The Terminal

There is something splendidly uplifting about spending a night at the airport.
The city roads are silent with only the occasional goons decorating the roads and the occasional cop keeping them company.
But the moment u cross the threshold of the airport, a whole new world opens up.
It is an amalgamation of culture, a melting point of mankind, especially at night wen travelers wait for their next flight.
Diamond clad fingers lie
Iimp at the sides as the fat lady tries to take an uncomfortable nap on the chair.
The coffee machine brewing relentlessly, infusing caffeine into the reprocessed, recycled air of the departure lounge.
Snippets of conversations in all languages provide a subtle entertainment if u can be discreet enough to eavesdrop.
People walk around with trolley. Mother feeding her little one while she herself tries to keep tiredness at bay. Some kids swim in their dreams while lying on the airport floor while others drown themselves in the flashy screens of their tablets. Most seem without purpose and yet all have a destination.
The airline crew and airport staff work as if they have no concern with the path of the sun.
Actually at times I feel the only place where the march of the Sun across the sky doesn’t matter is the airport.
In a life where running towards our own destination means everything, a break at the airport gives you a sort of perspective about the canvas of your life.
You realise you are just a tiny character that GOD, the painter painted.
There is something splendidly uplifting about a night spent at the airport.


Chapter without u

We sat around the fire
A bunch of adventurers.
The constant of the waves hitting the beach , music to our ears
Each one regaling in his story of courage humour and wit
The beer in our hands smiling to himself
Afterall he was the narrator of every emotion

I was there in that one moment
A blank sheet of paper in between a book
With no past or present
They asked me to read a poem
I flipped the pages of my existence
To a point wen my life was called you

I read the pain, the passion , the yearning
I even read the heartbreak,

As I ended the melancholy and bowed down to the cheers, oohs and aahs
I waited to taste the unshed tears stored in the corner of my eye
I waited for cracks to show up in my heart
I waited for the memories to engulf, choke and drown me
But none came

I stood there in wonderment while another had started his prose
The fire flickered
The waves sang its melody
The beer still at his smug best

I flipped the book to where I stood
I had been thrown there by you
To the turning point of my story
I stood there at the chapter called tommorrow without you

Failed attempt to understand

You know the thing about grief

No one knows how it looks like

No one knows how it feels like

Does it break your heart ?

But then there still is a hollow part

Does it make you feel empty ?

But then you sure well up

It does make you feel strong 

Gives you the strength to carry on

And yet you fall down and cringe

And howl your heart out

Grief can be stoic 

Grief can be loud

Grief keeps its head held up high

While you bow down and cry

It is black dark as the night 

It is grey like the fading light

It is red like a big flash of pain 

It is white holding everything within 

You know the thing about grief

No one knows how it looks like

No one knows how it feels like

Burdens of being a child


Ma tells stories of her days gone by
Running through fields, chasing butterflies

When school was but a place to learn
And evenings were meant for memories to earn

When Playing in the mud Was a quality endowed
And nicks and scraps were trophies to be proud

Cycle tyres were hotwheel cars to be raced with friends
And school bag was but a tiffin with yummy homemade snack and a slate


Perched on her lap, these fairytales I hear

I run too but not through fields and butterflies they say are extinct

I race against time with my bonnie eight year old feet
So that all my competition I can  defeat

School is not just a place to learn
But a little factory for me , into perfect citizen turn

Smart class, robotics, e-learning and cyborg – my memories make
Child safe playground and sanitised sandpits give wounds a little fake

Ride to school in ac buses take effort to stay awake
And the weight of knowledge stuffed in my bag lets my backbone break

Chained to my desk I watch the birds take flight


Have you seen SIN walk into the room
He smells of spice and desire.

He walks like the lion on the prowl
Greek God looking down from his pedestal

His eyes burst into laughter while his lips don’t curve
Passion dances in those dark pools

His fingers weave stories on my back on moonless lonely nights
While his breath strum a symphony from my hair spread on his chest

His lips whisper decadence as i lie satiated in his arms

Have you seen SIN walk into the room
He smells of spice and desire.

Futility of Life

We walked down the road hand in hand
Life was a poetry to be lived
We got talking about us – our dreams, our fears and our wishes.

The warmth of your palms melted years of resistance around my heart
When we believed the heat of love will never dim,
The blizzard of life hit us.

With renewed resolve we still held hands
We walked through the storm,
To the garden of spring on the other side.

The colours brought vibrance and pride that we made it.
I looked at you, expecting a happy reflection of me in your eyes.

You still held my hands albeit it was frozen.
The warmth in my heart failed to thaw it.
Your cold glance seared a tattoo through my skin

Somewhere on the journey called life
That we walked together
I lost you to the cold.