Comet | A Poem

It was comet
that lit the sky.
It ran, and ran, and ran,
but its motion couldn’t contain.

A comet in search of a planet,
but alas! it missed it again,
for a hundred years of solitude.

It was a comet
and so it flew,
words and worlds on fire.
But the people who looked up
they, barely knew.

It was a comet
and so are we,
maybe we will all collide some time.

It was a comet.
It was a comet.


What is writing for me? Perhaps a grasp of the world that I can’t understand, an imagination, an escape, a learning vortex. What is writing for me? A moment to understand the universe inside of me.

30 Minutes of Traveling: Deep Fried Crunchy Samosa

I told myself it’s okay to
want to go all by yourself,
to take little chances to discover
pieces of you scattered here and there,
to have people stare
when you’re sitting there
waiting for no one in particular to appear.

I want to eat a samosa,
that deep fried crunchy samosa
I’ve always loved,
as a child, as a teen and as an adult. 

I told myself it won’t rain hard,
drizzles are merry times,
that sprinkle your shoes with a little water.
Even if it does rain
home is nearby. 

I told myself it is okay to explore alone,
to walk the roads you’ve walked with others,
newly blacktopped roads
welcome me with narrow bends.
Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all.

I want to eat a samosa,
deep fried crunchy,
but end up ordering its variant.
Right after I lay my eyes on it,
it feels like a bad idea.
Yes, it was a bad idea.
I hurriedly order a lassi
to improve the taste,
I end up receiving a drink
with sugar particles instead.

I tell myself it’s okay to make wrong decisions,
food is a little thing,
there are mountains to conquer.
All this for a deep fried crunchy samosa.

On Happy Endings

Oh I love happy endings. Who doesn’t? They are nice and sweet, leave you with the fuzzy warm feeling inside. They make you oh-so-hopeful. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. But its representation as the final and fatal is likely to be less than sweet at times.

The one thing straight forwardly wrong with the happy ending representation is how it overshadows the entire process, the journey. In an on going universe nothing truly is final. It’s a journey.

Happy ending is an outcome, of actions we take. But how often do actions know where they are headed to?

This representation of happy endings as the all-end-goals have us seeking for resolutions in the most desperate of situation, and we’d get sad when the ending isn’t pretty neat before the credits roll. Of course we’d be sad, we have projected a piece of ourselves into the character on screen, or on the page. Loose ends pinch us, because we have a lot of loose ends all over ourselves.

Over focused happy endings take the charm away from the entire process, tying our actions to an ultimate outcome which is supposed to be ‘happy’ and an ‘end’. But think of a time when you couldn’t take the next step itself. How would you imagine the end, no matter how happy? You’re in between moments, soaking in time. Maybe there’s no need to tie the ends sometimes, maybe they cannot be tied at times.

We’re here in between, in the middle of a nasty process of trying, failing, learning, leaving, moving, grieving, overcoming; in between transitions waiting to take the next step. Maybe we already have, maybe we haven’t. It isn’t in the end.

Begin Again

A beautiful day
is ending,
let the night rise.
Look at the moon
and the starlight.
How would you know
its beauty
if you didn’t let go
of the day.

A beautiful day
is ending,
for another shall begin.
Maybe we shall
see all of the lights
again, far away
from here.

When you see them,
your eyes will burn bright.
And I hope you will
think of me, again,
even if
for a fraction of time.
I shall for sure,
because you’ve
always been here,
in my sweet memory.

I will think of you
as a star in my sky,
and as we move
in directions
that are different,
I will pray for the best.

If stars stayed together,
we wouldn’t have
constellations
to look up to.
We shall make a good one.

We are all star dust,
after all.

It will begin again.


Some things can’t be said, I’ve realized. My throat runs dry, I forget. But they can be written. They can always be written. I will try to write them.