Two cans of paint: India and United Arab Emirates 


I let my life mix with my dreams like two coloured cans of paint; the saffron 🇮🇳 mixed with the red, green and black 🇦🇪 until I didn’t know which was what and I didn’t care, I call you home 🏡Dubai is my hustle and my grind, Bangalore is my victory lap and my celebration. Dubai is my heart, Bangalore you’ll always be the blood that pumps through it. Dubai taught be about being not having, Bangalore showed me how blessed I am. Between Dubai and Bangalore, I learn everyday that my glass is always full and refillable. Dubai and Bangalore you make me grow towards the sky while the sun calls my name and the stars light up my pathway. Home is always here and a missed land ❤️

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Constellations of Hercules 


I’m trapped under this dome of blue, it holds my gaze while changing into different hues. Upon the brilliant starlight, I found the constellation of Hercules. Kissing the horizon, I’ve laid tracks in my head that will take me anywhere. Anywhere; but I can’t bring myself to take a step. I have unpacked my bag of fears, knowing it’s not worthy of the trip, while the dome of light still holds a grip. The dome cracks as light shines upon the darkest parts of my mind, allowing my cuts to be bandaged by the compassionate and kind. My truth to you will not be of ease for me, but in the end will be my ease for I came to you, my dome of light 💡

Writing Notes in Black Ink

She wrote a note to herself today.
Before the moon bid its goodbye to it’s kind.
Before the world had a chance to wash her mind;
With pending tasks and bitter words that made her wrong,
Telling her how this would only make her strong.

She wrote it before emotions took over,
Before she said her name to the barista as a coffee-lover.
Before she had the choice between hope and optimism,
And sip into all the criticism.
A simple sentence that would resonate within mind;
before her eyes witness normality,
She wrote a note of what she wanted the day to be in reality.

She was not greedy, she tried to be kind,
Everyday she made up her mind.
Only to cease the day,
Yet be humble and not prey.
’Tis true that she wanted things her way,
She knew the dark clouds would not stay.

On the days it was hard to breathe,
She took a look around at the papers beneath.
Between the bills, payment sheets and cheques,
On the days she felt life was a wreck.
‘Breathe woman! Everything will be okay!’ she read,
This is how she knew her life wasn’t hanging by a thread.

Backspace that create galaxies of words

I was taught to use all twenty six alphabets in the English Language,
Learnt multiple slangs that expressed emotion in just a few alphabets clubbed together: LOL
Saw lists of emojis being rolled out with every iOS update,

Yet the stories that never even considered the single grey tick,
Did sonnets about how it fell in love with the backspace instead.

The woman who takes off her clothes to make an impression

What is love? Ever been in love? Well yes! Several times. It is the most basic human instinct you can possess I assume right? And yet we complicate it by mixing it with emotions and needs otherwise unnecessary.

Hey! But what do I know? I am the woman that caters to the whims of the pathetic and I take my clothes off to make an impression.

“Think. It’s the new sexy!” – Sherlock: A Scandal In Belgravia is S2:E1

The intensity with which Irene Adler meets the eyes of Sherlock Holmes is fascinating and so intriguing it almost makes me want to question the basic instinct of life – Is it love or lust? Confusion. The character though played by actors bring to life the very existence of love we find, analyze, understand, confuse, mix, use deadly concoctions of and take for granted! The chemistry so strongly defined here is so intense that it blurs the very line between love and lust. So does this mean that taking off my clothes even before he can undress my mind is the new way to love? Taking off my pretentions, the disguise, the materialistic nature in my personality and down to nothing but the battlefield suit which I wear at birth is what will humanize my need to love.

Or is love like the person you meet during a Halloween party. You know the one where for a change you are normal; Just for that one day in a year and everyone wears a mask and you don’t need to hide yours! You gaze over the 10s of people at the party and your eye meets the one mask that seems the same as everyone else yet makes you feel different. The one that gazes back and you can’t believe what they see! You know exactly where they are looking, what they are thinking and it feels all too familiar. The kind that gives you goosebumps only to realize you felt that way hours ago.

Fools rush in, where wise men never go
but wise men never fall in love,
so how does one really know?
Shall I stay in the nude, would it be such a sin?

I lie in all modesty yet naked to my last bone, only because I took my clothes off it doesn’t mean I’m making a perfect expression. The Shakespearean sonnet, Kahlil Gibran, r.m. Drake and Oscar Wilde set us up to fail at love, this is why I will always win at sex! Sex is never the issue here and my lovers will testify.

Sex is not the issue, it is love. The basic human instinct is what I fail at!
Because ‘I love you’ after is mostly returned silently and met with tears, hence never used.
‘Let’s fuck’ comes naturally than ‘I love you too’.
The more I use, the more I feel used.

Irene Adler just before her execution texts Sherlock to say goodbye and closes her eyes, only to hear the sexy moan text tone. As she focuses her eyes open to Sherlock as the ‘Arabian Knight in shining armor’ who saves her into the world of cliché as she is clad in the black burkha from top to bottom. The depths of love is could be made out to be unimaginable as it power plays in their heads as lust, pride, greed, envy and wrath. Yet, they both stand fully clothed and are met with just their eyes. Is it still lust that power plays their mind?

Or maybe it’s just two people in love trying to save each other.

Will I ever know what love is without taking my clothes off? Will he ever know?

“It’s easier to lift skirts and bunch them on the waist than,
Lift broken spirits and stop them going to waste.”

The Galaxy of Words Within My Soul

There are poems inside of me, that the paper can’t handle,
Words that roar from within usually causing a scandal.
Pages and pages pour out from within,
Still losing when I saw myself to win.

Emotions rush through my eyes and lips,
Like a stormy sunset rising from the doomed ships.
On a planet in a new constellation,
I began to write in my own celebration,
Lost in the galaxies within my soul,
I vaguely slipped away from control.

My mind is eating away at the emotions surrounded,
Hers, his, yours and theirs all of them bounded.
Some borrowed, some enforced,
many thrown at me without remorse,
I prayed they would go away in due course.

I push and push away. I don’t know what will stay,
I don’t know what will sigh a relief, it’s time I choose my belief.
With blood splattered across the walls,the beauty of my mind is a terrible place to live in,
To this fragile side of me, I give in.

Most of my love poems are about people who never stayed,
you know the ones I begged for and prayed.
You think this would make me say something beautiful about love that lasts,
The people only become a leaf attached to you in your past.

When the infection comes, the calls come ringing,
‘Are you ok? What were you thinking?’
Finally a sickness that a doctor can detect,
The ones the sharp blades of tongues cause are of neglect.

I want to raise monuments of intellect,
To the nebulosity of poetry I pay my due respect.
For the ocean of words I carry inside of me must survive,
My fondness I, or you your power keep alive.

A Dead Art Form of Making A Phone Call

I’m waiting for your phone call and I feel like it’s never going to come. I realize slowly that I was never on your mind today.

Apart of me is at peace with the fact that with every passing minute, every quiet moment.

I convince myself there’s a legitimate reason why you haven’t called yet. It’s easy for me to make excuses for you while I wait. You were too busy, you lost track of time, your phone is out of reach and you’ve fallen asleep without realizing it. It happens, those things, but when I’m honest with myself I know none of those are true, none of those are the reason I’m waiting by my phone for your phone call.

I adore that feeling when I see your name pop up on my screen. The anticipation is killing me and as I watch the clock count down the hours and the sun sink below the horizon I can’t help but think of you.

We always say we’d talk today. I’ll call you. I’ll send you a voice memo or that selfie you’ve been asking for. I don’t know if I need to outline when it was appropriate to call one another, but I find myself hung up on being the one who cares less, the one who could go a whole day without hearing from you.

But I’m not that girl and I do care.

I care enough to spend my days busying with work and projects that take up way too much time, yet in a matter of 25-45 seconds I can help but focus my mind on you and how much I just want to hear about your day, send you a funny text, and talk about nothing in particular at all. I think about how sparsely I’ve talked to you all week and I wonder if the fact that I miss you plays a role in the fact that I’m waiting, just waiting, to hear from you again. You are like a long lost friend and the laundry list of things I want to share with you is too long to keep track of anymore.

I can’t seem to remember when I started wanting to share so much with you. It was before we exchanged those texts, or when you told me that you want to spend time with me or before you told me that you were exhausted to a point where you couldn’t remember how it feels not to be exhausted. This is when, the idea of just sitting together doing nothing sounded like my goals for a Tuesday night. And now I’m waiting, conflicted about grabbing the phone and calling you first. I could call you, I should call you, your voice echoes in my head that, of course, I can always call you. And I call you. Twice. But, I know what is the point? You don’t answer anyway.

The point is I’m waiting for you to call, you specifically, just like you said you will call; Because the idea of sharing your day with me and hearing my voice sounds amazing to you.

I know that maybe those expectations are high but I’m a girl who can survive with less and this is the least of things I want from you. It’s so sappy, it’s such a perfectly mundane stereotype of the female sex. Imagine how you feel when I call, when I make you feel special, when I let you know you were on my mind and when you think of that my qualms probably don’t seem so insane.

A call, a text, a sign of communication is timeless and classy. It’s not naked pictures, or a funny meme, a Facebook like or a smile kissy face emoji. In a generation that is always being reminded of how bad they are at relationships this should be the foundation – TO CALL!

Being able to just talk to someone, about anything, about things you like and don’t like – well, that’s huge. I like having that with you, but it’s not happening today, tomorrow or day after and I can only blame myself after a month. Because instead of waiting I should be moving on. I should be less afraid of knowing how it makes me vulnerable.

Priorities. Like many guys say, if he really is into you, he will find the time to call. So many people are scared of commitment and being official that they’ll remain in a label-free relationship, which blurs lines and only works until it doesn’t. I’ve said it many times before, I’ll say it again – “we’re just talking” is opening the door for cheating that technically wasn’t it isn’t cheating because, hey, you weren’t together together.

So, I don’t know if you are just not that into me or you aren’t interested anymore or maybe you are interested in someone else. Wait, maybe you got back with your ex. Whatever it is, pick up the phone and call. I shouldn’t have to wait, while you have the power to spiral my mind out of control.

I asked you. Being the “Alpha Female”, I asked you to give me those 3 magical words – I’m not interested. You said told me everything I wanted to hear yet, I’m not able to decipher why you can’t pick up my calls or call back instead? Is this what the generation YOLO calls the new rules of dating, mating and hating? Is this what it has come down to? So where did love that Rumi, Alfa, Christopher Poindexter, Oscar Wilde and Lang Leav talk about go?

Sitting here and feeling all the emotions of love within just myself is what they explain about. Except now I doubt if it is how I felt about you or whether it was how I wanted to feel about myself! Look what I’ve done. Sitting here in the puddle of my mixed signals and emotions, wondering if it was ever about you. Why? Just cause you didn’t call.