A Selenophile’s Confession


The moon is the keeper of whispers.
The moon is the deity to the souls of the romantic.
The moon is the light for the desperate and relentless.

Unlike the sun, it won’t hurt your eyes with its brilliance
It’ll let you stare at it’s imperfections.
It’ll let you stare at it’s vulnerability as it waxes and wanes.

When the world sleeps, she’ll raise her head to guide the adrift.
When the world sleeps, she’ll raise her head to luster,
Luster for those who seek beauty in the darkness,
For those who are willing to gaze into the abyss above our heads.

The moon is not afraid
Of the dark.
     Of the void.
Of the fear.
And neither should you.


Confessions Of The Confused.

The tougher you try to be, the easier you are to break. The more you resist, the closer you are to reaching your breaking point. Make sense?

So don’t try to be tough. Don’t resist. Face it. Close your eyes and face it. Because God knows, it could have been a lot worse. There is no bravery in not crying. There is no bravery in not feeling the pain. There is no bravery in caging your emotions. There is no bravery in being strong beyond your limits. What use is that bravery when, in the end, it cripples you. What use is that bravery when, in the end, it tramples you. But there has to be something that pushed you to be strong beyond your boundaries and that something must have been special if it forced you to break free of your limits. If so, then being strong must have been worth it.

They tell you to be tough even when you are not, for the sake of others. Sure, a very noble act. But what about the toll it takes on you? You’ll end up becoming brittle. You act resilient but nothing lasts, the resilience fades. All those times. I just wanted someone to be strong for me. They didn’t. So I had to. But the blame is on me. I was stupid enough to think that no one should see me crying. Since when is crying weak? And since when is being weak bad? But if you’re weak, you’re dead. Nobody saw me crying because I was too pompous to admit. But couldn’t they dig a little deeper? No, they couldn’t. They tried. You were a fool to hide the pain. You are a fool to still be stubborn about it.

The damage is done.
There is still more to come.
Does it make a difference?
God forbid if I know.

I sound selfish and too condescending, I know. But understand my side of the story. Or rather, don’t.

Confession Of A Survivor.

Hey. Wake up. It’s time.
You really need to wake up. You’re gonna be late.
No, no, no, the 5 more minutes deal won’t work here anymore.
Come on.
Get up.
There we go.
Careful. Just… Take it easy. You’re not fully awake yet.
It might hurt a…
Oh. Shh. Shh. There. It’s okay. Calm down. It’ll fade away any moment now.
Everything’s all right. You are going to be just fine. Okay?
Good. Now, come on, reach for me. I can’t see you. You’re slipping away. Reach for me.
What? You don’t want to go back? Why?
It’ll hurt? Yeah. It will. So?
Everything hurts.
Love hurts.
Life hurts.
Death hurts.
But that never stopped you before. You never quit. You still won’t. I know you won’t.
And yet. Everything hopes.
Even death.
Come on. They are waiting. They are restless.
They are giving up. You are a survivor. Always were.
Don’t worry. You’ll see me again. I promise.
I’ll never forget you. But you have to go back now.
Come on. Reach for me. I’ll pull you through.
I’ll be waiting.


I wouldn’t have survived that day. I wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for her. The doctors said that they didn’t know how I came through.

I did.

Some call her an angel.
Some call her a guardian.
I call her a miracle.
I call her my miracle.

A Confession From Her

Someone once asked her,

“What do you think about the refugee situation now a days?”

“Well, I’m not really following the news, so I’m kinda clueless.”

If only she could herself believe what she was saying..What she really meant was that she would rather not know about it. Why should she? Guess you don’t really need to know when… When you have already experienced it. Besides, what happens in the past should stay there. Shouldn’t it?

It’s cold.
     It’s dark.
          It’s now, her life.

Where once there was a soft pillow of warmth under her head
Now lays the cold linoleum floor of solitude.
Where once she was wrapped in a blanket of security,
Her chest now lays bare with strikes of danger looming over.
Where her jaded eyes once left the on-looker spellbound,
Now just lay there, tired and tarnished,
Waiting to fall from their once high grace.
Where her hair was once was adorned with flowers and jewels,
Now appear in shambles of dust and dirt.
Where once the fire in her heart burned with the insatiable seek of adventure,
Now refused to even flicker.
Where once she was a carefree and spirited soul,
Was now a conundrum of subtlety and filled with an enigma of secrets.

But no. She wasn’t a refugee. She was just another homeless soul.
   No. She wasn’t a refugee,  just the victim of God playing humans.
      No. She wasn’t a refugee, just lost.
         No. She wasn’t a refugee… Was she?

In The Head Of Every WRITER

“Why do you write?” Once someone asked me.

“I write because I want to.” I said.

“Sure, ya right! And I breathe because I want to.
It’s because you HAVE to, isn’t it?”

“What?! Wait a minute, no!”

“O shut up! Don’t you deny it.”

“But… hufff.. fine, you got me”

“No but really, why do you write?” 

“I write because I can.” I said.

“Really. You seriously expect me to believe that.”

“And you won’t because….?”

“O come on! Out with it”

“Fine, fine!! I write not because I can or I want to
but because I have to”

“Because if you don’t then you might start choking from the inside,
  so much so that you’ll be unable to express anything at all, 
  scared that you might give up to much.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Don’t deny it.”

“But I’m not!”

“You dont write because you can, you write because you inevitably will,
even if you try to…” 

“STOP IT! STOP… Just, just stop doing that!… Please just stop.” And then I ran.
Ran with teary eyes as everyone just stared at me

When I was talking to myself.




It’s the wait really, that does most of the damage than the whole process itself. This is where the ‘What ifs’ start emerging in you head.
What if I hadn’t left?
What if I hadn’t said what I did say?
What if something happens and there is nothing I can do about it?
This is where even the strongest stumble and the sharpest start to stutter. This is where it all begins isn’t it?.

                           I know how you feel.

Even the littlest of happiness makes you later want to slap yourself because it’s just wrong. What right do you have to smile when someone you love is out there trying to fight for their every breath? Even the faintest of a laugh makes you want to punch yourself.

                           I know how you feel.

I heard him cry today. I couldn’t see him…I didn’t want to see him. What does one do when a person who is almost incapable of casting any emotion of such a state, sits down and gives up all hope. I couldn’t bear it. Call me insensitive or selfish, I don’t care but I just couldn’t bear it.

                          I know how you feel.

People come and go to give support, to say ‘I am there’ even if they aren’t, not because they want to but because they are obligated too. Of course, they would rather stay at home with their loved ones under a cozy blanket other than walk on the cold, linoleum floors of the hospital to greet someone they hardly ever meet. It isn’t like I’m blaming them because I would do the same thing too, it’s just that….

                         I know how you feel.

To wait is the best yet least satisfying option one gets sometimes. To see someone’s life go by and all they can hardly do is stare, stare and see if they go deeper down the hole or if they climb out. It’s horrendously irritating, this is when time just steps up and decides to go slow making you want to self-combust. It’s all rigged I tell you, the moment you want time to hurry up it will deliberately go slower, but otherwise, WHOOSH!! DAR SHE BLOWS!!

                          I know how you feel.

If only someone could tell me that it will be okay but truthfully, I would rather they didn’t because I don’t want to raise my hopes even a little when I know there is a big chance that life will crush it. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, the wait WILL snap back, the what ifs WILL return and I WILL be miserable, wanting everything to end, besides, how long can distractions last.

                        I know how you feel.
                                                               Do you really?