We are the children of now, Written in impatience. We can’t wait for a day to come; That day might never come. Tomorrows will be todays someday, Let’s not waste another day And get it done right away. If you wish to save some, You can
Turning around and over in my thoughts, I am nowhere near a slumber, I have somewhere to be, Something to see, Someone to be. My unrest is a world I choose to sleep in, Yet I fail to doze off Like I used to before, With a
I fulfill promises I made to myself, You think I fiddle with my toys Trying to live my toy stories? Even if I might be in one, I care for none; I don’t care when you fail to see What I see, It’s not my
I have ventured into the world of creating films. Direction and screenwriting has always fascinated me, probably why I am a diehard cinephile. You would know that if you know me well. If I am nowhere to be found I would probably be in a
Shrouded bodies, Crowded places, This isn’t the world I had dreamt of When I was a child in the head, I used to think a little more, And sleep a little less, Yet my dreams never failed To bring a future in my bed. Shiny
You are layering up your expectations, Like I am expected To run on your word. You want of me To become Your idea of me, While my ideas smother in my head. What of my expectations? What of them, you ask. Who would hurt the most
Reading The Old Man and the Sea was therapeutic for me. While there waddled the story of an old man having a hard time at sea, I chose to retrace it by mapping it against our life. That’s exactly what it is like – life.
It was the same routine. Like a daily monotonous job. That part of life we have no control over. And we are forced to sit through it brooding through what our life has become and what would it become. But that unpleasant stream of thoughts
Moments pure wash up my gate, My eyes hold rivers of faint memories That pour out one by one, Like a touch of a girl in my hand – Soft and not from this world. Of whispers sent through the wind When I was too
City lights, You have drowned all my stars! Can I hate you more for Painting over my canvas? The quiet time of the lovers, Who used to prod for answers in the vast Had a world to explore; You have smeared it with your din.