A lost cause

Heart rate dropping,
Numb body,
I know what is happening,
But can show nobody

My eyes turn pale,
While my brain tells me to stay calm,
And I know this is it,
Something I never hoped for

Religious that I am,
I pray even now for another chance,
At a distance I can hear,
the ventilator go blank

I asked myself, while dying slowly,
A reason for my prayers, even the last minute,
What was I to do even if I were alive?
Second chance so huge, needs to be justified

They say things happen for a reason,
A reasonable count for,
As much as we might strive,
It is a lost cause


The blank page

On a slow Sunday, I read a book,

It was a story of a king who did no good,

Drawing the picture in my mind,

I fell asleep, going back in time.


When the king, brutal yet wise,

Showed no mercy, only vice,

The picture playing, in my mind,

Was a killing, none other but mine.


He killed me for a reason I don’t know,

Tears trickle down my cheeks as I saw,

With shaky limbs I woke up,

To darkness around, no light showed up.


I went back to the book, hoping to find clues,

Why did I see a dream so not good?

Flipping through the book, I found,

Blank pages, it built a void.


Wondering if I should read from the start,

Not feel defeated or a broken heart,

With a glass of water, gulped down my throat,

I decided to start on a new note.


I was killed by the evil king, maybe for a crime,

Or maybe by his will, I let him pry,

I had to change the story, in my way,

The blank pages, were there to stay.



First 8 days

Can’t believe it’s been 8 days already,
Since we said our vows to each other,
Time flies away in a jiffy,
Leaving moments for us to gather

Moments like, the strong girl that I am,
Still I cried, just in your presence,
The tight hug we had,
Made me comfortable

Moments like, the first time I cooked,
Worried to be liked by the family,
You gave me the look,
Assuring me of my capability

These 8 days have drawn a picture in my mind,
What our relationship will look like,
Cant wait to complete the picture,
May this be an endless endeavor


Once a girl about age 10,
Asked me then,
what I think is apt here,
What does one mean by ‘fear’?

Silent for a while, I started thinking out loud,
What should I tell this child to hide the pout?
Was it general wonderment, or
Was she digging deep to know more?

Then I thought, why to answer,
When I can also riddle her,
“With your permission” – I said,
“A riddle might help instead”,

After thinking for a while, she said
“Anything that can answer my question you may”,
Grinning away,
Ready for the challenge I prepped

“Glad you would enjoy this too”,
I have thought this through,
“It’s a series of questions I will ask,
True answer is all you need to know”

Nodding away we both,
Started off with the challenge,
Crossing her legs, sitting straight,
She is now looking, right at my face

“Question one” – I said,
“What do you like to do the most?”
In no time came a response my way,
“Talking and thinking” answered one I guess

“Question two” – she said,
“What do you hate the most?”
A frown on her face responded sullen,
“Being alone” cried her lips again

“Question three” – I smiled,
“What would you do if you were stopped to think and talk?”
Stiff she got with a pale face,
She guessed what I was trying to hint

“Question four” – the conclusion,
“What would you do if you had to be alone all life long?”
Her lips shivered but no words escaped,
She realised what she got her way

I put my arms around her to embrace,
She cried her eyes out, hiding her face,
“The feeling you got with questions you answered,
Is what people call fear

My hee-haw

Curly hair, very fair,

Chubby cheeks, yes it is me

Bright eyes, I was 2 feet tall,

None remember anything else but, my chortle

Brought tears in your eyes, with my tiny build

Laughter is all I needed, to make you weak in your knees

Bubbly my nature, energetic I was,

Baffled you with my reactions, everything amused me

Thought I couldn’t help you or myself, such a tiny person I was

Dint know then, my hee-haw was enough


My glasshouse

Colorful roof and walls, Painted with love and very tall,

Pretty to look at but, fragile,

Doesn’t look like, yet it is my glasshouse.


Poppy on one side, cactus on the other,

bougainvillea by the entrance, bottle brush on the other side,

Sun flower bring in sunshine, while bluebells brighten the aisle.


From the outside, I feel,

Such a pretty house, my mind reels,

Hard work it takes to maintain, Is it really worth the pain?


Pretty outside, inside must see,

Muddy surroundings, dirty it feels,

Delicate yet elegant it is, my glasshouse




Once upon a time, there was a girl.
Dreams and desires, her heart would swirl,
She wanted to live life, her way,
Not much she knew without vice, there is no way.

She was 18 when she fell in love.
First love, we all know what it’s like,
Entire family abhored her choice
That was indeed her vice.

She went ahead and married him.
Soon she regretted adoring him,
They went separate ways in no time,
She was paving her way into life.

On a journey she met another man,
Religiously separate yet, they drew their plan.
Will make this marriage work, she thought?
The worry made it worst, and she lost.

Then came the cameraman.
She thought to herself, she had some swag,
Trying out religion, with every man.
True as she was to herself, vice was all she delt.

Decades passed as this continued for her,
A young girl, she was now much older.
She decided to look back to retract,
What made her ‘her’, rewind the patch.

The constant hatred of the family,
The constant worry to die alone.
One day she decided, what she wanted badly,
And she left the house, in apathy.

That’s the moment she was sure,
What she had endured,
Her decision to make this her last choice,
Turned out to be her last vice.