The Muse

There he sat with a glass of poison in hand,
an acetic smile on his handsome face
promised nothing but a life of disgrace.
Swirling the red liquor, he appeared so grand.
He was the color, the taste, in a life bland.
Raised eyebrow; seductive look in place,
he was ready to inspire and lace,
with art and literature, all of land.
He opened his mouth and Music sprung out,
he breathed and colors bled,
burning the Canvas, igniting the Pen!
But when questioned, he birthed Doubt,
and when challenged he said,
‘Leave the politics to mad men.’

A/n: The last line is from ‘Buddha for Mary’ by 30 Seconds from Mars, a song that inspired me with every single verse. On the other hand, the image was retrieved from


I stood on the edge of a cliff so high,
raging tides my sole companions.
Lost in thoughts of here and beyond,
at first, nothing saw, these eyes of mine.
Then, with a flash from heaven, they caught a fall.
A dark silhouette fell so low
from heights beyond the highest of peeks.
And these eyes fell too, they fell with it,
they fell for it, and there was no return.

Mine eyes, treacherous, made my feet run,
following the angel of darkness from hell.
Broken, battered, fallen was he,
cushioned on rocks: hard, heavy.
These eyes drunk in his form:
broken wings, bleeding in the storm.
The heavens flashed and thundered
as his black eyes met mine.

One look from him was enough a promise
of heaven and hell he hath been banished from.
Those smoldering eyes held the essence
of moonlit walks, of unsung songs,
of anger and love, of beauty’s disgrace.
They held life, yet mine saw only death.

He reached for my hand. I let him have it.
He smiled a sad, lonely smile,
and my besotted eyes leaked.
“Doomed are we all, aren’t we?”
A raspy whisper my ears heard,
a spark plugged through to my heart.
It beat so fast, like a drum falling.
My lungs refused to breath,
my mind rejected thoughts,
and my mouth, my poor tongue, uttered
nothing but, “I am.”

Alas, it was too late; for he had already gone
to a palace better or a niche worse,
never hearing my next words:
“I loved thee for seconds few
but I loved thee, wholly.
They may come with odes new,
but my heart will remain with you, solely.”

A/n: The image is taken from the cover of Becca Fitzpatrick’s novel ‘Hush Hush’

Freedom? What for?

Caged by my own desires:
I wanted to be alone.
An angel came to set me free;
but Freedom, I never sought.

Those other birds in flying flocks
know nothing of sweet Solitude.
Chirping hymns or songs of love,
I let them fly, I let them go.

Inside my cage grandiose,
I stay perched in my place,
thinking of a magic trick
to free my heart of its restraints.

A/n: The beautiful image was taken from


Rage rippled through my veins
when you admitted
hating my dearest friend.

My wide eyes met yours
and you smiled.
“I was just kidding, honestly!”
Your reassurances held
more conviction than
the words of an honest man.

Yet, we both knew
that ‘kidding’ was not
what you had just done.

Why insist on staring me down
with that awful sweet smile?
Why persist on serving me
when you don’t want my company?

Because, we both know
that ‘kidding’ was not
what you had just done.

You try to make amends to your faults
through jokes and laughs.
I sulk.

No one can tell when you’re serious
and when you’re not.
I’m transparent.

But still, we both know
that ‘kidding’ was not
what you had just done.

A/n: The image does not belong to me =P
It was retrieved from here :D—>

On Losing

You think of me; I think of him.
You picture me; I picture him.
You want me; I need him.
You dream of me in all my sweetness;
I dream of him in all his glory.
You hate me for not loving you back;
I resent him for not noticing me.
And we both think that he is, perhaps,
the luckiest bastard on the planet!
Yet, no one notices his sad smiles,
and no one pays attention
to the depth in his depressed Joy.
Sometimes, no one wins
and everybody is a loser.

 A/N: Written ages ago, but still applicable… =/ The beautiful art does not belong to me. It was taken from here:


I was flying so high,
up above the sky
when you pulled me down
into the sea to drown.
Care you not for my dreams?
They are obvious, or so it seems.

I was a free bird with a wish
and you turned me into a fish.
I knew nothing but swimming around,
dreaming of a sky above ground.
Soon, I came to terms with the sea,
but then you shaped me into a bee!

I had been a fish, silenced,
never a sound had I uttered.
Now, my own buzzing
gave me a headache so killing.
Flower to flower, I moved about.
Sick of myself, internally I did shout:
“Oh Providence, the cruel, you gave me nothing!
I wish, for once, you would change me to something
deserving of my Greatness
for the world to witness.”

A sinister Voice called back,
which I heard, scared, taken aback.
“Thy greatness deserves to complain as much as thy can
so We shall turn thee into a man!”

Darkness locked with Light

Darkness locked with Light

Night fell in love with the day,
her dark essence turned grey,
a red moon filled her soul,
her stars grew lighter, brighter.
Night fell hard, but days are fickle,
not like nights with the assurance
of darkness. Days-unpredictable.
So she broke, poor Night.
Her stars dimmed, blackened.
Her moon rose, turning bright,
seeking vengeance, sucking light.
Not much left of Night,
just a black black sky
and a blazing angry moon.


I don’t want to travel back to the summer,
the summer when I befriended the SHE.
So white, so perfect, so beautiful,
a faery she seemed.
But nothing perfect is ever beautiful,
and nothing beautiful is ever perfect,
I had forgotten:
Her wings had been clipped
so she stood on the ground.
I held on to her broken back
only to see those wings grow.

+++++++++++++++++Those spiky things were
+++++++++++++++++silver with tiny scales.
+++++++++++++++++So elegant, so graceful;
+++++++++++++++++sharp as knives in hundreds.
+++++++++++++++++As I held on, the wings grew
+++++++++++++++++piercing through me,
+++++++++++++++++drawing blood and flesh
+++++++++++++++++out of my being,
+++++++++++++++++setting the SHE free.

On Flying and Setting Free

You were here, always here,
it was I, who was nowhere
to be found.
I lived in some other dimension.
I travelled through other galaxies.
You are still here, stuck there.
And I? I am still travelling farther
away from all.
Let me fly, let me soar,
don’t hold me back.
Let me run, let me fall,
but don’t stop me.
With that, I set you free.
Go conquer the world,
make your own world,
or go with the flow.
Live your life as you want it to be,
and let me fly my own flights;
let me be, let me be.


Everyday, you dream,
you dream of one thing.
You wish and wish and pray,
you pray for it to come true.
God tests you and tests you again;
finally, opening doors towards it.
Then, you realise a new dream,
forgetting gratitude,
complaining of His silence.
So, He tests you again.

My Dark Angel

You slithered into my heart
you sneaked in through the back door.
You shut the door and swallowed the key,
locking us in a beating drum.
The air was hot, filled with blood,
I couldn’t breathe, and you:
you were there, an intruder,
smiling cheekily at my expense.
The drumming grew louder, faster,
it felt like death had stepped in.
But the door was locked?
And then, I looked at you:
You were death-a dark angel,
beautiful, eternal, impossible.
You were squeezing hard,
shutting off my veins—
a few beats, the drum missed.
I shook my head, I begged.
You smiled, a cold hard line.
You made me cry out.
I screamed.

There was pain—short and sharp,
and then there was nothing.
No beating, no drumming,
just dark, eternally dark.
Empty? Broken? Hurt? No!
There was just darkness,
there was just an end.

Demented Reality

Sometimes, it seems everything is perfect,
you’re there, I’m here, the world- beautiful.
Sometimes, it seems anything is possible,
waterfalls- upwards, birds flying backwards,
time standing still and us- everywhere, everything.

Then reality creeps close from behind,
assuming the shape of a tyrant, demented.
Waterfalls- downwards, birds flying forward,
time moving on and us- nowhere, nothing.