You should see me walk now,
Or, maybe you shouldn't
But I know you would not recognize me,
or at least stare for a minute before having a hint.

If you see me walking, on these streets
where I once imagined walking with you.
Hand in hand,
like we once did,
The road leading to your house;
Carefree- it never mattered who were all around.
The only thing we thought about
was how your hands, fit so perfectly in mine.
Because it was all just fine.

I was always fine.
Those hands that once held yours
They rest restlessly in my pockets now;
In a town, that is mine but is new.
On these streets, that aren't but feels new.

Sounds awful,
But, it’s heavy to stay standing
For my heart is half the size
When you’re gone.

You know,
You should see me walk now,
Or, maybe you shouldn't.

I have forgotten to know things,
Like, how it's like to walk and know where you're walking to;
Know where you want to end up
And just simply go there.

I've told you,
I've forgotten thi…

The Sound of Silence

Have you ever thought of your favorite sound? Sounds apart from the songs on your playlist or someone's voice?

The raindrops, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves- yup, they're wonderful. But, have you ever, contemplated the sound of silence?

Yup. Silence is my favorite sound.

The sound of silence is when you can hear yourself- breathe after breathe. The sound of silence is that 2 AM rooms, where even the slightest of wind gives your ear a push.

The sound of silence lets me be me. You know without the constant shouting from the next room, or the pressures of anything. Silence lets me be me. It is only when I can not speak with my choice without fear, pressure and not be judged . This sound lets me be me. It lets me flow and fly like the wind brushing my eardrums.

It's not that I don't like music. I do. But have you ever been awake after midnight, when there's nothing but darkness- and no sounds around you than silence? Maybe, you might rethink what your favorit…

Mistakes and Apologies

We all make mistakes. We accept we made mistakes and we move on. Traits of being a human- making mistakes and learning from them.

Longing for perfection, we all tend to believe mistakes were made for reason and they taught us something. And then, just like that, we forget most of the blunders we make. 

But, there are some mistakes we make, which we do not forget at all. We know we made it, we regret it from the pit of the stomach. We think of it every single day, and cannot make through even a day without having a thought of it. It kills us, or the wills we carry. Thinking of all the people affected by one single decision of yours, one single error you made.

Then comes a light, when you are assured, it's okay. Victims or the affected, pulls you out of that very pit you created on your own. The same person carries the weight you'd been carrying so long. All you can do is stare and smile.

Then you realize, until you gather your courage to accept all the flaws, you'll sink down e…


Expectations you hold from a particular person is normal. As a human, holding expectations from ones having importance in your life is hugely justifiable.

But, amount of expectations you should keep must depend on your position in their life and not the other way around. It's clear: it doesn't matter how important they're to you; only thing is how important you're to them.

Your actions- sweating your ass off for them, making them the priority over everything and everyone, going way round your principles are just futile. The only idea for keeping on to your expectations and how they're held up is our position on their life - how important you are to them and nothing more.

The only decision you have to make when even the smallest of expectations go down the drain- is the importance you give justifiable and worth it?

A Sleeping Heart

Love, I have no better salutation for you. For you are much more than words. Have you ever watched anyone sleep love? From start to the deepest of level you reach. Have you ever? I am watching you sleep right now love. Online, but I am watching you. I've never watched anyone sleep before, but I can tell you, I'll never feel this peaceful even if I do watch someone else. The way you move your hands, your closed eyes, your lips. Everything. The small movements you make, those occasional long breathes, and simple rhythm. There is silence and I wish I could savour it all for my lifetime. Not from this virtual screen, but being with you. You are beautiful. Not just because I like you. Because you really are. I am whispering like stupid that I love you on my earphones right now. I would have wanted you to hear what I say, but you know them anyway. It's peaceful. Everything. The rhythmic rise and fall of your blanket, your closed eyes and your hand under your cheek, sandwitch…


I keep awake to the dawns,
To the windows, painted black
And a moment,
Just a moment,
Before you start, drifting in me
Invading my thoughts.

And I,
End myself up,
Groping that cold, stale coffee on my windowsill
The last, unfinished mug,
From the last night.

It's not been long since you left,
No occasional message bombs,
No exchanges of smiles,
No hints dropped.

You gathered yourself and left one morning,
Like there was little,
So little left of me,
That'd fill you up.
You left behind a void.
A void,
A violent void,
A void, this empty,
A void, that strangles,
A void, with nothing.

Still with a lot.
A lot,
About, how you had a crush on that guy from next school,
About, how you loved momos,
About, how you think Hillary'd have made a better president,
About, how you'd define love as 'something else'
About, how you had a lot in your mind and could only write up a portion.

A void.
An emptiness,
Compelling me,
To push my face hard on pillow
An emptimes…

Of Silence: Suicide and Murder

A cup of tea, and a newspaper headline "Boy, 18, Kills Himself". Usual news it was. Forensics confirmed of suicide. No words of clemency around. Blasphemies from many mouths, a pair of eyes though shed hushed tears, as if asking for forgiveness.
Boy. Thick rimmed glasses- a show-off they called, dissembled bulk of hair-careless they called, un-ironed pants-lazy they whispered, class topper-cheater they claimed, name- Munal they loathed. Lower middle class family. Raised by father, hated by his stepmother and her daughter. He lost his mother when he was five and together with mother, he lost his voice. Sole but jovial soul, bright one he was. Physics he considered his heart. He revered Hawking, and loved relativity as much. Discoursing with guitar, frets and chords soothed him. He bled ink, for pen was his only voice. His stories spoke of stars and vanished souls.
Being mute had no rewards. But petite did his lost voice affected him. No grievances he had of his infirmity. N…