I can't tell you a joke or make the table laugh I can’t impress you with sass or give you a witty comeback But when I try I repeat until I’m heard I can’t tell you a joke or make the table laugh I sure can explain one But when I'm told, hey, it’s … Continue reading I can’t tell you a joke
you want to express, the inexpressible you create a new note and write it out at random the thoughts, the raging emotions but midway, you stop - fear overshadows your words this is too personal to share, you think they'll know, everything, the who, the what this is obvious, you think - so midway you … Continue reading To the drafts that never make it
On Father's Day, for dad. Walking the World's End Trail is my best memory with him in recent times. It’s at this trail where I realised that he’s playing an added role in my life, that of a friend. My best travel bud. Even when I’m with friends, he’s the first person I call … Continue reading For dad
Do look back You may not know Where to go next What's behind you Will show you The way, forward Do look back Good things, May not be ahead Do look back You may realize What you've left behind You're not better without.
The process of letting go is a lot like a vacation withdrawal You're stuck in moments, you didn't think would pass in towns, you never wanted to leave in memories, you don't want to forget with the known, you're afraid of what's to come with the comfort, you know what was back then in a … Continue reading For what was.
I remember. It was around 11 pm. Mom asked me to quickly come to the drawing room. The lights in the room were off. He always switched them off when he sat in his rocking chair at night. Mom was standing at the entrance of the room. She asked me to listen. He was sitting … Continue reading From the Rocking Chair (1)
Out of the shower, Brushing my hair, I see strands falling onto the floor It doesn't irk me as much anymore The mind won't rest, I know I pick up the strands and it hits me then, Out of nowhere, the dreadfulness, of what? I wouldn't know I shun it away, It's nothing, I … Continue reading Intuitions
I don't think I'd like mangoes if not for her. In all honesty, some days I hate having them. She enters my room with a plate full of nicely cut mangoes, twinkling eyes, asking me to taste just one. Oh and every time she promises that the new lot tastes better and different. Some days … Continue reading On Mangoes and my Grandmom