I was expected to not dream,
To not think beyond a certain point;
To bury all my ambitions and hopes.
I was told they’d never come true,
That I never deserved it all.

I was living in a room
That was forever locked,
A room from which I had no escape
And despite all my trials
My desires always stood ignored.

It hurt me at times,
With a powerful ache in the heart.
Yet other times I found,
A little inspiration to continue dreaming
And to yearn, for them to happen.

One such time, I found hope
Hope gave me strength
Told me I’ll win this fight,
Fight against people I love
The same who failed to love me back.

It asked me to fly away
As far and high as possible
With wings that I assumed to be clipped.
They were in fact hidden,
Too scared to emerge from within.

The door was never ajar,
But I learnt; door wasn’t my only escape
So I went over to this window
From where I once used to dream
Dream of not being caged,
Not Confined to a room
I dreamt of flying
And here I was in front of the window
With the strongest pair of wings,
Liberated and ready to soar.


PS- That blurred thing the last photo is a bird, that flew away before I could click another photo.

Birds are meant to fly, you see; and absolutely nothing can stop them. So can we, if our grit is strong enough. All we need is strength. Strength to believe in ourselves and strength to keep going despite obstacles.




The Road Taken

   Every road we choose is a new lesson, new experience. What I found in this road I took is an answer to almost every other uncertainty of life. 

The choice lay there,                                           Right in front of her,                                     Between two paths.                                               The best of which,                                                  She hesitated to choose.                              Neither could she decide,                                    Nor had the ability to infer.                              What the universe conspired,                          When she seemed tired. 

She took her time.                                           Analysing each road.                                            And every other curve,                                          On how it would mould,                                      And gift her a dime. 

There came a point.                                                She knew it clear.                                              Which path to choose.                                        And which to avoid.                                               Yet she stood there,                                    Waiting for destiny to pull her.                 Towards that one road                                           She was hesitant to choose. 



The Road Taken

A Good Match

       Ever wondered how many words you would have written down till date with this instrument called pen? Although with the invent of digital means, the usage has reduced significantly, this was the same pen we use to try and hone our doodling skills with. All of us do this even now; just the frequency has somewhat reduced. Here’s one of my most recent doodles. 

     The favourite page out of all would have been the last one where scribbling seemed to be a right and the page never looked good if it was empty without any ink marks. It was in those last sheets of the notebooks that perhaps, artists were born. 

      Even today, it feels good to see people buying notebooks. It makes me realise that however digitally developed we all are and however environment conscious we are, a paper has become such an integrated part of our lives that it is almost impossible to stop using them. The value of paper, whether it is a certificate you receive or a medical prescription, everywhere is essentially high. 

       ** And a book and a pen are still, the best match ever.**

A Good Match



​ Do your demons hide in here,              Right inside your shadows;      Throughout the day only to be        Visible in the moonlight of the night;  While the stars glow the brightest      And the galaxies are crystal clear;    While the sky welcomes you                    To its own Paradise up there                    Where a magical world awaits                  To give you a taste of all the love,          All the compassion you always gave.  And never for once, received back.    

 The gifts, perhaps will be given,              To your shadows while you sleep,      Only to reach you in the morning      Gifts of care and concern, of empathy    That provide an everlasting promise      Of staying by you, through the roughest day,                                                  To give you strength to be the toughest. 

 It is then, that your demons                  Will show their true faces                    Hiding in your shadows,                          How they held the laces                              Of your young heart                                    And that innocent soul;              Protecting throughout like a saviour,  Fighting throughout like a warrior.

 The demons were in actual,              Angels probably; while your shadows    Were since forever their home;                     The heaven. 




Essence of Solitude

     Our lives have been cages filled with burdens and obligations. Each day, we wake up, work till the ergophile in us dies, come back home and get ready for yet another such day. So monotonous is this life, so busy we get with this same  lifestyle. I wonder what at all is there in this robotic life that people choose to follow it with such craze. What could it be that everyone of us think of nothing more than following a conception which adds to a grievous concern in already difficult and challenging lives. 

     Why do we not want to ever go against this and for once try living in our terms? Like a person and not animals who follow the herd. Like a bird that just came out of the cage, that sense of freedom; the liberty of not having any obligations whatsoever except that of living a free life and enjoying every moment. 

     When Robert Frost said

  “and I – I took a one less travelled by,

 And that has made all the difference.”

 he certainly did try his best of letting his readers know of the opinions he held and how his one difficult choice mattered the most to him. He was alone in the path and expresses that decision making capability we all probably run from. 

    I have a very good explanation here to account for this fear in us. We have always been told what to do, and have for most of the time agreed upon them. This has been happening on so many levels that we seem to have lost the ability to decide things solely. When this suddenly is altered; honestly we get confused and perhaps lost. It’s difficult to be patient till the adjustment occurs. 

   Even the bird freed out of the cage appreciates the freedom only after it knows the next step forward; after it calliberates to this new environment. 

   The moment you experience this self realisation, you attain a different perspective of freedom. You realise that the farthest you could go is towards the depth of solitude in this lone path of yours.

   Solitude is nothing but the encounter after your realisation of your liberalization from the cage you were captivated in. That freedom you always were thirsty of. 

    Solitude is like the moon that the bird aims for; after it’s disenthralled.