Time after time-

Time after time-

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The first time was labelled a mistake,
The second- a slip of the fist;
The third time was claimed due to fatigue,
By the fourth, I was used to it.

The fifth time, I filled up a complaint,
But withdrew, only for a sixth to occur.
By the seventh- I wiped off the blood stain,
Cold packs and analgesics would do.

The eight time, I felt oh so grateful,
There were no blood, just minor bruises.
The ninth time, I looked at the mirror,
at a person, I no longer knew.

The 10th, the 11th, the 12th time-
And my memories can no longer count;
The first time, He labelled it a mistake,
And I was blind to see It was a choice.
A choice… not a slip of the fist.


Hello everyone, I would like to apologise for my absence. Currently writing my finals, finishing soon though. I wish I could write and post and read your works, but there is only 24 hours In a day and at this point, every minute counts…  will be back soon 

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Day 5: Over Too Soon

Day 5: Over Too Soon

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You watched me grow from a 21 year old kid to a twenty six year old adult. Held my hand, stood beside, while I crashed and rose and crashed some more because, I never learnt the first time.

You braved it out despite knowing, you were not my choice. You were solely the outcome of a daughter abiding to a mother’s choice.

You stood beside me when the people I thought were my world looked at me, solely as a label. Your caramel eyes peering into mine as you declare, “You are perfect”. A mantra you’d whisper, no matter how often I needed to hear it.

You’d tell me up when I needed it most. And it hurt, and I sulked, but each time I’d secretly acknowledge you were right… secretly.

I didn’t tell you. I could but I didn’t. You didn’t get to hear me say “you were right”. You didn’t get to hear me say- I love you.
And just as we were, we are no more. It’s just me- my sorrow, my burden, my grief, my guilt and my words which I whisper to the winds hoping the carry them to the ground you lay.
I love you…. I’m sorry.


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I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.

Prompts: Day 4 (The right person), Day 5 (Over too soon).

Day 2: Idea of You

Day 2: Idea of You

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The girl who spilled juice on
A mother’s newly moped floor is
In You.

The girl who sneaked dolls to
Classes because school needs
more fun is
In You.

The girl who faked stomach cramps
Joint pain, hospital visits to escape
Detention is
In You.

The girl who’s anger was at the
Tip of a button is
In You.

The girl who soaked her sheets
With emotions streaming across
Her face is
In You.

The girl who lived and loved and
Joked and took each day Without
A care is
In you.

The clumsy is in you,
The angry is in you,
The happy is in you,
The sad is in you,
-a part of you, not the
Whole picture.

You are who you know yourself
To be.
Not the idea thrown across
By anyone,
By everyone.


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I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.

Today’s Prompt: An idea of you

Finding Me-

Finding Me-

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I didn’t know who I was and morphed into any societal version I found appealing; Alternating between personas of people who may or may not have found themselves.

I was one person until I came across someone I thought to be better; and then I became that person. I was lost, yet thought that I had found myself.

But… there was always someone better. Someone more charming, more sassy, funnier, kinder. Every corner housed someone who brought something unique to the table; I wanted so badly to be someone until I wanted to be everyone.

And when the lives around you, of the people you badly want to be start crumbling in massive chunks onto the blemished ground, you realise that you don’t even know them; Those people you tried to be. And in that moment when all around you is failing, you will be forced to look within… I was.

I found a gaping hole born of emptiness; I heard a voice faint and devoid of strength; I found a soul weak and barely there. That was all I had and I was forced to accept it. I acknowledged what I had within, as flawed as it was; and that marked the beginning of my evolution.

This (I know)-

This (I know)-

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I may not know,
The first poem Shakespeare wrote,
Or the last of Sexton,
Before she passed away;
But I do know being,
Gripped by reading,
Wanting to Die;
And learning the news,
Of Anne Sexton’s death,
Didn’t come as a surprise.

I may not know,
The exact number Dickinson penned,
Or the meters she uses in writing,
But I do remember reading,
“I am nobody”,
And I thought to myself,
She must be writing about me,
For the words she conveyed,
Hit all the right nerves.

I may not know styles,
Or decipher much metaphors,
But I do know,
To decipher,
The beatings of my heart;
The rhythm of my soul,
Which says- more poetry.
And this- I do know,
When the pen is in my hand,
It feels like home.

Facebook page: Words of a random

Stuck-

Stuck-

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The world has moved on,
But not me.
I still have the same dreams
I had as a teen,
The same visual,
Same people,
Same tears,
same anger.
The world has moved on,
Leaving behind- me.

It rained in April,
Now the weather is a haze;
The trees bloomed an olive green,
It’s November and they are bare.
The lonelies have found friends
The singles have found love,
The jobless are employed,
Leaving behind- me.

The world has moved on,
I am stuck in a scene,
I take two steps forward,
Then one step back in.

facebook: Words of a random

Another day-

Another day-

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The stars are out,
A bedazzled sight;
The men are in,
The doors are shut;
        A blast is heard,
        In the distant- loud;
Another death,
Its time to mourn.

The sun is out,
The clouds at bay;
The tree leaves sway,
In a sorrowful trance;
        The streets are filled,
        The corpses-lifted;
A scene too common,
The people mourn.

The moon is out,
No stars tonight;
The kids are shut,
There’s little sound;
         The women pray,
         The husbands await;
Will this be the day,
Their corpses are lifted.

The sun is out;
The clouds at bay,
Another day…

The above image was gotten fromTHE MIDDLE eastern magazine

facebook page: Words of a random

Poetry (poets)-

Poetry (poets)-

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She told me to write about
The one thing I owned;
What set me apart from,
The writers i know;
What made my heart bleed,
What turns my head spinning,
Bleed from your pen, she said,
The truth you’ve kept hidden.

It began with a conjunction,
The first line i wrote;
Alternating between free verse
And rhyming, i poured
What kept me at night ,
What made my gut churn;
I wrote till I couldn’t,
And made it my own.

Poetry is a journey,
To each poet, their own;
When one pens of heartbreak,
Another pens of joy;
To each their own story,
To each their own woes;
You just do you– she says,
No need to conform.

I’m sorry I havent been able to reply to your comments and posts. Will get to them soon.