Blinded. Contented. 

We are all blinded; either by the past, the present, or the prospect of future. Most times, we can’t help it. Other times, we refuse to be helped. We trust the haze far more than we could ever trust clarity. We find solace looking for patterns in clouds than be shown the sun. We rather be groping in the dark than be hitting the bull’s eye under a focus. That’s how we get going, that’s how we pull through, that’s how we survive. 

The reality is too much to grasp. 

Time Travel 

Those who believe that the world is small are living in illusions. The world is massive; awestriking in expanse and infinite in time. Like we cannot be at different places at the same time, we cannot expect time to turn according to our whims. We are all born with our tiny eternities. When in doubt, trust these eternities to carry you home. When you feel daunted by deadlines and others’ timelines, believe that the time travel of the world doesn’t have to coincide with yours. When impatient, remind yourself: It will happen, when it has to. 

The temporary called ‘Forever’. 

‘Forever’ is a lie. ‘Forever’, ever said by anyone, to anyone, is a lie! Because nothing remains once its time is up. Days become nights, seasons turn, we topple over our heads, change our minds; and in the chaos that ensues, promises don’t stand a chance. The people we were certain would last a lifetime, become a liability. The relations we could bet our life on, suddenly change shape. What seemed perfect then, looks all wrong now. No matter how firmly we write our names in the sands of life, the tide of time is sure to wash it away.

And Forever ends, just like that!

Un-Containing happiness

What are you scared of? How does shutting your eyes tight help? You fear you’ll lose all your happiness if you let it open for view for those incapable of creating it themselves? Happiness is no good if you need to protect it. It doesn’t come with conditions. What may come with conditions, is probably the urge for happiness. 

You cannot contain happiness and preserve it. It is not food saved for the winter. Happiness is not a mountain peak; it is every stone and pebble you stumble upon, on your way there. 

Happiness doesn’t need to brim out of eyes, it is supposed to radiate out of you. After all, you may get robbed of the things that you contain, but you cannot be depleted of the things you’re made of. 

Moonlight in a jar 

I had the moonlight in a jar.

I hid the moonlight in a jar.

Sacred, safe, all to myself.

I hoarded it in pints

With its brilliant glow

Saving for the dark nights.
The moon was imperfect in form, shape;

It was less not in spirit.

The larger it grew in sight,

The clearer were its blots

The sharper was its shine.
The glistening sea reflected it,

The soil absorbed it whole.

While I, in all its splendor,

For a comfort to my meekness

imprisoned it in a jar.
Once, in my naivete,

Against a clouded night sky,

I stumbled upon my dependent plight

I cursed in my ignorance

Till I found a new light:
The new moon nights were designed

So I could learn to trust

My instincts in the dark;

And I freed the moon’s borrowed light

From the glass jar.

The book 

The hard bound cover page allured me with its simplicity. There was something so infatuating about the myriadness within the subtlety of it, that i couldn’t look elsewhere. I was attracted to the book by its cover. It didn’t matter what I had heard about it from the few others who had owned it. I opened the pages and read through it word for word. I took all the time I could to grasp every word, to make sense of every phrase, to comprehend every page- first at face value, and then between the bold letters. I was enchanted by the words and mesmerized by the language. It occurred to me that this was one book I was glad was written; the one book that I was proud I had picked, from a library to choose from. It didn’t matter that its last pages were missing. 

On Forgiveness. 

Forgive people. They all have their journeys which we aren’t taking, they have their battles which we aren’t fighting, they have their demons that we aren’t facing. If you try to find out, or even bother to assume the positive, you’ll see that they have a reason for all that they do. Very often, you’ll realise, you’ll want to cry with them, for them. They won’t want your pity as much as they would expect you to understand. Sympathy gets no one anywhere worth getting to. Give them the gift of empathy and watch while it works its magic. Your judgement may or may not make a difference; but a slight change in your perspective, and you will discover that your forgiveness definitely will.


You think you’ve reached the edge of the cliff. You think the road has closed in on you. You think the ocean has eaten you whole. You’ve been so eroded, you’re scared to breathe. You feel so beaten, you rather not feel anything. But when you are about to lose the last shred of hope, remind yourself that if you have survived your way there, you’ll pull through the worst too. Once you hit rock bottom, the only way left, is skyward. 

You know better than to give up, to turn your back to the misfortunes, to curse the heavens. You were designed to not crumble under despair. If you look enough, you will find the right door out. 

Don’t be scared of cliffs, for it is there, that the waterfall begins!

A dawn in the breaking

Under the lilac canopy-like dome, 

The crickets were slowly losing their hold. 

The bats navigated their way back in silence, 

The green of the trees woke up to gold. 

The colour was mysteriously natural, 

And it promised of so much more.

The larks and the myna spoke of the old times, 

Their song encrypted in a mystical lore. 

The breeze greeted me with its mist 

And I instinctively looked north.

Smiling at the beauty unfolding, 

I wondered when it was last that I had welcomed the morning with such warmth. 

The Imperceptible

It doesn’t always take harsh words or big fights for a heart to break into two. Mostly, it is the simple gestures that are enough to cause the pain of a knife in your insides. Changed people, or changed times… No one can be so sure, except that there Is a change. Not enough to pinpoint or to mark with a different colored marker, but something so minute and imperceptible that it leaves you gasping for a more tangible contrast- something you can be sure of, something you can allow yourself to cry over, something you find worth the trouble of letting go.