The Best

The best is yet to come

It wasn’t today

Nor was it yesterday

Perhaps, a morrow sooner

The best is yet to come

I tell myself every day

Someday, one day

The waiting time, shortening

The best is yet to come

Said gleefully, because…

Who knows, it may very well be

Right after this utterance


some fall in love

others love the idea of love

some thirst for water

others sip champagne in delight


i’ve fallen for you

you’re a scarf to smoothen out of place strands

you’re velvet to skin

cognac to the lost weeper

tea drank by the grassy bank

a sail to brave through strong winds and tides

pot of gold under the rainbow

a listener, comforter

nurse to the banes of my life















In the night’s stillness,

As I lay,

I’m in search, and I find

Then I lose,

Orbiting this kaleidoscopic journey

They told me,

Go find mercy.



In the night’s stillness

I build an army

To defeat enemies, let them kneel.

It’s the pictures I envision on ceilings,

In bedpost territory as they told me,

Go find mercy.


In the night’s stillness

I have the best laughs

With friends in the fade

Filling the voids created in the day

We chase the moon, and count the stars

Only  just dreams, they told me, Go find mercy.



Before the sun rises,

In the stillness of the night

Come see how I search

Cry, laugh, believe, hope, work, pray

Seeking answers,

They told me, Go find mercy.


I Am The Ugly Duckling

ugly duckling











Today I feel exposed

Insecure, lashing out at the mirror

Wrinkles I see, an unshapely nose

Depressed, hating the person that I am

I am the ugly duckling, for sure.


Today I keep to myself

Diffident, I am at my lowest point.

My protruding belly, and an unsightly breakout

Unhappy, I am crushed, falling to my knees

I am the ugly duckling, here to disappoint.


Today I declare  revamping

Concerned, I feel the urge to change me

Dreaming of a curvy behind and a porcelain face 

I will starve myself in hope of a weight drop

I am the ugly duckling, I hate me.


Today I can’t do anything

Unworthy, I give up, what’s the use

Hide your mirrors, cover up your lenses.

If you wish not to see the hag

I am the ugly duckling,

But go easy with your verbal abuse.





These Four Walls, and Me














When the thinking cap is brimful,

I seize the deceiving lifeline they offer.

They hint at the cold world beyond

So I fixate, and the dark clouds appear

Slashing because pain is pleasure

No roses, no well-wishes

Just these four walls, and me.


So I close my eyes and play out the scenes,

How words cut deeper than the sharpest edge,

Head buried in my palms, happy I can’t be.

So I give to myself, what I deserve

Slashing because pain is healing,

No hugs, no reassuring faces 

Just these four walls, and me.


When too much is indeterminable,

I sit in my blood bath.

Carving scars like I’m making a masterpiece,

Adding to the collection, like it’s some hobby,

Slashing because pain is unreal

No light in my world, no more zeal for life

Just these four walls, and me


When I go six feet under,

They will remember.

Autumn leaves on my grave, a reminder,

Of what was once upright, green with colour

A tree, once tall, no more it stands.

No more life, there was no love,

When it was four walls, and me.



When The Poet Went Dancing


When the poet’s mind went blank

A thought suddenly spurred her on.

She went dancing.

She went seeking a semblance of rejuvenation

She went sans  pen and paper

When the poet took to the dance floor

The rhythm was her master

She attempted the moonwalk

She attempted the running man, the shuffle

She attempted something new

When the poet sat to rest her tired feet

There was a sense of awakening

She felt a tingle

She felt her mental safe open

She felt inspired.

When the poet had a drink

A figure caught her eye

She kept staring

She kept chewing over

She kept the image in her mental safe

When the poet returned home

Racing to her bedroom, she wasted no time.

She opened her mental safe

She opened her notepad

Opened, were the floodgates.

Halted by writer’s block

The poet went searching

Went dancing

Was gifted with thoughts

Was again literarily vulnerable

Cured by a single outing

Cured by a change in environment

The safe of the hidden treasures, she had unlocked

And the zeal for writing, was once again restored.