Mirror #writephoto

Are those cracks in the mirror or is that just me?

Is there even a difference anymore between what’s real and what’s just a leak in my imagination?

Do I even care?

How two-faced have I become?

A complete stranger.

The lights don’t do much good either,

Unearthly rays pass right through me,

Creating a sifted halo around me that does not belong.

My existence feels inconsequential.

Yet, a victim of narcissism’s muse.

I get sucked into my own reflection

Drowning in the pool to become one.

Linking up with Thursday Photo Prompt at Sue’s.


Restful (or Less?)

24 hours in a day – How royally do I waste it?

Sometimes, I manage to draw some semblance of good out of my day. I ate healthy, I had a stimulating conversation, I delivered a good piece of work, I worked out, I wrote something, I ran errands, I cooked a great lunch. Whatever. Something to make me feel good that I didn’t let the day go waste.

Nothing to write home about.

Many nights, even though the sleep comes easy, I find myself wondering what on earth did I accomplish in the 16 waking hours of my life that day beyond browsing Etsy and Buzzfeed! (No offence to either). What’s the word I yearn to use?

Constructive. Or Productive.

Funnily (or not), I hesitate to use those words out loud. Story time: I was 15 and on a school trip – an overnight to a village in Rajasthan. We were sitting at this spot all afternoon. Gossiping and playing cards. I became restless with the inactivity when there was a world to explore outside the guesthouse (or so I imagined). I just voiced out this one line in frustration, “Let’s just go and do something constructive, guys”. I never heard the end of whatever came through the laughter. The boring studious girl had spoken the boring studious lines as usual. Even my close friends couldn’t help a chuckle.

Till date, I am surprised by how easily that mildly mortifying feeling comes back to gnaw at me.

The point of my rambling is that I always get restless if I have not done SOMETHING! I can’t just let things go. Even on a holiday, I cannot relax and keep feeling wasteful. I wonder about the dozen things I could have done differently, to show something for my time and leave behind a piece of worthiness. To whom, is a very good question!

I don’t know. I don’t have any answers. Just a long list of could haves, should haves and would haves.

Put me out of my misery, will you?

Journey #writephoto


It will always be about you and you alone,

However extensive, immersive and convoluted the path maybe

In the end, only you can face the song of your salvation.


A journey that has twisted and broken the bones,

Before spitting you out into the wild

Demands a resolution that only you can surface.


Time has come to confront your destination,

To leave behind all traces of society and civilization

To embrace an old friend you stopped running from.

After a long time, joining the Thursday writephoto prompt at Sue’s



The wounds sneak up slowly.

The blade and the belt catch you unaware,

On the precipice of the cliff

And the free fall into the churning tides.


You don’t recognize the relief you seek.

Is it from the intense sting of your welts?

Or from the powerful current you can never take on?

Or from the pointed rocks that tempt you to end it all….

Life of a Shadow

I arrived out of nowhere.

Hazy and formless I flitted over the surface,

Racing over fields and streaking over rivulets.

It was a wriggle, a walk, a sprint and a swim,

My personal kind of marathon.


Gradually but surely I was gaining form,

My lines became clearer and my steps became wiser.

I learnt to tread lightly on water,

But place my foot firmly on land,

And hold my breath while climbing tree tops.


With time, I turned dense and unyielding,

My heartbeats struggled to keep up.

But the last leg needed the best I could give,

I raced on,

Bearing witness to my emerging form.


Chasing and running away,

It was when I took my last breath,

When I finally met my creator

And was laid to rest.

I became myself.

The journey from nothing to something to everything. Life is not a circle – it is the most curved straight line one can think of. Inspired by a dancing shadow of a cloud.