fledgling

Man may pride himself with the illusion of having conquered and understood every force to exist, and revels in his own ignorant wonder.  But he stands defeated and will never quite manage to fathom one such force - time. I am the witness of what is forgotten or left behind by the rest of existence, the one with no predecessor. The nameless visitor who quietly sits by countless bedsides, looking on as men shrivel, wither and the walls of their existence slowly crumble and erode, while my friend carefully loosens the soul from the case. I listen to every regret and complaint as they grip my hand tightly, not realising that I am the eternal passenger of a journey they have long completed. I am the mason who hardens cracks and dissolves distances. I free the delicate, strained human heart by befriending the fragile memory the race is blessed with. I weave thick, joyful narratives and paint the highs with more vibrant hues to feed enough joy recollecting for a lifetime, while I also tactful

I am soul, slowly plucking every lodged thorn  of bitter uncertainty  like a diligent gardener tending to his favourite germanium, scouring away the weeds caressing the persistent tremors of the soul to a calming silence. my nostrils slowly sip the morning dew, to try and heal the scalds down my lungs, wrought by my woes and help my heavy eyelids close in peace. I have undressed my soul of all fear and doubt. let the mellow April sun of love soothe and burn my newly shed, and growing, skin let my heart prepare to be tossed, bruised, shaken, crushed, broken  and mended with the most beautiful strokes of gold and silver. I am ready to be fearlessly human.

Thank you me,  For bearing with every bit of pain That I have inflicted on you. I know I haven’t been kind enough with you. I fought and wrestled, When in actuality, you were just scared and shivering And all you needed was an embrace and forgiveness. In many moments of frustration, it felt easy To give in and settle in the void, And let lies flood my head about  how I wasn’t being hard enough with you. It fills me with shame and regret When I think of how I let myself  Compare you to just hours of productivity, Checked off to-do lists and perfect grades. I failed to see you as you were - A human being with heart and soul, And a body that needed love and rest. Thank you Body, For serving me all these years, And housing my soul safely. Thank you, Heart, For thinking about those who root for you, Every time you wanted to give up on yourself. Thank you for all that you have done, And continue to do for me. I promise to protect and care for you, And learn not to abuse you for a race. Becau

  Sixteen. The year of fancies, they say. The time in life when  the night is still young and the craving of thrill, triumph and connection gets insatiable every day. May I make more mistakes, Learn from them, or if I stumble again, Remember to diligently save them in my stash For stories to be lovingly narrated and laughed over  When wrinkles shroud my being. May this year be the one In which I shred and burn every layer of comfort And plunge into unfamiliar territory And find comfort in being a novice, While changing, pushing and expanding My definition. Scribble, overwrite, erase  But make every scribble, every verse as imperfect, Mine and only mine. May this year be the one  To heal many wounds still open, To answer many troubling questions, And come to terms with the Overwhelming reality that I am. May this year be the one In which I learn to love myself deeply, Passionately, through every fiber of my being, And crack open every mould, mask, layer, That forced the vast stretches o

The afternoon break. The silent whispers would erupt into bustling conversations and laughter, with the occasional clang of metal snack boxes and desks that take on the roles of cajons for those happy fifteen minutes.  Then the voices recede to a distant blur, then to a serene silence. Some fidget with the uncomfortable emptiness. Yet, it is those quiet, delicious moments spent staring into the depths of my soulmate, that I truly long for. He is not perfect, but rather beautifully flawed.  One could never spot him on the shelves of those perfectly lit, fancy bookstores. He is not one carefully clothed in expensive black rayon and gold prints, or stitched with smooth, pearl white pages that would make any writer go weak in the knees. The edges of his paper cover are worn to mere fibres, with occasional smears of ink from moments when I was buried deep in my thoughts and let the pen go from making rhythmic taps, to weeping through the pages.  He was the shadow I carried along wherever I

I  could not even make out the sign of the camp I was approaching. My warm breath rose and misted my eye-gear, as I heaved my way up the terrain. It reminded me of the dew-kissed, rusted window by the old fireplace, casting its soft light on the soot-streaked wall. The smell of fresh, crackling firewood and nutmeg. The crisp, cold sheets brushing against my skin as I tuck into bed with a warm bowl of my favourite memories. Another bone-chilling plume swept me from the short-lived warmth back to reality. Here I was, braving one of nature’s most feared sides, trying hard to keep my human warmth intact while the unimaginable cold continues to wage a war against me. My hourly GPS readings scares yet soothes, gazing at the tiny dot I see in a vast sea of white nothingness.  Now, it’s just me and nature, a one-on-one conversation these heights are witnessing for the first time. With every trudge and heave I realise, that this is the journey of my life and the hardest test my body and mind wi