The inexplicable feeling

No, I’m not the depressed kind. Yes, I’m pretty much happy with my life. But then…there are times you know. Times when you see someone else getting nostalgic about their not so good past. And, you just feel like you’ve been hit by a hammer that cuts open your resilience and all your vulnerability just oozes out, uncontrollably. Then you’re on the floor, shrinking, crippling, crying – trying to stop it.

I mean have you ever felt that way – when tears trickle down someone else’s eyes and it just shakes your subconscious? A shaking so strong that you feel you’re the one crying but you’re actually not.

Okay, no I don’t mean that you’re struck by a realization that you’re alive. You pretty much know that you’re alive already. And, this not even a realization, you know. It’s like you’re stuck by the lightning of some strange emotion.

It’s like waking up from a sleep when your eyes were actually open all this while. And then, you see this one person emoting so vividly that you feel you were always surrounded by this emotion invisibly. But you never saw it approaching you because you were busy sipping that latte of yours, trying to make things relevant and being out there.

Well, I still can’t explain…!


Are you breathing?

When you can’t listen
to your own heartbeats
because time takes its toll on you
and anxiety embraces you airtight
check for your breath.

When your mind can’t perceive well
and differentiate between things –
things you may call good or bad
take an intentional pause
and check for your breath.

When gravity spirals down on you
and the ladder of achievement
falls down on you
breaking every bit of your willingness
just check for your breath.

When your thoughts darken
and you can’t feel a surface
beneath your trembling feet
take refuge in your senses
and notice all that you experience.

(Because when you are happy,
I guess you merely see things,
outside of yourself!
Do you?)

And when nothing ever feels good
remember you’re not the only one,
remind yourself that at least you’re feeling.
How does it even matter,
if the feeling is that of sadness?

An Incomplete Art

Once upon a time…No, let’s scrap that!

In the present, yes now, as I’m writing this story to you, there’s a girl unaware of this. I don’t know what her name is but she’s close to whom you would call a dream girl. Yes, she’s one among you, she’s right there breathing. She’s a girl full of chaotic thoughts, charisma, and life.

She’s inspired me to write this story because she’s a bit like me and maybe a bit like you.

She’s like an incomplete painting on the canvas waiting for someone to heal her scars and complete her.

She had given herself to be painted before, to a beautiful yet amateur artist. He stroked the colors on her and brought vivid emotions about her…and when he realized he had messed her up, he left. He left behind the vivid emotions alone for the girl to handle. He left the colors on her as they were, without symmetry, without order, without meaning.

Only after days, months and years, she realized that she was beautifully ruined. So she decided to be authentically ugly.

Now, she’s waiting for an artist to love her for her ugliness. To heal her scars. To complete her and to give her — a meaning.


I want to be a bird
gliding fearlessly in the sky
throwing myself into the vast blue expanse
challenging the blowing wind,
the air current.

I want to kiss freedom
take it in my arms
and soar higher and higher
rolling, rollicking
singing and dancing
falling in love with my life.

New places would await me
bounded by
uncertainties, adventures;
no barriers, nothing,
that could confine me
to these dead walls.


Every time you blink
Every word you think
Every drop of water you drink
Bit by bit you shrink
And let your spirit simultaneously sink
Because when you try to form a link
Between what you think
And what you are yet to think
You form a kink.

Before you again blink
Few drops of water you drink
This time you neither shrink
Nor you let your spirit sink
You rather re-think
Then form a link
Between the ‘thought’ & the ‘yet to think’
Now you ink, your link.

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