A dangerous game

I am in a game…

One I didnt even know that I was a part of…

Apparently, I have been playing for a while…

And although I have dodged some deathly blows…

The game has gotten very dangerous…

A phase akin to mortal combat…

FOR I am no one’s “muse”,

unless you have the courage to say it to my face…

FOR I am no one’s “love”,

unless you have the guts to face the rejection you deserve…

My life and my sanity is not a game for you to play…

Your respect is unworthy,

You are a worthless piece of dust…

And either I am a genius or you are a dunce,

Coz I have caught you with one word…

Perhaps you can “reckon” that…

Thick atmosphere

Mother Earth teaches many things

Sometimes with tenderness and

At other instances with violent interjections

But in the thick humid atmosphere

Of a land which was once Malaya

The Mother Gaia taught a lesson

Softly. Kindly.

“Sometimes the most profound things

Are said in the simplest of words.”

These Iterations

x equals two
then four
then ten
then fifty
then one hundred million
whatever… who cares?

x should equal two
then zero
and stop at one.
These diverging equations
are breaking me apart,
my pieces are flying off
and never returning.

These iterations never
tend towards convergence,
if only there was a way
to truly find out:
the answer, the purpose.

A little perspective…

Your mountains and your hills,
Your sunrise, your sunset,
Your waters, your rivers,
I wish I could have put them
all in a suitcase and stolen away.

There was a sweet smell
in your atmosphere;
the beautiful sounds of
your beautiful people.
I brought some of it with me.
I left some of me with you.


Blog Resumed

Hey folks…

So I have been away from writing and my blog. I had lots of things happening at my end. I tried to keep a blog about daily inspirations but that didn’t work out so well either…


I will be resuming this blog from now on. I have lots of ideas for new themes 😀

Hope to catch you around.

Her Tale – Chapter 2 (Past)

In another life she could have been a spy, but never a thief. She got caught too easily and too quickly. The good thing was she always found out when she was caught and knew how to run away. The sad thing was she was never fast enough. The tides always caught up with her. She always drowned.

A/n: I know it is more than a few sentences, but this is an important chapter in Her Tale. 

The Performer

She stood on the stage, smiling at her audience sweetly. The music began to play loudly and she moved, losing her senses to the rhythm of the sounds and her body both in sync with each other. The world was painted a sweet shade of blue and green. The people blurred out and their presence turned into distant shadows indecipherable from the dark that surrounded everything that ever was and that ever will be.

The vast expanse of the universe engulfed her into its welcoming arms and she moved into the rhythm sashaying into the arms of the mother and the father, accepting it and rejecting it simultaneously. Her existence was forgotten and any thought of the world was relinquished. Yet, there she was embracing everything with every cell of her being.

The people were cheering, but all she heard was a distant murmur of the universe beckoning her closer and closer into its arms. She walked into the darkness omitting all the light by engulfing it in her growing existence. She twirled and turned, her ghungroo bells chiming loudly as her pace took up. The audience expected something wild and erotic, something slightly scandalous and yet appropriate enough to pass of as silliness born out of innocence. She appeared to be bent on disappointing them today as her body began turning round and round and round, a hand up towards the sky and a hand down on her heart. Her pace picked up, the music already engulfed by the universe’s silence. The audience would have been disappointed indeed, but they were too enthralled to think about their dissatisfaction. One ghungroo bell broke and the chimes scattered on the stage and the other began ripping apart but she turned, oblivious.

She caught an invisible arm that didn’t feel so much like an arm. She gave in to its iron grasp. Something fell on the stage as she rose entrapped in that permanent grasp. She didn’t know how, but there she was enclosed in a darkness greater and grander than any she had ever seen. There she was flying high above everything that she could not see. There she was, LIBERATED!

A/n: This piece was inspired by a beautiful painting in one of the reading rooms at Cornell’s Kroch Library. 🙂 I wish I had paid more attention to its name and the painter, but alas, may be next time.