Why do you lie there, 
eyes closed, so cold and white?
“Stillborn”, the doctor says. 
I cannot comprehend 

Does that mean you’ll never flutter your eyes open or gurgle and laugh?
Does it mean that I will never feel your warm fingers grasping mine, thirsty for knowledge?
Does that mean that I would never hear your first footsteps echoing through the house?
And that I’ll never get to wipe away your tears? 
Does that mean that all the lullabies I learnt were for an empty cradle?

Does he mean I’ll never get to see your cheeks flush pink with embarrassment, purple with envy or red with anger? 
Does that mean you’ll never cuddle up to me for warmth, 
that I won’t go to sleep to the sound of your steady, even breaths? 

Does that mean that your first breath was your last, 
Or your last, your first? 

Does that mean that I lost you, 
Or that I never had you? 


Walk On

So, this is a little something I came up with a while ago. It really helped me get through some stuff. Tell me how it is! 

Okay. Here goes. 

Walk On.

Till their roar turns to a weak sigh,
till your strong voice lets out a cry,
You walk on.

When your demons come out to play,
till that dreary night turns to day,
You walk on. 

Till the dry winter turns to spring, 
till you make the ebony raven sing,
You walk on. 

Till your feet are bleeding, cracked soles,
till diamond you get, from coal,
You walk on. 

When you fail another time, try again,
till you get so numb, you don’t feel pain,
You walk on.

Till the mighty sea, you can calm,
till the conquered world is in your palm,
You walk on.

Conserving Words


“The Quiet World” by Jeffrey McDaniel.

The thing about good friends is that no matter how much time it has been since you last met them or even talked to them, you know that when you talk again, it’ll be like you were never apart.

The same happened to me a while ago. I got a call from a dear friend of mine (who I have only ever met once in my entire life), after almost a year. My surprise was mixed with guilt as I realised that I had made no effort to keep in touch, and yet, here he was.

We got talking. And, with the formal greetings quickly gotten over with and brushed aside, we started talking about our lives. Our friendships, our love lives (mine almost nonexistent), our futures, our plans, and everything else.

An hour into the conversation he told about a practise he had adopted of “conserving words.”

He explained it further, saying that we tended to overuse a lot of words.
We keep using them till they don’t have the same value as before, and we don’t even realise it.

Here is the example he gave me.
He said, ” what is the word you would used to describe how you feel after you watch your favourite movie?”

Me: Amazing?

Him: And how would you describe how it’ll feel when you give birth to your first child?


Him: You see? You people throw around words like these so casually, that when the time comes when these words should actually be used, their value gets reduced.

We go around saying that find a certain dress “beautiful” or “love” a certain singer.
But aren’t those the same words we’d use to describe our mothers?
Are our feelings for them so shallow that they can be equated to Alt J’s latest hit?

“Conserve your words,” he said, “so they’ll have a greater impact, a deeper meaning when they’re used. This’ll also help you realise what’s actually important in life. Which are the things to be liked, and which are to be cherished.”

To all the people like me out there, who just can’t keep their mouth closed, I’d like to point out that this doesn’t ask you to talk less. Just to choose your words carefully, to stop for a moment and think. Breathe. Then talk. It’ll certainly slow down the pace of life in this busy metropolitan.

And isn’t that exactly what this city needs?

I loved really like the idea.
What about you?

Why do people start blogs?

Nothing could have been more appropriate for a first blog post.
I am a student, part time dreamer and full time procrastinator. And sometimes, when the universe works in my favour, I come up with something that people might call “poetry”.
Now, like everyone else, everyone around us LOVES giving advice. As if they’re a cat with nine lives saying “two down, seven to go.” Be it unsolicited or otherwise (it’s usually the former), we love talking to people with an air of already having ridden this roller coaster called life before.
And so, when I was encountered  by this kind of person who came up to me and said, “Your stuff is moderately good. You should start a blog. I’m telling you, it’ll help you, ” following which he walked away, it got me thinking.
“It’ll help you. ”
I started a blog anyway, simply because I’m a very expressive person who lives alone most of the time. But it did get me thinking about something else.
Why do people start blogs?
Now, the question was right in front of me, and the answer seemed deceptively simple at first. A medium of expression.   But was that it?
Digging a little deeper, and after talking to a few people I discovered why various friends of mine had started blogs. One of them started writing because he had recently broken up with his long-time girlfriend and was looking for salvation, redemption, or whatever one might call it, on the internet. Another started a blog because she wanted to get her life in order, and keeping an online journal kept her in check. An acquaintance of  mine started it because she wanted the “world” to read what she had to say, while another just wanted to give the voices in her  head an outlet.
All of them completely different.
But, if you read closely, you’ll see an underlying factor.
Can you guess what it is?
That’s right, validation.
This incessant need for validation exists inside every one of us. Be it from friends, family, colleagues, or random strangers on the internet. As if whichever task we undertake is only as well performed as others say it is.

But don’t be fooled if you ever meet a person in whom this need for external validation doesn’t  seem to exist; because that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist. Nine out of ten times, that person would be a writer. Or a painter. Or an artist of some sort. Because their source of validation becomes themselves. By providing their thoughts with a tangible outlet, they convince themselves that they’re not totally crazy.
And they aren’t. Usually.

I’ll still be blogging, though.

I can’t think of  a clever way to end this post. Bye.