If I died tomorrow

If I died tomorrow, what would I be most remembered for?
Believe me, that is a question that I try to answer every day
thinking about the delicate fragility that tomorrow entails,
what if’s, could be’s—enshroud my thoughts occasionally,
not reminiscing the past but picturing my very last breath.

I may be remembered for the words that I mostly conveyed,
I may be remembered for my unrelenting state of calmness,
I may be remembered for efforts I made to lead myself well,
I may be remembered for the instances and people I escaped,
or, I may be forgotten from the next day of my non-existence.

It does not scare me as such. Yes! the thought of death I mean.
Nor am I scared of the uncertainty of the moments passing by,
what scares me is whether or not I’m living true to myself,
what scares me is whether or not I’m living true to my death,
the simple and single answer to which in most part is ‘yes’.


Holding Your Hand

It’s the most beautiful form of entanglement, 
which I’m not at all afraid to be involved in. 
It’s the most pristine touch I’ve experienced, 
that gently brings me to life in lows and highs. 
It’s the happiest realization that strikes me:
to be close to the one who matters the most.


Lie comes in different colors, shapes, and sizes,
more often than not, the sweetest of the sweet
which we can only crave for and regret later on
because the sweetness has a kind of tipsy toxin.

Truth dresses blandly, sometimes it’s even naked
subjecting us to the intimidating notions of life
which we know we need to accept with courage
yet we anxiously search for that toxic escape.


She is a slowly healing star
despite the tragedy of errors
that she had to live through.

She is gradually getting acquainted
with the fast pace of everyday life
after a long, lone, pinching halt.

She is learning how to walk faster
but the wound still exists, the pain
still reminds her of the looming risk.

She is trying to regain her best self
but she knows there’s a long way to go
and she needs to take every step slowly.

She’s braving the passing moments
despite the examining looks she needs to embrace;
expectations, indifference, slice her well-being.

Yet, I know, she won’t ever reciprocate
the behavior that she never really deserved
she won’t ever resent the unwanted examinations.


i am made of calm and chaos
i express dreams and disgust
i let go of ecstasies and ego
i survive wonders and windstorms
i smile of fearlessness and facade
i believe in magic and in mundane
i am thoughtless and thorough
i aim to exist as well as escape
i am living but i am socially lifeless


Do you know where I belong?
Maybe in the void of your
wrapped, amorous arms
where I can flourish freely
and breathe the fragrance
of your loving, giving being.

Maybe I belong somewhere
between you and your words
knowing that love isn’t always
spoken about, sometimes
it can be felt together, drowning
in each other’s unruffled seas.

Maybe I should be in between
you and the lone air lying next
to you, in the cold frosty nights
where I wouldn’t need to worry
about anything and I can feel
the most loved, the most homely.


My soul is swirling in the motions
of madness tonight
I can’t stop it or slow it down.
I tried asking it, “What’s the matter
with you, moron?”
And, it answered after a dose of
good convulsive laughter,
“Despite the pains of living that
you have inflicted on me,
despite the horrors that you have
dearly embraced,
despite the dilemmas, you’ve
put me in worse than death;
here I am, alive, agile and awake.”
The vibrato of that laughter
has grown louder
and louder in my ears,
ever since.


i am not hopeless
i am angry at my fate
for testing my perseverance
time and again, undeterred

i am not helpless
i am disgusted at how
every step of the way
i have to prove my worth

i am not sad
i am bewildered to see how
life can be so ruthless in trying
to break me all the while


How can someone love me so much,
in his senses and also in his sleep?
How can someone want to be with me
so much, in happiness and in despair?
How can someone long for me so much,
like a child longs for a sweet gesture?
How can someone believe in me
so much, more than even I myself do?
How can someone wait for me so much,
like a wisher waits for a shooting star?

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