Rosy Aunty

There are people who you learn to fear and then there are some who you know you should fear. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out where Rosy aunty fit in.

My Grandmother’s Vivaldi

There’s so much history found between secondhand books and dusty cassettes, immortalizing the voices of the dead.

The golden age of burnouts.

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.