After all, what has the idea of productivity become if not a way to justify the guilt that comes with happiness?
In search of excellence and beyond.
If we don’t push ourselves hard enough for the race ahead, we’d be crushed in the stampede that followed.
Anyone who knows what love is, will not understand??
Life isn’t a Jane Austen novel and I’m not a doting protagonist.
Why I started blogging and what made me stop.
In two months, this blog turns six years old. And yes, I’m as surprised as you are.
Pastel Shades
I’m about as violent as the pastel shades used to color something pure and beautiful.
Eavesdroppers
I can’t forge happy endings, but I refuse to be the sad story that my poetry recites.
Murderer
I held a wilting flower in my hand
as it told me how I inspired it to die.
Carcass
A hollow emptiness resonated with the silence of relief.
Lonely World
We found romance, between secondhand books that, once smelled like love.
