In a Metro Bus

Some destinies aren’t meant for us.


That was a hazy day,

people were rubbing their

hands to get some warmth. 

They were running to their 

destinations that weren’t

meant for them. 

All of them gathered in a metro,

there was one similarity 

among them.

At that moment, all were travellers, 

all had dreams.

Some were going to see their loved ones

some were parting from them.

There were students, 

white lab coats, coffin of their dreams.

 Yet they were wearing those coats.

There were elder people, 

their wrinkled cheeks, 

like the steep path, 

showed how life was for them.

Their watchful eyes, their silence.

The enigma of their presence, 

described their legacy.

There were toddlers, jumping to and fro

in careless joys.

Their definition of life was enriched 

with dreams and possibilities.

The metro bus, was moving slowly, 

there was an unknown danger, 

some fearful thoughts and 

some aspirations to be fulfilled.

Yet all of them were running from their selves, 

from their dreams.

Every station, brought a chance to return,

 to chase the dreams.

But all of them were like metro track, 

they were being walked upon 

and ruled upon.

Once again, 

man was miserable in the hands of fate. 

Worst is the new Best

I am not curious anymore.

How does it feel to be alone in the myriad of a human sea? How does it feel to see your future crumble in front of your own eyes? How does it feel to be not in the Good Book anymore? How does it feel to sink into the depths of negativity? How does it feel to be walked upon over and over again? How does it feel to face rejections and bear heartbreaks so intense to crush the very spirit of your soul? How does it feel to write lamenting notes instead of hopeful narratives? Lastly, how does it feel to not feel yourself as you but a distant creature, rather a FRANKENSTEIN.

I don’t know the answers and I don’t want them to feel. Some people are heartless and senseless. It’s about time I join their league and wear a mask, get myself lost in a masquerade party. But, no, I can’t do these things. Better to get myself bruised than bury someone else. My mind is in a fix and the jigsaw puzzle is still awaiting for the last puzzle piece, the perfect image’s desire is still incomplete. The mazes are yet to be run in and the scribbles too unharmonious to touch the strings of the heart. I am not curious anymore, I am learning to embrace myself at my worst. As if worst is the new best.

I Ain’t You 

your sacred, scares me

your mundane, mortifies me.

your success, suffocates me

your odds, even me.

your pretty, petrifies me.

your custom, consumes me.

your happiness, saddens me

your diction, demarcates me.

you are you and I can’t be you.

you have some things, I had had on

my wish list. 

You live in the present, I live in throwbacks.

all this is too much contrastive, can’t be compared at the moment.

Paradigm shift has to occur, justice has to be restored.

I did everything to keep me in peace, but the agony had its stay.

I had to succumb my angel to my demon’s vices.

My acopalypse had to come to define my utopia.

You took your choices, I paved mine. 

You’re living your time, can’t snatch my


Earth can’t be heaven, hell can’t remain forever.

So live with it, don’t chafe me.

He said “you are late”

I was on cloud nine and suddenly, out of nowhere , I found myself burried deep down in the earth. Apparently, there wasn’t a speck of a single bruise on my body but I couldn’t breathe. My voice choked and my heart sank. I asked him ” where did I go wrong?”. He said “you are perfect and haven’t done anything wrong”. Unsatisfied by his reply, I asked him again “did I trigger your this aloofness?” He said “No ! I just want to be alone. I don’t feel the same for you. SORRY, BUT YOU’RE LATE.” I couldn’t shed the tears that I so wanted to see running down my cheeks and freeing my soul but they couldn’t come out. He said ” We are soulmates and we will be forever.” My conscience laughed a great laugh and said “you just got betrayed again honey, encounter your worst fear now , Fear of betrayal.” There I was standing and wondering that how could I give in to some prosaic verses and ornamented words. I had always been a lover of words and poetry but my tragedy was too much for me at that time. I felt so low and degraded at his deprivation, I wanted him to stay but he couldn’t live with an introvert and an anxiety patient. In tears, I texted my best friend, who was still there for me , even in this time too. She made me fall in love with my Creator and myself once again. She corrected my self abrasive conduct and resolved my doubts. Her words were so comforting and awakening at the same time. 

This time, the heartbreak is burning me and stabbing me every single second but I am ready for the square off. I don’t even hate him now because for that to happen, I will have to establish connection with him again. A connection of abhorrence and dispisement. And I want to distance myself from every single person that negates my soul and self. 

My diapidation is my rejuvenation. 

You’re the only one

Yes ! you’re the only one.

Admit it and embrace it.

You’re the only one.

Not for him or them,

but for your ownself.

No one can assure a

safe heaven for you,

except the ONE.

Sitting above the seven

skies and limitlessness. 

Your sins may be uncountable

but still unaccountable, if you


People will scale your sins, tatter your

soul and pollute that very character

of yours which they themselves painted


They will make you sin, then they will

abraise you.

How funny is that.

Yet how comforting is this, that

HE is the only one for you.

Earthly promises dissolve,

HEAVENLY promises are absloute


Here’s to us

Here’s to us,

the broken girls. 

We know how 

to fake.

We know how 

to shake those 

reticent woes.

Here’s to us,

the repressed ones.

We know how to please them.

On the cost of our humilation. 

The countless selfie clicks,

to suffice their tricks.

Here’s to us,

the fat and chubby


We know how to abraise


To get their beffiting replies.

The rants of barbie dolls, 

outstaged by teddy bears.

Here’s to us,

the domesticized girls.

They call us boring afterwards 

but they hunt us first.

Here’s to us, 

the trendy girls,

they call us bitches.

Themselves raised by


Here’s to us,

the shy girls.

We are the soft targets,

give in to the prosaic

and the gibberish. 

Here’s to us,

here’s to our allies.

The selfie cameras,

the rouge and the mascaras.

The fat burning drinks and 

the clogged pores tricks.

Here’s to self abraisment

sorry, you were being 


The self, you hated the most,

is still holding on to you.

The muffled cries and the 

choked voices.

The ruined hope and the lost


Here’s to the dyes and the paints.

Here’s to the atm machines and 

the avoided family intervenes.

Here’s to the well build lies and

the useless tries.

Here’s to the pillow and the bedside

tree of willow.

Here’s to the sleeplessness and the


Here’s to every fragile part of me,

still keeping up with me.

Here’s to the screens and the 

last scenes. 

Here’s to the goosebumps thar resulted into foolish ends.

Here’s to the allusions, here’s to the


Here’s to the hunger, here’s to the grief.

Here’s to the faithfulness, here’s to the care. 

Here’s to the lies and here’s to the deceits.

Our allies have been amazing,

only if they could articulate and


World would know, how porous a

female heart is. 

Here’s to them,

the pretentious ones.

Karma is on their way,

and has come to stay.

Here’s to the fake smiles and hugs.

The sweet purposeless touchs.

The bitter tongue and the 

bridges of mistrust.

Here’s to them, the hunters.

Here’s to their banters.

Here’s to their crooked nature

and playfullness.

Here’s to their ephemeral victory,

the liars’ history.

Here’s to us,

the big broken girls.

Here’s to us, 

the bruised girls.

Here’s to us, 

here’s to us.

They may not celebrate us,

we will wear funeral veils,

to mourn their eccentrities.

My Satiation

There are things,

I can’t excel.

Let me enlist them,

for you.

I fear groups,

I fear people,

I fear their hollow laughs

and inwardly grim faces.

I forget roads,

I forget metro stations,

I forget cardinal directions.

I follow signs that say exit,

when all I aim to enter somewhere.

I follow wrong signs and get into


I follow left for every right.

I push every door that says pull.

I wear wrong makeup,

the lipstick not complementing

the peachy tint of my cheek.

The concealer, vulnerable to

conceal my dark circles.

I wear clothes, too loose for me.

I wear shoes, no heels attached.

I drop my phone, I can’t look

anyone in the eye.

I can’t do my hair until I make

a complete mess of them.

I can’t argue someone down,

I can’t initiate the questions.

I am terrible at making contacts.

While I speak, my voice chokes,

my heart races.

There are countable things, I am

good at.

I am good at trusting.

When I get hurt, i make sure

it evolves me.

I forgive easily, leaving no way for


I write words, I make art.

I laugh and I whirl in

carefree joy.

I don’t prick the wounds,

I don’t tatter anyone.

You judge me, for the things,

I am bad at.

I love myself, for the things

I am good at.