Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Rain drops

Patter on my

Window pane

You are far

Away in woods

I miss you

But I know


Is a part of you

And travel

Your first love.

I’m content

With the rain

And my

Thoughts of you

I try

To pen

A poem

For you

But Words

Get tied

A block

Called writer’s

Made by writer’s

When they can think

But not ink

And ink

But not rhyme

Hits hard

On my window pane

Like rain drops

My thoughts

Are jittery


And strewn

All over the place.

But my love

Is whole

In my mind

And soul

It is only you.

She danced and swayed

At the Moulin Rouge bay

As she burnt the stage,

Came clamour and pay

But all she cared for

Was the little one,

In the cradle

At her dim lit home.

Rouge and rogue

A word play

Not for her

For she sold herself

To feed her love.

Image for post
Image for post

Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

Torn books

Folded pages,

Memories wrapped

In a time warp

Crooked lines


My favourites’

From a time

Gone by


Same old smell

Of lazy afternoons

A fairy tale

Gone right

Books are mirrors

“Tell me who’s

The wisest

Of all”

None, yet all

You realize

And you are

A fool

You fail

And you are

The winner.

Look within

Beyond the cover

And the pages

And the writing

On them.

Look within

And hear

The voices

That arise

Look within

And feel

Your story

Has arrived.

Shreds of galaxies

Brought her to life

A soul

That breathes fire.


Her blood

The entire Cosmos

Her galactic home.

But they said

You can’t speak

Can’t have a mind

Your face

Is all you have.

Your body

Ain’t yours

It’s for others.

But she spew fire

Like a supernova

Turned them to


They screamed

From ashes

“You can’t, you ain’t”

And the wind blew

Harsh but cold

Dry but angry

Dismembering ashes

Till the last


It was a bright sunny afternoon. 3PM or was it 4? Never mind, it’s got nothing to do with what was about to happen. Joanne sat slightly crossing her leg in her feminine floral dress touching her knees. A table for two facing the Seine River. It wasn’t her favourite place always. The first time she arrived in Paris, she loathed the metros, the bustling crowd and the pickpockets. But gradually the city grew on her. Today she was at her favourite cafe, Paris Cafe. Like literally, you may ask, a cafe with that name, well to answer that, you’ll…

Image for post
Image for post

Dark forces on us

They said,

Build forts and fences.

I was dark, anyway.

Don’t come near me!

Don’t touch me!

Said another

But I was untouchable, anyway.

Cards turned.

It came

Rich or poor

White or black

Mind you,

I will spare none, it said

Stay at home, they said.

So off they went

In search of homes

Mountains, plains and valleys

Every nook and corner

All crevices taken

My home

Were siblings

From another mother

Mothers who left

Fathers who disowned

Siblings bound by

Society’s neglect

So I say,


Till you have a home

And people

To call your own.

Cause there lies

A land

like ours

Where we are nobody’

But we are of another.

So, do you have

A home?

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Shea Rouda on Unsplash

As I put,

My head

Onto your broad


I look up

To you

When your eyes

Meet mine

You bend

Your head

A little

Stealthily planting

A kiss

On my forehead.

A smile,


On my lips

My skin knows

Your touch

And my smile


We are but

So tied

Yet far enough

To breathe.

Isn’t that I


Isn’t that what

You wanted?

A love

That protects

But also

Lets you grow.

You are

But my magnet

And I’ll always

Be your


I looked

Into your eyes

Dry, sad, lost,

You are not

The man I met.

Your passion

Was a wildfire

And my heart

Craved for it.

What did the world do?

That you, my man

Became like everyone- Else


That’s my reflection.

That’s me.

Its not the world,

Its my winter.

That doused

Your summers?

A nudge at my skirt

Shifting of gaze,

She asked “Mamma, what are we

Looking at?”

I replied “The world”

“Do we pay

For it?”

“Well, heavily,

With breaths”

Her eyes


That same fire

My lost image!

I got hold

Of my breath.

You are now


I can’t let

That fire die.

I won’t.

Image for post
Image for post

Photo by Michael Romanov on Unsplash

And I turned around,

One last time

For that one glimpse

I know you’ll always

Be my mother

But its difficult

For a son

To leave you

Its difficult

To sit in a cubicle

Knowing you are here

Know that my heart

Resides here

Amidst the valley

In the snow

Terrains are lines

On my palm

Your gorgeous golden look,

At the sunset

Lays protected

In my eyes

Bless, that I come

Home again

To meet you

Till then,

Be the giver

You are

A son leaves


The heaven he calls his abode

For his duty

Knocks at the door.

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Everton Vila on Unsplash

A year

And I am back

To your lane

The roads, once you walked

Places you giggled

Made friends for life.

Here, I stand

where I met you,

Only now

I am excited for myself

I don’t wait for you

Or think of you.

I tread the same paths

On my own

Make new memories

At the old place.

I hope I tread well

I no longer hope

To find the love

I came in for.


I hope to find myself

I hope love finds me

Yet again.

I hope love finds you too,

On a different path

With a new you

With someone

Whom you love

With whom, you

Don’t fear of treading

Unknown paths.

Know that, if our paths

Ever cross

You’ll meet a new me

And I hope

I’ll meet a new you too.


PhD in Chemical Engineering, Always fascinated by the species named Homo Sapiens! Here is my space where I play with words.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store