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Lost and Found

What do I do when I lose words ? I mourn their loss.Or even try to find them.

But they elude me.My thoughts remain unsaid. I fill my mind with them.

And one fine day,words come back. I speak, make myself  clear, not caring if  anyone listens.


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Double lives

Mobile phone. Check.
Tickets. Check.
Sunglasses. Check.
Heart. Uncheck.

Tears. Check.
Pain. Check.
His memories. Check.
Kiss of love. Uncheck.

No meetings. Check.
Wet pillows. Check.
Lies. Check.
Hi Honey ! Uncheck.

Start. End. Repeat.


I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.


The bench awaits you. No, I have not seen anyone in your place.

I remember our days together. On that bench in the park.On cold mornings, after that walk, I would always throw up my hands in despair and occupy this particular bench. And you would slowly come to me. Sit close. Put your arm around my neck and start explaining. About random things. Coax me.

I never relented. You never gave up.

Slowly I would rest my head unto your shoulders. Put my hands around your waist as if nothing had happened. And drift into my land of dreams. Some mocking bird’s shrill voice would wake me up. I never knew how long I lived in my Utopia. And you…..would entwine your fingers with mine all the time. It felt perfect. Just perfect. I would smile. And your eyes twinkled.

A rainy morning, I sat there crying. My tears mingling with the rain. You spotted them. You were my shade, my armour. Once you wrote me a poem. And I rudely passed it off as a “fling”. I could see you were hurt. Very badly. The next day I…