Hopping into a jump

From the nest towards home

Jumping falling falling…

Rushing downward at the speed of life

Wind pushing eyes shut

When life should have flashed instead.


Like a parting gift from a party

With warmhearted hosts

Who make you forget

That you came uninvited.


Falling falling flying…

The absolute joy of

A dream turning to experience.

Proving yet again

That doing always beats thinking.


Flying flying and more flying…

With winds breaking in the wings

Fluttering with delight

While smelling the clouds

And hear the snoring thunder

Sailing to a home

And pointing to the tiny house

As seen from above.


Love is in the air

Loneliness reaches its peak once you realise

you’ve got so much of love,

but no one to share it with.

Usually it gives way to loveliness

an epiphany that you’ve got so much of love

and the whole world to share it with.

No more analysing

whether I am worthy of being loved back

How can I do it truthfully though,

when the I and I’s assumptions constantly evolve.

Are you so different than me though

Don’t you also oscillate between this constant

‘I am so lovable, fuck their bad taste’

And ‘Why the fuck do they even love me?’

Right now this is all I am sure of

This warm glow in my chest

This joy and my lightheadedness

the jump in my steps

And this smile on my lips.



Green mornings

Of snail placed days

Where every ray

Falls with joy.

These leaves ignite

A lazy breeze

Gently it pulls

And up I fly.

On a branch up high

Of unspoken thoughts

A forgotten flower

Breathes it’s old sigh.

Tasting the first sunshine

Nibbles turn to bites

As the heat rises

Every petal smiles.


Paper without a pen

​Maybe paper exists only for the pen,

Yearning to be marked by it

Drenched in its ink within a few moments

Forever carrying its scratches & scribbles.
All it takes is a mini-catharsis though

A shot of new-age individualism maybe;

Stories don’t always come from outside & beyond

The best ones are often found within.
A fold here & tuck there

Shifting forms yet still the same

Choosing from being the medium or the story

The choice is always your own.



I used to love getting high,

Thought I could leap out & fly,

Never do I once recall worrying

What if flying would turn into falling.

What was once laughed off as fear,

Is now a way of life & called caution.

Looking up, dreaming & taking leaps,

Has given way to looking down, calculations & breathing deep.


The open skies


Do you remember when we used to lie in the grass?

When we used to stare at the clouds,

And tried to read stories in the sky,

Now you’re in your air-conditioned cubicle;

And these clouds have dispersed

But I am still on the grass.

Sometimes I wonder

which one of us is more stuck

But luckily these

half-shaped clouds always distrac