I wasn’t happy that day.But you wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t let you know.I made sure you wouldn’t know. Because you were happy.If you wrote this poem, you would say:“I was happy. But you weren’t happy.”But this is my poem. This is my space. This is my unhappiness spilling into words you wouldn’t know, telling a … Continue reading Party!

No more hustle, my love, we’ve made it. We have been through the worst, and have each other’s backs. Today, peace engulfs the turbulence we live through, and you’re here with me, and me with you. This is called love, my friend, in happiness and in strength, let us take a moment to realise how … Continue reading Warmth

All incidents in this poem are fictional. Resemblance to any modern nation-state are completely coincidental.

About selective outrage displayed by elite Indians.

The tale of minds.

An ode to the times.

About memories and ashes.

About a picture of an old woman.

For a girl, about to be a woman, to tell her that she is much more than the world has (majorly) perceived her to be. To make her realize about her capabilities.

What is love?

This is an experience of a dear friend, who narrated it to me, and I could not help but pen it down myself. Some of the details are cooked up, but the emotions were real. It is being posted with permission.

A tribute to poets.

A fictitious sexual encounter with an imaginary red-haired girl.

Whom is poetry written for?

On a lover of the past.

Realizations of a pained soul that looks forward to see the world.

An ode to the city where I grew up, before leaving it for long.

About sharing sunsets with a stranger on a distant roof, day after day.

Standing by my dreams.

Debris of first love.

A war-poem, with a deeper meaning hidden in the identities of the people involved.

Lies crush innocent hearts.