a smudge of imperfection


we build walls to shelter
but these walls separate
and keep us
these treacherous walls
these barriers
built from the pieces of shattered hearts
they separate us
bereave us of our humanity
they mock our mortality
and the wavering morality of our vows
that we make to each other
our past, painted on the walls
festering in our minds
embittering us
and stealing from us
who we are
and leaving us a hole
that devours
everything in its path.
the walls, they make us cold
our humanity locked away behind them
we are cowards
first we let our hearts soar
and taste the sweetness of the skies
without any boundaries
and then when we fall
from these heights
our dreams broken
our hearts fractured
when we do not have
the strength to
nurse our hearts
and learn to love again
we fall prey
to a cycle of
we need to teach our hearts
to be strong
to be complete
without someone else
because others can complement us
but we must seek completion
from within
and open up to others
letting them see
our scars
our past
our resilience despite all that
because love is stronger than hate
stronger than the walls we build
these walls, they do not keep
the bad out
but the good inside.
we need to break
with the strength of our hearts
the walls that we make,
in our mind.



this morn, i wake up,
to a white wonderland beyond the windowpane,
i make some hot chocolate brimming to the top,
and settle down, I cannot abstain.

the powdery fluffy flakes of snow,
descend from the grey of the sky,
among the winds of the biting cold they blow,
conjuring up a storm as they fly by.

the white blanket drapes over the cars,
and the streets, the trees are blessed,
with the powdery fluffy flakes that are,
inconspicuous amongst the rest.

and ever so softly, the snow falls,
the tree branches laden with the flakes,
a little avalanche is born, and the tall
tree, despite its true might, quakes.

by eve the shimmering white coat of snow,
will turn to wet slush marked with mud,
footsteps trudging in the snow, slow, slow,
land on the ground with a loud thud.

and so the landscape, so sullen and glum,
is blessed with another round of snow,
it yet again powdery fluffy flakes becomes,
and in the dark of dusk, it glows.


flickering, the flame comes to life,
born to brave the dark shadows,
and the mighty winds that try to quell it,
but the flame stays strong, stays aglow.
nothing can sway the growing flame,
the power it wields radiates from each orange plume,
engulfing the world its threatening to claim,
and swallow its darkness,
the hungry, hungry flames.
the fire expands its wings,
mighty and proud,
overlooking its kingdom, a king,
all bowing down to its valour.


my fingers hit the keyboard, fast and hard,
the words can’t come out fast enough,
the meaning behind the black symbols lost,
as they are stamped onto the white pages,
one by one.
my thoughts turn into jumbled words, diluted,
becoming more and more ambiguous by the minute,
and even i can’t make sense of my own words,
they are in a foreign language that
i have failed to understand.
my soul is raw, exposed to the judgment of this world,
seeming so unbecoming amongst the ones
who have mastered the art of putting word to paper.
my fingers hit the keyboard, fast and hard,
dancing a waltz on the keys,
keeping time with the ticking clock,
rushing to get the words out fast enough,
as the hungry pages devour the little black symbols.
my heart spills into these words,
staining them with shades of scarlet red,
the words crying to be read,
another voice aching to be heard,
amongst a gathering of others.

fall mornings

The wind bites my cheek, a cold slap against skin,
and my breath vaporizes in the crisp morning air,
floating, suspended, a nebula in space.
The ground beckons to the red, smoldering leaves
and they fall, shivering in the chilly breeze,
their glorious beauty tarnished as they are
trampled beneath dirty, wet boots.
Frost crystallizes on windshields,
sets atop the lush green grass,
and coats the streets, in a forlorn mimicry of snow,
ripe with yearning for a winter adorned with snowflakes.
The roads, wet from yesterday’s showers,
shimmer under the light of a new dawn,
and the world catches fire when
at last, the rays of the sun warm up the air,
split apart the skies, and tint the scarlet leaves gold.
The magic vanishes, leaving behind only traces of
the brilliant inferno, the enchantment asleep
until the moon gives way
for morn the next day.


The clinking of the porcelain
drowns out the sound of chatter.
Raindrops knock against the windowpane,
unwelcome in a welcoming place.
The fire crackles by the corner,
devouring, licking the wood,
enveloping the room in its warm embrace.
The autumn chill is swept away
by the hungry flames.
Aroma of bittersweet coffee tantalizes the senses and
lures, trapping customers in a cage of
round wooden tables and little oak chairs.
The room is bathed in dim light,
emitting an ambience not unlike home.
Hot mug between hands, steaming,
the heat spreads,
travelling through the bloodstream,
warming up the body, and engulfing the heart.
One sip burns the tongue,
scorching the taste buds;
dark roast coffee, one sugar, splash of milk.
Last dregs of coffee stain the mug,
the last grey clouds making way for the
One long sigh, two empty mugs, three steps
to the door.

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