How to know you are a Writer 

You know you are a writer when…

You are a slave of sunrise, sunset,

Roses, dew and snow

When others enjoy the view, take snaps

You always scribe down in frenzy

The last pages of note books filled 

With lines, poems memories 

People you meet, characters in stories

You know you are that kind 

When the brook flows, so do your words 

The beat of the universe is the

Beat of your heart  


What kinda Girl 

I’m that kind of girl 

Whom they wonder 

“How did she get there?”

“How does she still be?”

“Is this possible? She was just… you know”

“Heyyy that girl…I know her

Well I used to….”

“She’s doing that now? She wasn’t even…” 

“I barely know her but I think she’s so bitchy

“But I stalk her anyway”


I’m that kind of a girl 

The mirror of the night

Wronged (?)

Did I wrong or am I wronged? 

Standing still in the witness box 

Your mother and wife in the other 

“Did you wrong? “ The judge asked me

“I just loved “I said. “Lost everything but loved”

“Did you wrong?” He asked your mother and wife 

“Yes, We cursed her. She was the other one. The other woman. She should get demolished….So we just did away with her” 

Judge – “Did you know this? “

Me “Yes an astrologer told me three years ago 

That I was cursed by black magic 

He even told me the names of those who did”

Judge “Were you sure? “

Me – “Yes. Even his mother recently checked my horoscope

Was told I’m cursed 

That’s why I get sick 

That’s the reason behind this pain 

That explains… my demons…my near death pain 

I’m crumbling away like a pastry 

But he is holding to me… 

he who gave me hope to live 

He is hopeful every hour, minute, second 

That I would get better 

He massages my aching body 

Wipes away my tears 

He’s hopeful that I’d wake up 

To be his bride one day 

The mother of his child

But he also knows I’m cursed 

He doesn’t care” I weep 

Judge – “I don’t need all the details 

Did you wrong? Or not”

Me – “I just loved. If I wronged… so did your son, your husband”

I told your mother and wife

Who cursed me… three years ago 

My father checked my horoscope 


He tells me “he said you are cursed. Difficult to raise your head..”

“Yes I wronged” I tell the judge

“But I’m wronged too” 

The judge scratches his head 

“I order your son/ husband to give a statement on this regard” he says 

“ it doesn’t matter… nothing matters anymore” 

I sigh. 

Under my breath 


The Broken 

The broken…. they live too

The ones you thought would die 

Out of sorrow of parting 

The ones that still breathe through

Darkest nights and loneliest, scariest  dreams 

The ones with souls of worriers 

Will come back, stronger 

Although with damaged souls 

Because after a fire 

The things that don’t destroy 

Will be made the hardest 

Newsroom Chronicles

Clash of Self

It’s very ironic that the last post I posted was exactly one year ago. Going through them once again I asked him if he’s okay with all the poems I have written about someone else or if he wanted me to delete that history away. “Keep them” he said. “Those are great work of art. Why do I want them to be removed!” Reading them again now, I can’t relate to the context of those poems and prose anymore. There’s a clash of self.

There’s a clear clash between my this self, myself this time last year and the self the year before that. Keep note that this is not an annual change. This is what happened to me after a sequence of events that took place in my life. It’s like I have carried three different people inside this body. It’s quite quiver…even to think…quite tragic too.

The self I had the longest in my life clearly died. My workplace killed it. My petite emotions, the poetic mind, certain elements of my personality were brutally murdered by the two months training but I was happy she died because that was the end of Sorrow.

Then appeared a hard hearted easy going person who knew no emotion at all. She was never sad, never happy either. She never felt anything but she existed. She was improving career-vice. It was as if she were made for this career. The emotionless self suited the course job… everyone was happy. Alas! She didn’t last long either.

The long necked, out spoken, mischievous and slender boy never gave up. First his reactions to my rejections made that myself genuinely happy. Seeing his heart broken was a source of happiness to her. “See what you made me do” was her favourite song.

But one day, one fatal day, the day dawned following an election. She stayed overnight at Office just for the fun of it though it was a boring one. She had gone to sleep in a car at around six in the morning. She was slightly drunk, very much on party mode and obviously tired when he came and sat next to her at around seven thirty. He caressed her hair, tangled her hand in his and kissed the back of her palm several times as if it were some form of ritual without any permission.

It was a kind of act you would see in movies where the prince kisses a princess and she wakes up.

And I woke up through her cold heart and I felt the veins of my heart filling back with warm blood once again.

Her heart started beating again and here the present self was born. That’s when the trouble of new life followed. A beating heart was a strange phenomenon to me since it followed all kinds of feelings after almost one year. The overflown feelings were too much to be taken. The exhaustion,high levels of stress, anger and so on entered back to life but were overflown by love and newly found happiness. Trust me, it was not easy. Feeling nothing was easier to be dealt with than feeling everything at once. The newborn new me found it difficult to deal with the flush of emotions.

I was getting stuck in between stress and my body started reacting. The back of my nape would go numb and the muscles around my spine would cringe, I was short of breath not only while I was at work and close to 9 o’clock, even though I was home and chilling, just the opening theme of a different bulletin of the channel playing from a neighbourhood television got me under the bus. When taken to a doctor she diagnosed “chronic depression” in me and prescribed tablets which made me worse.

Days were numerous when I went to the bathroom to calm myself down and to tear up a bit to feel better. It worked until one day.

I was supposed to go and say good bye to him since he was leaving early. But I was such a mess inside, my head had gone wild, my hands were shivering and I led the way to the bathroom to calm down. I had to go and say good bye to him and I put a brave front to face the situation.

But my brave face melted away when he said good bye and turned to leave. He was the last hope I had on earth who understood what was happening to me and the thought of him leaving broke me down.I hugged him from behind and started weeping.

All I remember from the rest of the night were constant sobs, hardened fists, folded palms nails buried into them making them almost bleeding. Something was dragging me into somewhere and he who held my wrists tight was dragging me to the world of sanity. He had to force me swallow a sleeping tablet to make me sleep at last after feeble and helpless efforts to calm me down from a frantic attack and I remember him constantly checking me in sleep.

The next ten days were spent in a dungeon of constant panic attacks day and night, hours and hours in front an unknown Councellor, feeling like a sinner in front of Jesus, confessing all the sins I had committed, she thought I was very brave and strong and one fatal point broke me down.

When it was his turn to talk to the Councellor, who explained him how I should be looked after and deal with my attacks, I remember falling asleep looking at his long hair dancing to the rhythm of the wind as if to tell me he is full of energy and he could do it.

I don’t know what got me out of it. May be I’m slowly coming back to myself. I sincerely wish this self to stay just because swapping from one to other is exhausting. I have a slight hope the first self is returning because of the sudden urge I have to write.

But one thing, I don’t know how to end this and if I don’t end this here I’ll be writing this for the rest of my life. Therefore I force myself to stop here.