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If you had a palette,

Of colors dark and bright.

And I were to be

A painting of your dreams

And fears, all alike,

How would you paint me?


Would the strokes be gentle,

Like wind ruffling through the leaves,

Or bold and cold,

As a tide clinching a wavy sea.


Would it be bright,

Like the sun’s first ray.

Or pale and murky,

Like the moon making its way.


Would you draw me,

Like every other canvas, you framed,

Or would I be absolute,

Your heart taking over your mind, day by day.


Would I be just a painting,

Ready to be sold,

Or a whole, a masterpiece,

For your eyes to behold.



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While spattering some colors,

I ran into a memory.

She waved hello from underneath the sheet.

Where it was a nimble shade of purple.

Admonishing the remembrance, I dribbled a duskier shade.

A mix of black and lilac.

The lilac was almost dominated by the black.

But at some places, white brought it out.

And all over again, I teleported to a memory.

This time, I couldn’t resist dwelling in the lanes for longer seconds.

I walk down this narrow road.

Pitch black, when I hear knocking at the door.

The door to my left is pounding.

The door to my right is pounding too,

But nobody is seen.

A short while later, all 12 houses on the right and on the left are smashing.

The clutter is deafening.

I am writhing, striving to eliminate the clatter.

But there’s only so far the ears would allow the fingers in.

Should I turn back?

But then, another shade, another memory.

I stay still, the deafening banging and smashing come to halt all by itself.

Slowly, opening my eyes.

Tears start flowing which I hadn’t realized had arisen in my lids.

Maybe because it was all so agonizing.


As I regain my stature,

A lady opens the third door in the right lane.

So does a lady of the third house in the left lane

They both look alike and wear a purple apron,

Difference is, the lady on the right has the lighter purple, which I tried to cover.

And the lady on the left is a mixture of lilac and black, an evenly blended mixture.

No, hints of the light lilac peek from beneath.

They both invite me over.

But why should I go, I should keep walking.

But, it’s my memory lane.

Moments I had lived.

Reliving them couldn’t be dangerous, at best, it could be hard.

Before I prepare my mind,

The lady on the right,

Beckons; “Forget what you lived, move on. Darkness prevails if you let it.

Wipe it off. Embrace the lights. It’s no longer a battle you fight.”

As if a counter, the lady from the left speaks in the same breath as the right lady stops.

“You always have to live with your fears. Fears are never pleasant,

Come in nip a little and drown in a murky lake. After all, it’s all you.

Drown in yourself, honey.”

After being resorted to the agony and discontentment.,

It’s not hard to give in to the temptation of being under the dark.


None of the ladies speak now, they both await my pronouncement.


I am dragged back to my desk,

The purple color, in both the shades all over the canvas.

I think that’s the best.

Not choosing, just living a little of both lives.

Misery and joy.

Smiles and frowns.

Lilac and dark blacks.

Painted Red

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I painted my lips

In the colour of your love.

Dark, everlasting,

On the show, for everyone.

So deep, it burned.

The desire scorched deep into my bones.

Passion was a feeling,

I showed everyone what it looked like.

With you.

Every night, you took my breath away.

Every morning, made me glow with grace.

In your company, I knew what happiness is.

Your kisses so ferocious,

They made me dance on thin air.

Your touch so gracious,

It made me tumble into a pool of heated mess.

Oh, what are you doing to me, love?

It’s driven me senseless,

I’ll try to contain my longing.

Till the next time, I paint my lips red.

The Petal Count

What will your existential prop be?

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Everyone on this planet

Has a regular ritual.

A belief that reminds them of being in this world.

They do not dwell in their homes or rooms.

They reside amicably.

The reassurance of having something to them,

The sacred secrecy.

Is placating to the heart on the days it grows desolate.


Mine is petal count.


I pick out a flower from my backyard.

Lie down on the freshly watered grass and close my eyes.

I can always feel the grass growing a little dewier,

Than it already was against my back.

It urges me to begin the everyday affair

And the sky looks down yearning for today’s findings.

The grass and the sky,

My only audience and accomplices.


I hold the flower high up,

Eyes still closed.

And pluck out a petal.

No, it’s not “Love me, love me not”,

It’s not for the crush who has no idea of my existence.

Neither for the ex-boyfriend who goes back the corridor,

God forbid, our eyes meet.


It’s for my subsistence.


Every day I pluck a petal,

If it’s a crushed, pallid one.

I clench my fists,

Prop myself for a day at the battlefield.

If not, and I’ve plucked one out in fine fettle,

It’s a lucky day.

I put the flower in a vase,

Vowing to come back

The next day.

To pluck out a petal again,

To be in this world,

To be animate.


A Shattered First Love

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Hi, it’s me.

Your sidekick, your best friend, your partner in crime.


I committed a crime.

Which you know nothing of.

I fell in love with you.


11 September 2014.

We talked about how silly our teachers were to think we would actually submit a project just two days after she gave it to us.

We laughed and walked together to the canteen and had a coffee.

Hot September day and we sipped coffee when everyone bought their ice creams.

We talked till the last class ended.

All the atrocities of this stupid world.

How everyone was oblivious of the simplest pleasures of living.

The project day turned into a meaningful conversation between two distinct ice cream eaters.

Me and you, we came to be called friends.

We sat together, laughed together, created and resolved drama together.

An inseparable team of notorious 11th graders, me and you.

Soon, I realized I was in trouble.


18th September 2014.

Maybe the shortest time in all of human history to fall in love.

Fall in love with all of the person. His fears, his dreams, his nightmares, his habits, his weaknesses.

I fell hard.

I wanted to tell you that you were the person I wanted my every project to be with.

You were the one loved so damn hard.


19th September 2014.

My heart was in smithereens.

It was cut through in a zig zag fashion, which would look like art to some, but it was battered to pieces.

You told me about how much you miss the girl you once loved.

It was her birthday. You wanted to remind her of your love.

Your love, which you’d scream to the world at 3:47 am.

And at 6:15 pm, there I was.

Putting up a heart together in your bedroom,

Nursing mine

Writing your outpour onto a perfect replica of my heart before this day.


21st September 2014

“She loved it, oh she loved it, she blushed so hard, she gave me a hug….”

How could I have ever told you that I sobbed silently over the phone when you danced on your bed, practically on the top of the world.

How could I ruin your beautiful day, just so I could laugh.

I broke further. I wanted to rush into your arms and tell you how much I wanted you to hold me against you.

The sobs choked my voice but I listened to every word you said. All you had to say.

We both didn’t sleep that night.

You got a piece back. Me? I lost another.


11th October 2014

After a collective festival vacation, we all returned to school.

I sat amongst the large group we had, but I wasn’t there.

I was still stuck at the night.

You sat right in front of me, giving me the eye whenever something came up with a minute reference to our personal jokes.

Could you look through me then?

How could you though, you saw through someone else.


21st November 2014.

The air couldn’t have been colder and it turned colder further.

She rejected your proposal three days back.

You hadn’t talked to me since then.

I wanted to just hold you let you sob and give all the love my broken heart still had.

But, you shut me off.

There isn’t a day to this moment that I don’t wish I’d just come over and hugged you and kissed you no matter how weird it would’ve gotten.

You’d have known, at least, that I had loved you throughout.



We grew apart, our banter at 3 am slowly started to end at 12, with some excuse or the other.

Slowly descending to twice a week talk or sometimes, not even that.

We just landed where we once began to grow.

Two distant project buddies.

Still sipping coffee, but alone, away, apart.

Colours Of a Colourless Being

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I climb and climb an endless spiral.

Up it goes, shallow my breath grows.

Knocking every door on the floor,

Behind my shadow, my energy fades and despair follows.

Open, please, I want to shout.

But he follows my footsteps closely.

I cannot think about.


He’ll catch me sooner or later,

He warns.

The chase falls, I think he’s left.

But to my horror, there he stands.

Right in front of my face, his fingers hang.

They raise alarm, fibres of my being panic.


He has grabbed me, please someone open the door.

Help me, I yelp.

All in vain, his fingers jostle me by my shoulders,

Torture slowly ascending to my neck.


“you’ll face it tonight, the worst you have known, the most you have feared, you’ll face it tonight.”

With a hollow warning, that nobody heard, I descend.


Falling through and endless dreary maze,

I land on a pinching yellow.

I’ll brace this I assure myself,

The hold on my neck grows bold.

I grab on the memory to hold.


I am in a yellow dress, waiting for my teacher’s address.

My name called out, I step forward,

Walking up the staircase I swallow, stage fear rushes through me

But I am ready, the feeling’s heady.


A hand, pale, approaches me,

A handshake, I anticipated,

Was really a masked apology.

“I am sorry, you’ll have to wait for your turn,” he informed,

“There’s another recitation before yours”, offering an explanation.


I walked through the dark corridor,

Tied in an unspoken pact.

Silence ensued, for a fact.


The room was crimson with the costume themes.

People rush out in cliques and consortiums.

“you’ll have to wait here for a while”

You then start to hum.


We are sitting next to each other,

In a room absent of any other presence.

Your hand slowly sets on my thigh

I move further.

A hand pushes me from the back, another, grabs my thigh, in a swift motion.

My pale fingers, quiver and push relentlessly.

All to vain, my arms are already scratched rosy.

I shout and cry, yelp and cringe.

Forehead bleeds through my fringe.


My beautiful yellow skirt

Is now an inflamed red.

Like an evening growing darker with the sunset.

The bruises span, an uneven assortment.

Violet, they grow as I come to terms,

Marks still holding strong.


Swallowing hard, up fast,

I stand as I hear my name from somewhere far.

It’s my turn to recite.

Lost on the exuberant enthusiasm, I drag my frail

To the stage.


There are people, laughing at my torn yellow dress, my pale scratched skin,

And my blue – violet flesh.

I scream my broken heels screech.


“Wake up, wake up, it’s alright”

“I’ll never let the bruises dry”


Two voices coincide.

Both, with my name at the end, they die.


I choose the former from my mother,

Not having a choice.

At night, I’ll yet again revisit,

To the skirmish declared fruitless.

Again I’ll be branded,

The being now colorless.


Swim Or Sink

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I have a decision to make.

Rather decisions.

A decision to decide for myself.

For my unstable breathing, for my heartbeats.

Can I turn my back on all what happened?

I tried to.

Should I try harder? Like they all say?

But I did try the hardest.

My chest froze and ached every time I returned home,

Bullied, humiliated, teased, hurt.

I tried to swim.

The waters were trivial.

My feet barely dipped.

My arms hardly felt the wetness.

My neck rarely ever soaked.

But look now,

I drown.

I drown in those shallows.


I’ve matched up to the frivolity.

Or so I’ve been told.

I might still be able to emerge.

On the exterior.

But I’d like to sink now.

I’d like to know what everyone has known all along.

I’d like to know the depths

Which I’ve been told I lack.

I’d like to experience the stillness

I’ve been told I was born with.

I would like to hear the silences.

Which I’ve been aching for.


One of these days you’ll try to fathom what drowned me?

What was so inexorable that made me gave up swimming.

Was the water too cold?

Or was it you leading me into them?


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I am sitting beside you right now, holding a river.

When we are looking over the city lights together, I glance at the hues on your face.

We’ll sit here tonight, hands in hand,

For the last time.

When you leave tomorrow morning, I’ll finally stop looking for you to return.

I won’t sit by the window anymore, no more coffee sipping in the balcony.

Don’t look back

I won’t be there to hold you with my gaze.

Mine and your eyes, have grown weary.

You won’t get to read this,

It will be one of the many entries

I made to myself when you sleep to pretend

And I wake up to pretend knowingly

That you are leaving.

Shred by shred

Piece by piece

As the clock ticks

As the trust fades, discomfort and disloyalty grey upon the best.