The pictures always stuck fast, staying in spite of a hostile  reception Finding comfort in the  spaces in between  thoughts. Broken pieces of pottery,  shards of glass,  tears of  an orphaned child, the thunderous sobs of an untethered soul, the crowded silence of the  oppressed Me. Advertisements

​The outer margins of the wound were surgically traced with grace and longing. Curious, thought the knife, that there was actual affection.  For somehow in this lopsided cosmere that contrived to bring these two together, there’d been born a kind of perverted relationship among these two.  The wound, which by very definition was an effigy… Read More


It’s incredible, the pieces that survive after a  storm, How the whole gets reduced to rubble yet  those rubble refuse to fade into oblivion How by becoming minimalist, their impact  grows several folds more powerful – Crushing.  How despite the wreckage that strectches into  the horizon, those little pieces turn out to be  more potent… Read More Wreckage


I took quill to parchment with all the grace  of a schizophrenic Seeking to drain my soul onto the barren  wastelands of the sheets Praying that those same wastelands would  prove undaunted by the irascible tempest  fountaining from said soul….. The frightening rage – hoping,  nay praying,  that the capillaries on the pages have thick  enough… Read More Hope

Before I wake up and shatter this moment, Before I peel back my eyelids and unravel the threads of whatever fated tapestry that have led us to this nirvana, Before I’m left with only faint traces of this memory, And am left with the blurry silhouette of your face;   Before this all begins to seem… Read More