I spend the nights staring at the ceiling

What really is this feeling

I am right there and yet not

Thinking of all the things I have achieved

And yet the feeling of self worth is far from being perceived

The list of blessings is really a lot

And yet somehow it falls short

Already burnt enough

Why is the sail still so rough

The existence covets endline

Helplessly looking for a sign

I ask myself these questions

Of the answer there is no mention

This feeling has an impression so forlorn

To misery this life has already sworn

But I am not complaining

For nothingness is a gracious guest

Like inadequacy that gives me everyday it’s best.

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Sitting by the window sill with a cigarette in hand,

Hiding from everybody who I really am.

The mask is imbibed so deep,

That I have forgotten how reality feels.

The scarring mark is a little too surreal,

The piece of trauma is nothing ferial.

Not so happy with the journey so far,

Waiting for the end to shine with the stars.

A story pained with a lot of tar,

Clinch so hard to ensure no door is left ajar.

Something about lying feels comforting,

The truth slowly seems to be deserting.

The makeshift persists but it is a sham,

Maybe that’s who I really am.


A Writer’s Pain

It’s nothing much,

Just a feeble try to convey how deeply I felt,

Words that so easily get my heart to melt,

If only there was a way to put it all away,

And start afresh the next day.

I know you are trying to relate,

And that’s the reason I put my heart on this god damned slate,

These words might stick to you or not,

Yet a piece of me definitely stays out there to rot.

It’s a writer’s pain etched in stone,

Crushing the wound into the very bone,

Does it pain to read the way it pained to write?

Or was this a fateful defeat I had to fight?



You used to fill the void in my heart

Left you more spoken than not

Like a beer bottle that is rattled

I knew the tip off would leave them startled

What happened to you, what changed?

Wish I could tell you the facade left me maimed

Lying under the pile unexpressed

Like a bullet to the arm that hurts to death

This twisted tongue has some tied stories

The ones that fill you up till your throat

But those words rolled down the cheek instead

The ones that left you so overwhelmed

But a touch of love had you leave it instead

In the sleepless night when she asked you to tell about your despair

But you nudged the thought of dumping your emotional burden cause it’s just not fair

Like an unfinished story that deserved an end

Like a letter written, hiding in the books waiting to be sent

Like some old tattered ties waiting to mend

I wish some day you have the courage to speak those words

I hope you find somebody you can tell more than ‘Nothing much’

Till then it’s just the hope as such

Some words would have been better if said!