Random Tweets

Who cares for quality when one is not even able to string two decent lines in to a a blogpost! So I better stop this nonsensical wait for a poem to pour or some concentration to muster in a prose. I better share with you my random mind that I tweeted away in the span of a fortnight or so.

  • There’s a certain North star that I’m in love with for the conspicuous glitter it has; Its heart might have caught a bigger fire!
  • the bigger the fire the brighter the face!
  • If only we could erase our sorrows from the slate of our mind! If only we could write ourselves all over again!
  • Could I rise from the ruins; wish I could grow wings like a phoenix!
  • I’ve become a cynic; a terrible one at that!
  • Raith say buth na bana aey meray achay fankaar; aik lamhay ko teher, may tujhay pathar la dooN!
  • So, where’s my galaxy when the sun’s sunk into the horizon?
  • Passing through a weird phase that has the potential to make or annihilate my inner being; wish I metamorphose to something good!
  • Dont succumb to vanity; Cling on!
  • As if someone’s clipped the wings of my imagination; I cant get out of the box to write and think! I’m dying to write something, really!
  • Gimme Thy blessings! Gimme the fertility of thoughts!
  • The sun is breathing its last! Lemme absorb its dying beauty in my eyes!
  • I love it when the orangish tinge of the dying sun reflects in my eyes!
  • safar dushwaar hay lakin; tumhari yaad kay gul; raah may khushboo lutatay hain
  • I was ‘optimistook’ hence am a pessimist!
  • The world tastes me porridge every time I’m high on the wine of dreams!
  • Give me some food for thought; I’m hungry since eternity!
  • Am not a cannibal but I still have the crave to hold your quivering heart and taste whether it tastes my love! 😛


It has never been a case with me — such protraction of a phase of boredom. The current one has really stretched from days to weeks to months and I don’t know where it intends to go from here dragging me along. When I retrospect, I find some missing links, the fading glimpse of a galaxy I used to enkindle my being from. The realization is, that I lost my inspiration and I badly need some to turn this tide of nothingness.

I wish to reconnect with the people whose presence meant colors when things became dull like they are.

In Love For The Night

Slumber in the shades
of your locks is naivete
hence I walk deep in
to the core of your soul
to heal my dreams away
from the piercing claws
of the sunbeams.

Night, o’ night,
why can’t you fight
that big, burning beast
who gnaws at your dark self
bit by bit, reducing you
to nothing.

Unlike you, I won’t
expose you to the perils
of the day; come dwell
in my craving chest
till you gain enough might
to wipe the false purity of white
off the face of the earth.

Death Of Ideas

My laments on the states of ‘poemlessness’ or ‘writers block’ have become sort of cliche as I still crave for a smooth flow of ideas to my mind onto the pen and paper. Every now and then I try to break those shackles but the results seem way below my satisfaction. The poem below is another of my desperate efforts with the same result, I fear. Whats different though, is the amalgamation of a Chinese proverb in the poem, that says ‘Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come’. My usage of the idea might not seem appropriate but what else is? So I’ll keep my fingers crossed for better things to come.

In a desperate state
I laid the brain-trap
to catch any of the
ideas flapping
around my thoughts
fanning my longing,
evading my lap.

A poem-bird
came perching
to pick a speck of the
scattered grain
ignorant of the snare,
was entangled;
it writhed and bled

before falling dead
adding to the carcasses
of a few more
lying on the cold floor
of my mind.

Had I grown
a green tree of wisdom
in my heart, I would be
a happy abode
for the singing
birds of creativity
rather than a graveyard
of broken muses
that I am.

The Blank Diary

To similize the protagonist’s life to that of an un-attended diary might not be an apt analogy, but the thought came when I looked at the blank pages of the diary I keep rather unwritten. I’ve been treating my diary badly for not sharing with it things that it deserves but the blame should go to my inability than desire; I’ve been hit by a bad bad expression block for quite some time and the things I pour every now and then on this blog are desperate efforts to come out of it. This poem’s no exception. I’ll definitely like your comments for improvement.

A diary book famished
for a feeling to reflect,
I turn page after a blank
page of existence,
each the passing day,
yearning to absorb
your woes,
to preserve
your bliss.

In the pitch dark
your stare draws
a silver streak of hope
over this heart
but the words
I need, lie frozen
in your arctic self

I wait for
a climate change
to melt your thoughts
in a flow of words
towards me

and I’ll ever adorn
my being with the
gems you’ll express,
till I’m placed
in the archives
of the past.

Cherish, Not Consume

In obedience of a caprice
you tore apart the wrappings
(textured with dreams)
and got hold of the essence;
a red, throbbing, present
that I sent you
quivered with fear.

Your erstwhile slender fingers
(that often mingled with mine)
shaped into piercing claws
as they clenched my heart
and held it to the Vampirish teeth,
(smiling, symmetrical)
which sucked it in your gluttony.

The urge to feed on love
manipulates your lovely features
as you move from sanity to craze
and crave to devour more.

Gifts are to cherish, not consume
for the reservoir might run dry.
Preying on others’ emotions,
to satiate your self-inflicted hunger
may weaken you within
and I don’t want you to crumble.

Union Of Souls

Our longing gravitates
as much as the separation
widens and our souls
step out of their shells
to meet in the celestial heights.

Entwined in ecstatic trance
they satiate with the purity of bliss
before a glance at our parted bodies
stimulates their altruism for the grieved.

Our souls re-enter
their momentary abodes and
sprinkle the magic they hold
to soothe our craving bodies
until they themselves lose
their essence.

And the urge to rejuvenate
takes them by the hand
for another embrace.