On a sultry June evening, sipping on sweet pistachio milkshake, I walked on the road, my body smeared With the aroma of a joyful revelation. The street people shielded their
Before you begin reading this poem, here’s a brief history of it. I wrote First Few Years of Motherhood – An Apocalypse during NaPoWriMo 2020. What started as an intense poem
I turned 20 on a Tuesday. Counting, counting, counting, many a year for the exact Moment of having a 2 in the place of 1, to remove the armor Of
Adorned in a shade of pastel orange,⠀ with black coils and black numbers,⠀ the landline telephone was the most⠀ enchanting device in my home.⠀ Connected friends,⠀ disconnected toxicity.⠀ Catalyst in
This is not a love poem, it’s a poem of acceptance, Of a number that’s still grappling with the burns that people have given him. One day, 13 woke up
I kept searching. All day long, I kept searching. Strawberry grounds, crystal skies. Paradises, goblets of ambrosia. Time, space, other dimensions. Unicorns, magic, palms of love. I found a path
I stand amidst the clouds. The angels bring me swan-quills And ink from Calliope’s veins. I weave my soliloquy on the parchments, And Zeus watches over me. The fairies sing
My dreams were the goblets of nectar that the night drank to its stomach’s content. The moon cradled all my secrets in its cream palms, while the stars clinked glasses