Skip to main content


If you are an introvert, you are likely to not open up. You just keep everything inside like a closed window, which exists, exists only for the sake of existence. Not that it has importance less than any other window in the house. Probably because it was made to be the closed window .It has its beauty in being closed. For if you see, you will eventually find at least one window in the house, which is the ‘closed window’. A window, which is seldom open .A window which when open gives you an untold happiness. You just stare at its beauty, you try to look through the view it offers. A view you never imagined would be different when seen through it. Maybe of the same old building that existed like forever, maybe you have grown seeing the building but looks new when seen through it. 

It is the closed window for if opened it would open you to the view; you would probably not stand to see. Maybe it would show you things that nobody ever thought or would have ever imagined. All you will see is deep and profound darkness. And the darkness is not really scary, but comforting if you have the patience to acknowledge it. Amidst that darkness you will also find, a flower, rare in its own way. Bright and sparkling. Like an unseen specie that you have known forever. The petals so tender and delicate, that probably you won’t dare to touch. Why only you, none would, except the one who owns the flower!


Popular posts from this blog


Off to a midnight saunter Into woods not so green
I saw someone gazing strong
Afraid to find out and lean.
I stood there still and small
Choosing between stay and move
The gaze took control of me
Telling me things none could prove!
The Fear of unknown built up
Shadows growing strong and dark
I felt a shudder in my soul,,
The thought of bygone, left a mark.
Taking a step back, I thought
Would mean a peep into the past
Heading forward being the best move
This fear will then not last.
I ordered my brain to stop the game
Gave the power to the crimson beast
I knew it would be fair and right
Former always stole the feast.
Now I was out of the woods,
Woods that were never green.
I came and saw the mirror,
The gaze I feared was mein!

The thing

Well, life is nothing but a catalogue of ideas that exists somewhere, waiting to get substantial! Take a form or maybe be loud enough for the world to hear; not as an echo but a whisper…
The thing about whispers,
Well, thy are heard yet unheard! Understood yet unknown language for many. Whispers, seldom become audible but the tunes are soothing, the feel of being unheard yet heard by somebody. More often than usual it is our own soul doing the role. But such introspection sessions are common, as common as an Unicorn on the road at the countryside maybe!
The thing about Unicorns, Well, they are magic. Magic sounds surreal but yes if you have the courage to believe in it; it won't disappoint you. Those 'serene' creatures are nothing but miracles. Wondrous souls that are created with the blink of an eye; with the movement of the wand I guess!

My sky in September

That small restless kiddo!
Overheard, shouted "Just nine"
Waited for the months to end
Till August things were fine.

It didn't bother him till eight,
September was his favorite...
The ninth month on calendar
Waited forever to savor it!

He was waiting, he is still...but
The wait became too long,
He waited, danced on one leg,
Sobbed, singing his favorite song!

The last date was the best,
He thought! Moulding the clay,
The form he made, of a face...
Much like a mask, it'd stay!

He painted few drops, with blue
A little real, a little messed up.
Blue being the fear, he trembled
Dropped the paint, it no more resembled!

What was in front, still blurred his eyes
He thought he'll manage the mistake,
He was sure he'll twist the story,
Mould it in his creative wake!

He took the brush, made it all blue,
Dropped the initial plan, thought,
"Blue is the new you!"
Still, with the heart he fought.

Heart wanted few little drops,
But what he got was more than his sha…