Always been alone, always stayed content. 

But never did I foresee, my mind could have such a dent. 

Why do I feel the walls closing in on me? 

Is there anyone, anyone who can hear me?

Always been the listener, always the quiet one. Did anyone try? 

To read between the lines? 

The muddle comes up when I stop hearing, when I stop trying. 

When I feel alone even amongst all these eyes.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll just head back. Where, do you ask? 

Somewhere I can be whole again and drop this silent mask.


Brightest in the room, I saw his face. 

Darkest orbs of all, deeper than the daze. 

He being the morning, his eyes were midnight. 

I could tell, they’d been through some tough times.

But when those eyes landed on me, they managed to bring out the sunshine in me. 

The soul that had shone only at night, fluttered out in the sky.

Through the roof went the inhibitions, laughter was the new limitation. 

Nocturnal, both of us, had only known gloom. 

Only with each other, the hues inside could bloom.


I fell in love with the dark, the day it befriended me. 

It saw through me, a person I wanted to be. 

Something I truly was but couldn’t really show, 

Something I hid from the day, I couldn’t put forth. 

The night, a mirror, reflecting my fears. 

The night, deep, introspecting my beliefs.

The dark, my friend, sitting by me through pain. 

My lover, kissing away the same. 

Graceful, intriguing, everything you are, became my motivation. 

More than a fellow-traveler, now you are my inspiration.


A slit in time is all it takes

To catch a breath out of this place. 

I might not even shed a tear,

When choosing to leave or just stay here. 

Will I ever come to peace, 

with my life of such good ease.

The sun sets again, another day is gone,

I’ll reach out when I know the path I’m on.

These twisted turns of my own thoughts,

makes my stomach churn into knots. 

And if I walk through these veins of mine, 

a street abandoned will it be or a hopeful vine?

Bare greens.

I see a hole in this wall in the backyard, I grew up in.
Coming about around flowers, I knew nothing of the dead weed on the other side of the wall.
Peeking, I see nothing but a long, empty road. So bare, I can run and not crash, for once.
So used to breaking things when I tried to run too fast, I wander off into fantasies.
The desolate street outside, queer why I fancy it unlike everything on this side.

I climb one day and fall right onto the weed.
The bruises and scrapes only assure me of my capability of hurt.
I walked and walked ahead but stop and turn around to see the wall.
The trees on that side now turning brown, the leaves started to fall off.

The ground beneath my feet started to bear greens.
Twinkling, I walk into the sunset, certain of all my might for the very first time.


I am not a poet but I do wish to write.
I cannot rhyme but I hope I find a rhythm.
I seek no attention though I want to turn some heads;
like the time I lost a feather and they broke both my wings.

I learnt to sprint as time went by.
Who knew, with feet on the ground, it’s easier touching the sky.

I too used to think, I’ll never again be whole,
but falling apart truly, truly heals the soul.