Instances of dread


A lot has happened in the last year after I stopped writing. I was a melting pot for some victories, a Lil’ of chronic depression and a lot of yo-yo-ing in life where nothing seemed right. While there is a deep pain in suffering, there are words in this too. These next 50 days I’ll write to you all that small instances which were chinks in my armour, the holes in the fortress that seemed so strong. I don’t know if they would always be my vulnerabilities, but I know that saying them out loud might after all help me.

Heres the first one, the instance of dread I feel, more so when I am forced to interact with people unknown for prospective relationships that I can actually forgo.



Life begins before you’re born,
A steady rise of hopes,
A castle of dreams,
A body form to live upto these.

“You’re a gem” he says,
making him the artisan,
Taming the rough edges,
Polishing the surface of your flaws.

“You’re my pride” he says,
and the gem glows
like slow embers inside a dark hollow.
“You’re my joy” he says,
Fuelling those flames, inside a shell.

“You’re my treasure” he says,
I can’t let you go,
For falling into the wrong hands,
My end may follow.

“You’re my glory” he says,
Putting you on a pedestal,
But why are you so precious,
He would not know.

“Free me of these binds” you ask once,
To the shock of most,
“Perhaps soon” he says,
Binding you with hope.

“Let me shine” you ask,
For love knows no binds,
“You’re a treasure, my love and your value is infinite”.

“Unshackle me, for these gold binds are no freedom”
“You’re my crown, my darling” he says
“A responsibility -”
“I can’t let you be”
“I can only unburden you off me.”

However, these tiny thoughts.


Tiny chairs,tiny feet,
Loud mouth,
Brilliant speech.

Tiny chairs, Tiny fingers,
Borrowed mind,
Generous thoughts.

Tiny chairs, tiny lives,
Unspoken lies,
Hidden cries.

Tiny chairs,Tiny eyes,
Big dreams,
Cowardly acts.

Tiny chairs,Tiny heads,
Colorful Clothes,
Unknown identity.

Tiny Chairs, Tiny lips,
Flying in this muddle,
Honest to a point of fault.

The Party


Four dim lights,
Music floating around,
Young people swaying,
Feet etching a tattoo on the ground.

Three bottles of rum,
Snippets of conversation,
Bouts of laughter,
Stories told sans hesitation.

Two strangers,
Standing in different edges,
Hesitantly catching  each others’ eye,
Waiting for the chaos to tune out.

One mind,
Comprehending the dynamics of love and hate,
Amidst a party,
That doesn’t die down or resonate.



I move about here,

Somewhere across the laughter,

You roll there.

We don’t ever see,

Just a glance,

A coincidence, A confusion

festering the the possibilities of ‘could-be’.

The glasses clink,

The money flows,

Reluctantly moving about,

unable to control.

They hedge their bets on us,

We rest their fate,

Keeping ours unknown.

Separate in nature,

Running in circles,

playing this game,


Irrespective of time.