“If we know that we are temporary on this earth, then what makes us think that our problems are permanent?”

“What are we really afraid of? ………… Losing to our ambitious better side or losing to our contemptuous ego?”

-Krittica Bharadwaj.



Frustrating as the mind,

depressing as the heart,

suffocating as the soul,

deluding as the reality,

still alive in the eyes….

still awake in the spirit….

still waiting for those dreams….


What is the worst feeling in the world other than when your biscuit is drowning in your tea?

“When the second biscuit on a rescue mission drowns too..”

What is even worse than that?

“That by the time you race against time to get a spoon and dip it into your tea, both the biscuits in the tea have made a paste.”

And then you look for that biscuit container only to find it empty..


The insanity of your insecurities,
the way your obstacles double down,
times when your zeal drains your spirit,
when circumstances compel you to feel defeated,
your existence an undefined jigsaw,
those sane old days a history,
now your smile is a mystery,
times..even your handshake is frivolous,
times..your arch-society is quite daunting and perilous,
when you are bamboozled by good wills,
as all you are exposed to are the thorns and bills,
but never the roses and daffodils,

Bliss’s glitch..

Settling the dusty old emotions
deep into a place darker than humans.

The poignant mind seeks blank eternity.

But the heart fathoms true bliss
without realising the feeling’s glitch.

Reckless and old, rusty but gold,
the soul is blithely cold.

The emotional heart and the practical mind,
no truer than the angel and the devil.

Knowing of which, do we ever belittle
the feisty and frosty devil?


Getting lost in the clouds… that floats in places.. where limitless impediments gaze upon you… the cool breeze blowing through the soul…not a speck of blue… the infinite garden of clouds you get lost in…. never seemed more whiter…the soothing cold and the calming damp…what you feel is a relief but a hoax in your industry is what the reality is…the drizzle of rain smearing your day with one too many dozes….pitter patter so it goes on…. and you look out the window…. the never ending horizon is an abstract art….soft clouds brushing with the sound of a rumble in a portrait of stillness…green mountains seem to like the serene clothing of cold and moist fog….the tranquility is never enough though…. a rainy day…. quite a poet’s day or an indolent’s….but for a lad wanting to turn the wheels on…it is a spiritually fruitful day…all the while being slothfully gay….