-