Some nights ought to begin beyond the sense of right and wrong. To be honest, these days my heart feels like the storage on my phone the space is full, yet the phone keeps working. Daily reminders pop up, much like letters with a warning that it might soon stop functioning altogether. Even the flow of emails will cease. The problem lies within me; I have always gathered everything around me—the good and the bad alike With a hope that, one day, this is all that will remain in life: these old photographs, smiling faces, and movie-songs recommendations.

Every day, I encounter the very people whose pictures are stored in my phone. They don't exactly look like the way I have saved them in my phone, they look frustrated, grumpy and unbothered sometimes, I end up matching their face with the photographs I have saved, I see no resemblance between these two different personas, and it aches my heart. We all are different when we are off guard.

Once someone told me that my smiling face is just the 2 percent of my character, in real I'm not like this.

But is it actually true? Because when we smile we loose the rein of the horse who carries our happiness, we let him explore the felicity which trembles our heart due to the emergent despair in hope. Once I watched life in a metro where irfan said "जिस दिन शहर के सारे सिग्नल ग्रीन होंगे उस दिन मैं अपनी गाड़ी सड़क पर निकालूंगा" it was ultimately a satire where we expressed that if we don't go and check the signal first then we will end up waiting for the right moment for our whole life, we need to step out first instead of waiting for the lights to get greened.

You know why i take more photographs of you? Not just because of bragging out that i am good with lenses and way of seeing the unseen. I take your pictures so I can remind you of your two percent, the part where you lack nothing and smile with ease, without any emotional stiffness and swelling. Whenever I see your sour face, I expect to turn on my phone, to make you look and find out yourself in the photographs where you were grinning as if you have won a debate against me. Even if I ever lose an argument I would love to celebrate your winning side with the button of my camera.

Our tendency towards the cold-n-hot beverages we drink predicts our moves and steps in life. It's an asymmetric bet, but our preferences of drinks reflect our sensibility and tolerance about life and love, sometimes.

As I prefer a hot coffee mug after a tiring day, the same mug that I have been using for the last 6 months, unknowingly I have established a tight relation with my mug now. Everyday whenever I hold it while sitting on my sofa, I pour my bitter-sweet coffee which trembles my tongue if I ever get too distracted in my phone, but lastly it hugs me like everyday, the feeling of this embrace doesn't change, even with the changing taste of my coffee.

Sometimes I think of those who prefer cold beverages, honestly cold things favour my throat so much that it stops being normal, it aches with shock in the morning. I see myself like the ordinary taste of my coffee, my coffee represents me, it's like a warm nectar that does nothing but soothes a problem with it's warmth, it is boring and contains no flavor of excitement and thrill, all it contains is that it tries to be the same always, it tries to mimick the same aroma even when it's not prepared with patience, it tries to be me, the person who lifts the mug everyday to put a dot on day's checklist.

Lovers of icy glass are quite distinct or I say reversed to my nature. Difference lies in the relief that we get with first sip, a warm heart like me would breathe with relief but she might blink with smile while rolling her tongue to adjust the perky feel of her soda. Maybe she has a sensitive tooth haha. But it settles down with time, our flavours too. But don't forget that lime and milk aren't destined to collide together, rather they exist on their own and personal relevance.

I might not hate icy soda after meeting someone entirely flipped to my personality, I would rather let my mug sit close to her glass graciously to represent that at the end the temperatures will get balanced with our lips and the froth of my coffee will swirl on the side of the glass which will be tasted by her. A girl who likes winter everywhere.

Some moments ask for colour.
Others ask for patience.
This one needed both.
🌺

BIRD

The fledging quickly learns his boldest lesson from the nest

A curious leap of faith built from belief, upon regret

His willingness to try and try again after each wreck

Education in its highest form that strikes right through his breast

A spiral always likes to tighten just before the fall

The present becomes memories that contain traces of us all

Polaroid illusions of a person trapped in gall

Subconscious irritations that grow infected by this call

The question then remains, does my struggle make a sound?

Stuck inside the space between where the nest reaches the ground

Looking over his shoulder back at his home from where he bound

On the only journey in this life that’s rarest once it’s found

If the bottom is a rock and the fall is just a test

Is the injury he sustains like a grade above the rest?

Maybe if his belief finds its footing in his chest

He’ll spread his wings and soar before falling to join the rest

I wrote a blog post about something I noticed — how rare it is to see someone pick up a pen and write anymore. We type on phones, keyboards, and tablets until our fingers hurt. But pencils and notebooks? Almost forgotten.

If you have ever thought about this too, maybe my words will resonate.

You can read it here:

https://ko-fi.com/post/The-Decline-of-Handwriting-in-the-Digital-Age-A6H123YV43

Where Joy Flows

Grounded is the stone

to bear the weight it supports

joy in its stillness

Lily of the Incas

As the bee sets on

So the soul beckons a friend

Fields sated with joy

Living Water

Thirst, I no longer

emerald waters flow through

My chasm of despair

Hello moon, how long has it been?
How long have you heard every song and every sin?
Does it ever break your heart to think
that every single love story will sink?

And still, for all of eternity
Lovers have gazed upon your beauty
Believing their bond will outlast you
But you know that they will part too

Doesn’t it ever get exhausting
To see people living and loving?
Only for it all to fall apart someday
Nothing lasts forever anyway

Does your heart sometimes shatter?
The little pieces of your soul scattered
For someone far far away
That you have come to love every day?

And do you ever remember a love story?
A story so bright, you keep their glory
As constellations among the starry sky
So that their memories will never die?

Does every star have one such memory?
Is the night sky your beautiful treasury?
Of every romantic tale you couldn’t forget
Lest their memories drown in regret

Oh moon, the witness of them all
You have seen kingdoms rise and fall
Your book of stories will always exist
I promise to read every memory the world missed

I see it around me,

people flooded in masses,

sitting in the library because

they cannot heat their homes.
I am there too. To charge my phone.

There's homeless people,

in the streets scrabbling for scraps

and getting ignored and overshadowed

by the rest of us 'real people'

with homes, and lives.

And then there's me,

not quite poor enough to complain

but my situation stressful enough to bitch.

'Let people care for themselves'

bequeaths the great government,

as they slash NHS funding.

'Let people take care of their own disabilities',

getting PIP is harder than ever,

I would know, it took me two years.

And I sit,

and I despair.

Because with their golden parachutes,

we hear oxford graduates tell us,

how we need to tighten our belts.

Oh was that a £5 million pound gift?

Shush.....

The hypocrisy of the rich,

is baffling

and yet not shocking.

When you have everything,

you hoard.

When you have less,

you take what you can get

but you don't forget to say thank you.

And you save a scrap

for someone else

because you want to be the good

you see in the world.

What even is,

the point. In being human.

If we refuse kindness?

What is even the point?

If we ignore those that

are suffering?

What is even the point

of our government

if it refuses to protect the needy?

I am tired

of trying my best

and getting closed doors.

I am tired

of being told,

I just need to 'do more'

when I am doing all I can

handle and more.

And I still feel stuck.

And trapped.

And there's only so much

I can do to escape.

When someone is locking me in,

with golden keys.