Rise like the wind.

Do not allow


To feel shamed.

Read me with a song: Siriri by Bipul Chettri


The paradox of choice

The kettle boiled up a storm today.

100 degrees of heat

trapped in a hiss

without an outlet.

Should I evaporate?

Or pour over something irate?

Or rather, dilapidate?

The luxury of choice

life offers

Has left me boiling.

Read me with a song: The last of us by Gustavo Santaolalla

I flew over the cuckoo’s nest

Borderline Personality Disorder.
They throw you a fancy name
Quarantine you into doom
Take you to a rubber house
Inside a rubber room
They shoot the rest
that remained
Of your sanity
Where plastic smiles bloom
Click, bang and boom!
Every night in the mess
With pills on a bloody rampage
An unholy sacrilege
Bartered below tongues
In a bowling arcade
They measure you each day
But they keep changing scales
So your rising mercury
Never meets theirs
Until you quack
Like ducks
What they want to hear
Too scared of the truth
From the mouth of a
Pathological liar
That they watch
From up close
For a shot
of their infernal dose
And so,
You hide under tunnels
You cave in
Under the veins
Of your silvery skin
Feeding off your craziness
The world and me
Scared of your
Written off by
A prescription
Etched on a paper moon
On the wax
Marred by
It's own ugliness
Fading white across the black
Come night, with one hand you pray
While the other one, raised,
In lewd gesture
Of a foul play.

Based on the movie, Girl, Interrupted.
Read me with a song: The last of us soundtrack(main theme) by Gustavo Santaolalla

Judgement day

Puritanical clouds hang above
the church
where the mennonites pray
against the backdrop of a cyan sky.
Children drag around
patched dolls to the Sunday mass
that were handwashed
and left in the summer sun to dry.
The outline of the crooked pine
bent by the storm that came last night
fight the light
that hits my eye.
I was blinded for a while.
My heart judged a praying man
And a child's soul.
Love missed me
a chance of resurrection
while I was
lying on brimstone
in the city of Sodom
That I've built brick by brick
Inside my organ
A wall of I,
whereupon I sit
and I judge,
the frailty
of a person
just like me.

Read me with a song: Hoppípola by Sigur Rós


The disconnected lines
In the insides of my eye
Keep me up until morning.

There's chaos outside
Yet, there is a perfect geometry
inside the inner walls of my eyes,
Drawing concentric circles of a dystopian kind,
Swirling like starburst,
My inner firework
Lighting up this dark
Inside my eye.

My heart is
debating in rhetorics.
The leftovers of sanity,
of those living to see me,
is lying in shambles
In my garden of Eden.

No wonder the Son of the Dawn
Was condemned to hell
For having a mind of his own.
And, in condemnation,
The Satan rose.

I had a mind too, once,
You know!
Just like a phantom limb,
whose itch remains.

'Read me with a song' – Nocturne in E-flat major, Chopin

Living in white noise

I hear inconvenient outpours,
The hush hush incongruities
of a sick mind probing into sounds.
Those inside my head
that talk to me relentlessly, all day.
At times, the signals break,
Life shuts down without reception.
In white noise I have learnt to live,
Breathing amongst dead beings.
A cast away psychotic,
hurtled like space junk from a space ship.
Floating between two worlds
lacking oxygen,
I chew on sane air and
breathe back poison.
So vile and foul it kills my lungs
incarcerated within my own organ.
I am invisible, divisible
an indelible reproduction,
A tale of horror
written without an introduction.
I live in a crack, I am claustrophobic.
I blaze my own trail
I am a maverick.
Hiding in life
Maybe in death I can be seen.
To live among the dead
may be my supreme release.
Darkness is certain but it hovers
around light to be found.
I hope I will be heard
the moment I stop
making a sound.