We and these wings of ours, clawed by derision flawed with division, our white pigeons that just got caged before being conceived, and never learnt to fly We and the Lords of ours, mounted on stones, preached by thrones Our divine spirits that despise the wicked embrace every denial, but never mean to try We … Continue reading Caged


In between; stereotypes and the middle class millennial

In this age full of digital nuisance, we’re rambling beneath restless heads scoured by seemingly useless college degree that never taught how to live, love, create, and give back. My dear millennial generation infuses itself with an aura of indignation and facile romanticism even though it doesn’t know how or whom to question. We’re chasing … Continue reading In between; stereotypes and the middle class millennial


With winter half-gone and spring yet to come, I'd like to think  I'd better fall in love.   Like many a times in the past when I convinced myself of being that useless romantic, again, I'd like to think I'd better open my heart.   But all the while, I'm too afraid of the heartache … Continue reading February

Cons of Consciousness

I’ve no answers to why I sit down before my keyboard and type. There’s a compulsive urge for spilling my thoughts that I can’t help but give a form. I guess I am securing myself some sanity. Whatsoever, I produced a good, dark cup of coffee minutes before, but that has already turned cold. The … Continue reading Cons of Consciousness

At your will

Promises are cancerous. I don't make any of them. Stay, but, that I'll say. Stay for a few more cups. Stay for some more time. Let's kill time, and age together. Let's draw lines in hours. Stay, If you're wondering what is behind the black of our eyes. I also don't know what, but stay, … Continue reading At your will

Comrades’ Technicolor Pants

Decades ago, one cloudy morning bereft of sun, few fathers of anarchy caught cold out of nowhere. Sneezing rhapsodies of how they should've been born cold-blooded, they devised a cunning mantra of raising the mercury forever, thereafter.   Then started the incessant beating of drums made of human skin, framed in more human bones; and … Continue reading Comrades’ Technicolor Pants

About Buddha’s nightmares

Dust is no more IN the wind. Dust is THE wind now. And masks, a new age ornamental, a trial to push death away; so similar to the ones that are almost like something that descends straight from the cerebrum and makes us who we are. Buddha's nightmares were used to not being seen, and … Continue reading About Buddha’s nightmares