Inked Thoughts and Midnight Monologues

A fluid state of being with a memorable trail, through a river full of thoughts I sail. Leaving the labyrinths of a chaotic world behind, it’s a journey through the jungles of my subconscious mind.


 Circa, 2016. 

It’s so easy to fall in love with fragility.

To write love on her arms

You know how there’s this one person in your life who comes out of nowhere and suddenly means the world to you?

Well, if you do, I shake you warmly by the hand because you and I are both lucky. As for the ones who haven’t found “the person”, chances are, he or she is probably taking a nap right now. Or laughing for no apparent reason. Or pushing a door that says pull.

Isn’t it strange though? You’re doing the same old drill called life and out pops this fruitcake of a soul bursting with enthusiasm and wearing an adorable smile. And suddenly, you can’t get enough of them and no matter what, they’re somehow always there in your thoughts.

It starts so normally, really. They mispronounce your name and you remember them as the one standing next to the other random person. You two eventually get to meet again (small world, eh?) and make -exciting- small talk. (Reason no.47283 why I take weather reports so seriously.)

It’s so formal at first that it annoys you a bit. But before you realise, you get to meet everyday for the next few months because turns out, you attend a same lecture in your freshman year. *Score*

And then a little homogeneity creates an awkward friend circle with unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar habits and unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar Everything. The beautiful enigma of time presents itself along the way. The two strangers get to know each other’s set of favourite things (Chinese. ColdPlay. Books. More books. Check.) And (Chinese again. F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Purple. Blue lays. Check.) Fast forward to a few more months and the idiosyncrasies and insanity emerge from the depths of the layered personalities. This is when you realise that you’ve given way too much personal information and backing out is hazardous and no longer an option.

Okay so. You’re really into this whole friendship/ destiny-ancient voodoo dichotomy/ when-did-this-happen gig. All your time is spent together and even the insults start sounding like music to your ears. The basic requisites for the bond to prosper further are fulfilled along the way- being friends with each other’s parents, random movie/lunch plans, talking incessantly about everything and Nothing and *drum rolls*, the big fight. Well, plenty of them actually.

So finally, you take the tiny pieces of the jigsaw puzzle and start assembling the parts into one integrated whole, right? And oh dear lord, the realisation.The stranger who didn’t even spell your name correctly the first time (who now happens to have a brilliant nickname for you in the history of nicknames if they were kept for aliens), is kinda-sorta-completely your truest friend that there ever was and as you realise this, you are washed over with serenity and happiness and some more of it.

One thousand six hundred and seventy five references and a pocketful of memories- that’s what we’ve got now. And each other. (Softly scribbles ‘duh’ but then backspaces because it’s ‘duh’. And lame.)

Well, then. Guess that’s all. (Miranda Priestly raincheck done.)

Am I not making sense anymore? Excellent.

-Happy birthday, love-

My work here is done.

Everyone say hi to Shreya. :’)

 And I see you in the stars now

Soft smiles under moonlight music

Maybe our atoms exist in those flickering lanterns

And maybe we are supernovas in the making.

All I know is how you are the best of me

And maybe something more too.

For, all the unwritten verses in my mind

Speak of you like you’re the only one I know

In this vastness of life mortal

Silver glimpses of time frozen

In every memory there’s something so calming

Like finding lost stories again

Like traversing the entire universe.

And to have found you in it;

They will call it a blessing perhaps

But beyond travels this soul inside you

So far that its light lives in the stars I see

Maybe that’s how a part of you belongs to me.

P.S.- Hit me up in the comments section and tell me about “your person”. I’d love to hear from y’all. Much love.




My fingers burn with the slightest touch of your hands and even when we are surrounded by personalities of guile and bodies reeking of obscurity, time somehow freezes. With every gaze into your hazel orbs and every touch that could’ve been something else, I speak to the stars about stories I imagine. They’re all beautiful, for they have you in them but it still doesn’t seem enough. Cracked smiles through silhouettes of the frayed doors and a poetic breeze that never blows, I mock myself for feeling something that didn’t exist. Anything that could go wrong did. The Earth has become The Sun for there’s only heat and it scorches and hurts. I see death in souls that claim they love each other and leaves that fall off trees lie there waiting for my tears to glisten their verdant veins. There’s destruction in gray buildings and the night sky makes me miss you. Songs at high frequencies drown the voices in my head but the aches just never leave. The heartbeats that were supposed to synchronize with symphonies died down and arterial bursts of love turned stone cold to leave fragments inside the ribcage. To find a haven in someone else is difficult. What’s more difficult is being left to decay in a haven you thought you had found. As I watched you leaving, I had but a box of abstract memories and the sound of your voice and old conversations to hold onto. I’m so glad you have found a haven now, I just wish you’d never left the one I made with dried petals and songs of the rain. Maybe you were right and I was wrong, for sometimes when you fall, you fall for the wrong one. I know I did.



My peripheral vision is filled with sights of desks chiseled with lonely lines and ruddy penmanship. I’m starving but so are the innumerable children roaming the mean streets, so I guess it doesn’t matter. The blackboard is chalked with words aplenty but all I see is shapes of distant constellations sprawled across the cosmos. Ruffling my hair, I gaze passively at people who mean nothing to me. Subtle smiles and dizzy conversations float from the tip of their lips but it amounts to nothing. The trees stand still and as the sun continues to bleed and roast the earth, I wonder where I belong. It’s not here, nowhere here but then I’m as far away from the answer as the white clouds chasing each other on the canvas of a pale blue sky. It makes me worried that I don’t know things I ought to know. I had sworn to not let my guard down ever and I did the exact opposite of that. It pays to be endearing and it feels majestic to drown in love. But then, why am I sitting alone in the middle of a dusty room with faded walls and gloomy ceiling fans? There are as many questions left to be answered as the number of atoms swirling impatiently inside my flesh. My bones are weak and I’m not strong but I want to hold onto every speck of thought that crosses my mind because without them, I’m nothing but a shattered piece of whisky glass. I’m wandering in a maze and my thoughts are fleetingly transient but as the hot air rises and gushes through the window panes, I’m certain of one thing- I can never be alone as long as I have these thoughts in me, growing and dying as they may be, but they exist and that’s all that matters. Looking at the trees now, it is time for me to wander elsewhere, find another drab setting and get on with this monotony because the greens may be patiently still. I, however, am not.



Teeming multitudes reside in your flesh and bones

You’re a different realm waiting to be known.

Stars glimmer in your eyes speaking of wonders within

Immortal stories are being etched on your very skin.

The entire universe lies in your soft, frail hands

On the brink of an unparalleled dimension you stand.

Chasing dreams that line the distant horizon

The world wants you to realize that now is your turn.

Your mind is a workplace for beautiful thoughts

A throbbing psychedelia in your heart you’ve got.

Your very being is as bright as lamp lit diyas

For your soul belongs to the nocturnal cosmic arenas.

You’re a mélange of meteoroids and stardust

A swirling, whirling entity filled with rainbow bursts.

You’re the shafts of sunlight falling on a golden shore

Wreathed in beauty and yet so much more.

You’re the art that’s fragile yet true

You’ve just got to remember, there’s no one like you.

Memories Of Midnight


Empty bookshelves and burnt-out bulbs hide in the corner of my study along with crumpled old newspapers stained with obscurity. A broken record lies nearby which once played lullabies of crooners helping my dreadful days melt into a tranquil night. I gaze out the window and distant streetlights cast shadows that float into different realms with every blink of my eye. The wind gushes past me in swift movements, it reeks of grey smoke and despair. All that’s left in me now is boredom and instability. I despise them both. Sleep should come easy but as soon as I find myself lying down, my ceiling becomes a haven for old ghost stories. They come one by one and I shiver and shudder with cold beads of sweat running down my face. A perpetually insomniac soul I’ve become and as much as it hurts to not being able to rid myself of this affliction, it does help in reminiscing. Retrospection has never been my friend but the warm summer breeze at night plays symphonies of solace that shield me from destroying myself. Delving deep into my complexities and turning incredibly self-critical with every passing hour, I wait for the horizon to send me its scorching new heat as I mutter swearings under my heavy breath for another day to become another night.

Of Skies And Silhouettes













The Aftertaste


The sky sheds tears and as I contemplate the meaning of this existence, I come to realize why we revel in rain soaked streets. Strange creatures with no dearth of passion, yet we choose to succumb to our worst fears and assume fatalistic images resembling something we don’t want to be. Miasmic longings and echoes of the moon. Death and destruction. Such brokenness in our bones that even they can’t help but cry in grief. We’re all birds with broken wings. Weighed down by thoughts that chase the shafts of golden sunlight far, far away from us. Voices call us at 3 a.m. and all those memories which were once infused with sweet chants of nostalgia get crushed to powder. Our doing is our undoing. And our undoing? Probably worse. Misery waits for no one. Pain and hurt are words crafted from the same scarlet hue of bleeding hearts.

But maybe, Just maybe, there’s something still left in us. Even after all this time. Some call it hope. Some call it love. I call it Music. Sunshine. Coffee. Laughter. Snowflakes. Leaves. I call it the unceasing disease of optimism. It’s an affliction that lasts a lifetime. Yes, mock me for being unrealistic but that’s all we have left. You and I, we need to fall down a rabbit hole, not to enter a wonderland with dreamy landscapes and scents of primroses, but to find our way back to the world we want. Instead of gnawing at the mind’s division between reality and fantasy, I want you to meet me where the two horizons fuse together and create a new dawn with a bleeding sun and nights with stars that outshine every luminescent entity ever known to mankind. I want you to inhale a lungful of this absolute oxygen and remind yourself that you’re here for a reason. I want you to gulp down this reality of yours and make your atoms dance to the tunes of cosmic lullabies that sing to you of a brighter morrow. And maybe, just maybe, the aftertaste of your real world won’t be so bitter one day. Maybe you’ll taste the stars one day and be with them at last, because my love, that’s where you belong.




Curse the soul upon which I breathe

intoxicating the aura of mind’s occult tyranny.

Casting shadows from moonlights at this ruthless life

a frayed loner is what has become of me.


Condemning every vice that I indulged so frantically in

I drift further away from my virtues now forlorn.

An acrid stench of vicious vulnerability engulfs me

making me question my very existence of being born.


My withered body transfixed at my oblivion

I realize so from the burning tears of my lively eyes.

Time whirls passively, crumbling beneath my rage

as I envy delusional tales dipped in comforting lies.


Hearing echoes in my bitter monologues

the iridescence within me dies in a whirling roar.

Craving remorse for my inescapable mortal faults

an act so intense, heralded no more.


And so I enter a hell others call their ‘paradise’

of being lost in my own head.

My threadbare self is but a tiresome warrior

of a journey that I alone have to tread.





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