When hot chai, Spills on your hand, The first feeling is, It's HOT, And the next feeling is, The numbness, Of your hand, As you hold it under, The cold water, And you start feeling the coldness, React with the numb hotness, It then burns and burns for another hour or so, Turns red, sensitive to touch, And it simply hurts. But today when chai spilled on my hand, I not just felt this, But I also felt the pain that I felt, Years ago when I spilled chai on my body accidentally, I

Was it so easy, For him, To leave, Like the conversations, Never had happened, Like everything was, Just in my head, Like it was easy, For me to be as authentic as I could be, Only for him, To leave, So easily.

You don't realize the weight, When you're carrying it all alone for a long time, Because it has been always this much, And more sometimes, But you have got used to it, Because there is no one else to carry it. And it's not that heavy, you know? You say this nonchalantly. Until one day, Someone asks you, Is it heavy? You say, what? Like you've forgotten, The weight that is always there, And then it all comes rushing back, The volume of it, The depth of it, The weight of it, He

We are like an ongoing conversation in the universe, Like poetry, Of everlasting metaphors and rhymes, Of meter and verses, That go on forever, Without stopping, For we are an ongoing conversation in the universe, Like a book, With unlimited chapters, From your perspective and mine, As we write new chapters, That go on forever, Without stopping, For we are an ongoing conversation in the universe, Like a story, That has somehow started, But has no start, middle and end, But go

This was going to be about, Another rant of mine, About how someone came in my dream, And how I miss them so much, Still, after so many days, still, Until I saw a Twitter thread about, Someone losing their partner, And how their home doesn't echo with her laughter anymore, And then I stalked his account a little more, To understand what really happened, And there were instantly tears in my eyes, To see him remember all their milestones, Vacations, wedding anniversary, last da

Everything hurts, Including the clenched fist, That somehow makes me believe, I am strong. But I open my hands, Towards the universe, To release tension and accept my power, As I slowly, Breathe in the air around me, And putting myself straight in this moment, That I can control, Rather than letting it control me, Like it wanted.

The mountains ask for a price, To come visit them, Where distances are calculated in meters and altitudes, And price is calculated in strength of body and heart, Which is why sometimes it's too expensive, To pay the price, Because the body can pay, But the heart is broke, In every sense. explanation of heart is broke: we say na, "we're broke" to mean "we've no money" + heart is broken wala broke. fyi.

I hope that the season ahead of us brings warmth along with its coldness. I hope that it doesn't get too cold this season and if you're saying that you've to feel the cold before you feel the warmth, then let me tell you that it has been cold even in the summer with the conversations, people and places. So, I really hope this season is different in all the good ways.

Maybe its because of the weather, The coulds seem to have made a permanent home in the sky, And the cold air complimenting it, Has made this place just like a hill station. And doesn't your mind dig up, All the nostalgic memories in such a setting? That makes you miss someone terribly, And the retro Bollywood songs, To lighten the mood further, Making you believe that, Every line of every song is just written for you, For this very moment. And the world seems like a movie, An

She inspires me, To be nothing like her. Pessimist, With always a no on her tongue. Humorous, As she laughs when I fall in dirt. Hopeless, Not the kind we say in a good way. Overthinker, Who thinks about problems non-existent. Blind, Believing in everything that does and doesn't exist. Victim, Acting like one, but is, infact the opposite. Helpless, Because she thinks it's okay. She inspires me, To be nothing like her.

On days, She is the thorns, Tired from blooming, So she snaps, To protect, Her heart, To guard it, From breaking again, Sharp, prickly, hurtful, Making you bleed, Before she can let anyone, Touch her.

Remember the night I held your hand by the pinky finger, A little touch, But not enough to invade your space, That's how our lives feel like right now, A little intertwined, But a lot separated, Enough to see that the person exists, But not enough to live with them. Just like how stars seem so close to each other, But they are dying in the cosmos light years away, Yet burning as they are dying, In hope to simply exist in these final moments, With each other, But apart. There

I want to be there for her, Hold her hands while walking, Tuck her hair behind while she's talking, Smile at her ramblings, Capture her while traveling. But I watch her from a distance, As she walks on streets lost and alone, Her hair flying wild in thunderstorms, When she keeps quiet while talking in her head, As she runs away to travel instead. I am here but I am not, She is here but she is not, Then why does she feel familiar, There's something about her peculiar.

The heart feels lighter, Just like the air of this September evening, Spent smiling, Under the twilight rain, And this is what I look forward to, These moments simply carefree, With conversations overlapping silences, And laugher echoing, In lanes of this city.

I like my dreams during the day, With my eyes open and mind too. The dreams at night are too cryptic, To first remember then decode, Because why would I dream, So clearly of your face, When in reality, I haven't seen it often. So, if you're a dream, Be my daydream.

My heart is a little mischievous today, To plan surprises, To not expect anything in return, To dance on the beats of songs funky, And to live this moment like it's meant for more.

This sudden realization came over me, Suddenly yet silently creeping into my conscience, That if something is happening, Then the universe must think, I am ready to face it, And there's nothing more or less, Than I need right now in this moment, Than to live what's been happening, Without fear, Because this is where I'm supposed to be, This is how it's supposed to be.

I think, You and I, Are connected With the red string of fate. This string of red, That's auspicious they said, In folklores of far east, And in cultures Greek. They say it's tied, From the little finger of my left hand, With the artery from my heart, To the right thumb or the little finger of yours. It streches through the distances, It gets tangled in our life's chaos, It contracts when we are in sync, But it never breaks apart. I think, You and I, Are connected With the re

And souls like mine, Are forever in search, Of something that makes us feel alive, So that the light in us doesn't die, But often it requires to hide, From the wind of the world, That only wants it burn, In ways the soul denies, And so it roams, In places quiet, In search of another light, To feel a little more alive.

It's about the light, That we see on days, When everything glows, And the sky is a little extra blue, And the clouds fluffier than usual. It's about the light, That seems missing on nights, When everything seems darker, And you seem lost, In your own heart and mind. It's about the light, That doesn't hurt, It's about the light, That heals, All day and all night.