Bird in my Head


I sit in a dark room thinking about darkness
I have a glass of blood in my hands
And a bird flies quietly in my head
I do not know why
I will sit here. For hours to come. And minutes and seconds
Thinking about darkness
All the light that I lost
And I cannot look around me
There is a bear which plays the flute
And I do not understand why
There is darkness around me
And I am the light.
And soon I’ll burn myself out
As I burnt my candle turning it into the wildfires
The ghosts play the piano
And I can not dance
But I do not know why
I can hear laughter and people talking
But it must be all in my head
Yet I do not know why


It’s like the days are not even days any more.
Night isn’t night anymore.
I am not even who I was anymore.
The sky has turned into ash, it isn’t blue anymore
The moon is a black dot, it isn’t the moon anymore
The sea has turned into soot, it isn’t it anymore
The tree upon which I gazed outside
It is not standing there anymore…perhaps it travelled north or towards a dusty gloom
I don’t know anymore
There is so much dark now, I don’t want the light anymore
I loved someone once
I don’t love anymore

Of Sunsets and Life


971734_494634307298022_257740671_nNever a comforting thought–that. But ah.. sunsets. How your heart sets, skips and does wonders during sunsets.

The grief ridden eyes find solace in nothing except a deep lingering sleep. They will say–it is common heartache…but nay. It is naught but that. It is grief. Not an inbred shift of innards. It is like a setting sun.

The worst thing about storms is, that before they strike hard, there is calm and peace. The worst thing about calm and peace is–that it never lasts and is immediately followed by storms.

Thus sets the sun. Deep into the horizon–to emerge again. But in all its glory–things repeat and stay the same.

And so–the little prince could not find the words and the nerves to reply. What would it say? They were forty four sunsets. One after the other.

It was not heartache. It was just an empty void.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

All i gathered about life. Each and everything. It must and can be summed in these four words. Not mine. NO. But they were written down by T.S Eliot.

‘Life is very long’

And thus…we go on living. We don’t know why we are doing so. But simply because if we don’t–life will stop. We don’t know what to do. So we keep walking.

SO we keep watching sunsets. And brace the long long life.




It is not even remotely hilarious how the end comes so quickly and how the end comes while being so melancholic–so brutal–so real–so imaginary and so very lonely. How in the end, not a single soul stays by your side–not even those who claimed to always be there… People never stay. Friends move away. And it is absolute nothingness. The birds and butterflies, the silent mountains, the calm skies and the deep waters– nothingness. So in the end, don’t bother to’ll come crashing down, just like you did. Close your eyes. Sleep. 

Dust Storm


It was just broken glass– so what if there was pain
What does it matter– it is all sand in a palm
So it is all clouds in the mind
Fog in the eyes
Shadows in the dust storm
Stillness in solitudes
Cracks in the soul
Cracks in the glass–it was just a broken glass
So silence..hush!


Three Layers of Illusion.


It is okay. After all it all is a blinding illusion. And illusions are like that–fragile. They break easy. Just like people. People break easy as well. People.

It is a strange fact–reality is. It fades and as it goes people become blinded by the glitter. Reality–the first layer of illusion. Millions live in reality. None know what it is.

Perception. The second layer of illusion. But this keeps changing. Like time. Time changes with each tick.

Time. The third layer of illusion. It is dimensionless. We think it keeps going. It doesn’t. We think it will heal. It doesn’t.

We perceive this about time. This illusion breaks. Like people do. People.

And reality. That is another illusion that breaks. Reality isn’t real. If it were, it would keep on going forever. But reality stops the moment people make it stop. And people..they break easy.

People…they are the biggest illusion. And the rest is a part of this.

Where did all the butterflies go?


There used to be butterflies everywhere in Spring and in Summer and on flowers. So many of them–multi colored.

And there may have been constant happiness–was it due to the million colors on one wing?

A wisp of air–wind in your face and BUTTERFLIES hovering over your head.

As if they have escaped the shackles of the rainbow and dispersed.

And there they were–a part of my history–the joy they brought…FATHOMLESS.

And now–

And now, there is a thick smoke in the air. The colors have evaporated.

And the rain…what rain?

There are no doubt flowers–many of them…colorful and fragrant.

But now there is fear and doom around.

Despondency hovers around our heads now–dull, grey despondency.

And pain–it is here. unlike before–but perhaps our memory blurs it all.

So why not now?

Smoke clad wind and heavy…it is all here.

Even the flowers are here–waiting, forever for the butterfly to land on them with their velvety wings and spread the rumor that the flower has a secret to share.

But where is this sadness coming from?

Old people–old, frail eyes–watching the world fade.

Watching the colors fade.

So as i stand by my window watching the flowers stand there alone–spreading fragrance to invite color–why does the world fast fade?

And as i wonder all it–my question remains–where did all the butterflies go?