He held her close…

He held her close and she lay her head on his chest. The silence competing with the tension, till the latter could no longer bear it. Counting three breaths, she mouthed, “Are you sure we’re not lost in ourselves?”

He held her close and she cuddled up to him, like a koala baby and its mother. In that moment, nothing could shift attention from a bond, formed over distance, over texts, over a forged, genuine love. A bond, now released to temperaments and the intricacies of the human connection

He held her close and they experienced a feeling so familiar, previously emanating in waves, now static. This was home, their home. This love had traveled and finally arrived at its final destination. Sunflowers had always been her favourite. Today in full fictitious bloom, they gave their approval. Joy has cometh

While Minding My Business

A fortnight later

And he’s gifted me

A glimmer of hope

This, while simply minding my business

He could be the one

But he often disappears

Then I’m left to ponder

My only warning, being a moment’s notice

Then he reappears

As if to make amends

My heart jumping with joy

As if to tell me, “Didn’t I say so?”

Who does he think he is?

Leaving me in disarray

Telling me about his day

Then gone in a whiff

I better stay calm

Guard this heart of mine

Lest she warms up to him

For the grandest of falls

A fortnight to come

I may be left morose

And so maybe it’s time

To dish out my trusty detachment

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



Here’s a tale about one mango,

Whose end was not in a basket of fruit.

Green with envy, he originated from the town of Bissau,

And wished that soon, like the golden ripe, he would be tended to.


As days passed, he watched and anticipated,

Craving admiration, from the garden’s horticulturist.

But the story was unchanged, he felt unwanted,

And in harvest time, he was always missed.


When eventually he was ripe and in his prime,

He swayed with pride, gloating before the ‘still green’ others.

The fruit basket evaded him, though it was time,

And his impatience grew, and greater were his wonders.


He would swing about behind the leaves of the tree,

Trying to be conspicuous enough so he could be plucked.

Till one day, he made a fall, landing among the weeds,

And his efforts had only brought him the hardest of luck.


The fruit basket was nothing now but a dream shattered,

And he lived in shame, under a pile of dead leaves.

Such was the fate of a mango, overzealous,

And sadly many are ‘mangoes’ in this life of dreams.


Eventually – Part 2











Eventually is a song I sing to myself

The stars will align just for you and I,

For now I walk the miles with baggage to repel

You’ll hear the song’s end and understand why


Eventually is a pretty shell that reminds of you

Invaluable treasure resonating a heart’s story

Dejected and downhearted, days have you blue,

Long may the wait be, to know you’re right for me.


Eventually is a door waiting to be unlocked

Each day checked with undying hope

It remains unopened till destiny is chalked

Something will have to give, but for now you must cope.


Eventually seems like the universe unending

Change is due but your affection it has yet to claim

If you must let go, spread out your wings,

For I know not how long till we rekindle the flame.