…To love

To love is a sickness,

Incurable one.

To love is an ecstasy,

Of happiness and of pain.

To love is light in the darkness,

Yet at times it makes us feel the darkest.

To love is breaking, becoming and breaking, yet again.

To love is knowing what one never thought, could exist.

To love is losing oneself,

And finding, what one never thought, one had.

To love is tearing apart,

and gelling into the One.

To love is like a burning candle…melting away, bit by bit by bit.

To love is like circling around the beloved, like a moth,

Giving away to the flame and becoming an ashed nothing-ness.

To love is to love to the smallest of pieces of one’s being,

until, nothingness vanishes into nothingness…


Unfinished Letters

…And after days or weeks or months

When I wake up from my numbness

I think of you

And scribble a word or two

Sometimes I manage more

So then I write a letter to you

A long one

A letter with silent words

My letter resonates the tale of my life in between the silence of my words

But then before I finish my story

The life strikes again

And I put down my pen

To write it some other time…


I saw the lifeless body of the toddler in the arms of the hospital worker

Mud and blood mixed on the face of the child and his arms loosely hanging on the side

I saw two slightly bigger children running after the hospital worker

They too were covered with mud and blood, but looked ‘ok’

I looked into their eyes through the camera that captured their video

And the eyes of these children had questions and tears both

They mechanically described how they were playing outside and a bomb fell

In a blink the house came crashing down and the rubble had hit them

The little one of the two couldn’t say more

He just said, “My mother was inside” and fell silent and a tear casually fell off his eyes

I, being the ‘sensitive’ one couldn’t take more

With one slight move of the thumb I moved down to my timeline…

Guilty as Charged

I know exclusivity is very important for humans

Especially when it is about love

About being loved

I am saying this because, I know

I know how it feels when all of a sudden the bubble of exclusivity we create in our head, bursts

When all of a sudden it dawns on us

That the song wasn’t shared with us exclusively

Or those words

Or the walks

Or smiles

Or shared sighs

So Baba when I haven’t been able to reconcile with that

How can I ask you to…

And yes, that makes me guilty

Working Mom

I miss too much, you know

Way too much

Of your smiles, giggles, laughs

Of your angst, tears and pains

I miss too much, you know

Of your day… of your life

And then I try to paint it in my head

You playing

Or crying

Or laughing

And then I blame myself for what you are still not able to do

Such as

Eating a proper solid meal

Or potty training (partly because I don’t believe in training)

And I know you will get there too

But, you see

I miss too much…of you, Baba.