A little less

You will love me

A little less

As dew falls

Through sky’s nest

And a warmer dawn

Paints the rest

Of the world

In molten gold

And I’d still be blue

You will love me

A little less

On dear dead nights

When all walls crumble

But mine

I’m an edifice

Of all things

That can’t be defined

Within perilous rings

Igniting at your touch

You will love me

A little less

After you scale

The towers at twilight

Half hoping, half dreading

To effect my rescue

Oh, my fair devoted

The demons are mine to pursue

Ravages cannot be shared

I was never yours to save

You will love me

A little less

In the face of shallow waters

As I fail utterly

To say the words

You’ve been dying to hear

And tread away

Into unfathomable depths

Weaving stories at bay

Most unheard but some ours

You will love me

A little less

And I will love you

A little more

The longer you stay.



And I began writing then

Tired of the obscurities

Never again

Left soaking alone in the rain

After I left you

For strangeness of foreign lands

Feels closer to home

Than you ever did

Among these now familiar faces

I began writing then;

No longer your story

Running wild,

For the rains to return

This once, for me.

I kept my face affront

But my hand astray

The weight of my own hopes

To hold on to

Perhaps, I would learn to smile again

And I began writing then.


I am not a woman known

But a woman grown 

In the faltering hands 

Of a society 

That gives me glorious wings 

Only to put a ring

On my finger 

And arduous chains

Around my feet

To stop me mid flight 

Once I truly start soaring. 

How they reduced my roaring, 

Cries for freedom 

To meek muffled sobs 

That even the winds deject 

And the skies witness the abject 

Diminished form of mine 

Further on decline 

And rain unabashedly 

For my tears are not mine alone. 


Do not romanticize 

The stinging wounds of a love, 


Crippling hopelessness 

Is not a longing to heart. 

Torment of heartbreak 

Is no glorified need. 

The nights pass without mercy,

The days without colour. 

There is no gratification 

In those pretences of valour. 

Worlds sweep past 

And fill not an inch, 

Of that unintended,

All consuming void. 

Cuts and stitches 

Falsely measure 

But always fail to trace 

All that it destroyed. 

All I learnt

I never learned to let go

Or perhaps 

I learnt too well. 

For I see unbeknownst consequences, 

As I dwell

Upon the trail I’ve left behind. 

There haven’t been any rosy patches. 

No lush sprawling grasses. 

Devoid of dawning dew

And buds anew. 

Yet, it’s quite an enthralling path, 

As the rocky start

Elevates in glory 

To radiant springs. 

Where those without wings 

Also learn to fly. 


It escaped my mind. 

Back then, all we did was play for time. 

Unfazed, I did seek it, 

Day in, day out. 

Until I’d starved my disbelief to see

 All things that are broken, 

Do not mend. 

Do not heal. 

And now we are in splinters

Dust in the wind

Like rust on my skin. 

Swaying in the rhythm of an ache like I’d   never known. 

Oh, we’re tired souls. 

Filling in roles, 

That no longer fit. 

Tides recede, the moon wanes. 

I see, even the miracles fade. 

It must’ve escaped my mind. 

My discourse must’ve fueled yours. 

Inevitably, we’ve drawn the close. 

Now that it’s all forfeited  

We might just forget

Sweet Nothings 

I have heard sweet nothings 

For as long as I can remember. 

A few stand out from the rest

Uttered with such bona fides, 

That I seldom forget what I know best. 

To recognize and disregard

And to see through their deceptive hollows. 

But inevitably I fail this test, 

Reliving the past in the promise of tomorrows. 

So anxiety, my abysmal guest, 

Reclaims its concealed haven, 

As the sun goes down.