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New year, "New beginnings"

First things first, a big sorry to everyone I hurt last year. I genuinely hope this year I can make more people smile. That said, I’ve never fully understood the idea of a “new beginning” just because it’s a new year. Isn’t every new sunrise a new beginning? If so, why don’t we celebrate that instead? They say the present is called a present because it’s a gift. Something we’re meant to live and enjoy. Yet by January 2nd, life goes back to the same routine. Nothing really changes. We just change the last two digits while writing the date. People carry so much stress and worry, yet still follow silly Instagram trends like eating grapes at midnight , hoping it’ll magically bring them love. Aren’t humans a little funny sometimes? (Yes, I did it too. And yes, I laugh at myself.) My mom always says how you behave on the first day of the year decides how the rest of it will go. That makes me wonder: if we can celebrate and smile so freely on one day, why don’t we try to keep that smile ...
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The End

 Good day, dear reader, if you're still here, reading this. This isn’t a poem or a quiet confession, just a simple announcement. I’ve decided to step away from writing, not temporarily, but for an indefinite period until and unless that deep urge to write returns, the one that once made it feel natural to put thoughts into words. It’s not an easy decision, and yes, there’s a quiet regret in saying this, but for personal reasons, I’ve chosen to pause. To anyone who has ever read, related to, or returned to this blog, even silently, thank you. I don’t know if this space will ever be active again, but if it is, I hope it’s because the words came back on their own, gently and honestly. Until then, take care of your own stories, because they matter more than you know.
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Home

 What’s the place where you can’t sleep? You can’t cry, you can’t weep. You can’t smile, you can’t dream And being appreciated? Forget it. Who are these people, veiled in lies, Acting like they care, But only about themselves inside? No, it’s not a room Filled with faces unknown. The red eyes belong to our dearly “own,” Ready to drown you in their screams, Ready to cage you in their dreams.
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The Red Skirt

  Words like knives on her nape Haunt her days, shatter her nights. A sense of void Within her gut Wrenches her soul Tangled and tight. Hundreds of hands Offered for handshakes, None that open their arms. Taking the words, She weaves a skirt, Adorns it with red. Too faint to paint her wrists, She clings to the skirt And the ache it brings. With every cut, from the skirt Her smile grows wide Walking into the roads Bleeding and quiet  
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To the guy I saw in my dreams

 Yes, I don’t remember your face perfectly only the blur of something warm, like a half-remembered song I wish I could hum again. Yes, I was silly, never asked your name, in a store that smelled like dust and detergent and quiet shelves that didn’t care we were there. But still— butterflies. The real kind. Wings that fluttered from your glance to my gut. And I swear you felt them too. Our eyes spoke in glances too loud to ignore. The wind kissed your hair, coffee skin caught in flickering light, Acne kissed your face, not something to fix but something that made you real. I was stupid enough to hand over my Instagram ID, not smart enough to ask for yours. But maybe that’s just me. You weren’t some fairy tale. No shiny armor, no prince pose. You were just you. And that was enough to make me smile. No roses bloomed at our feet, but your presence was enough. And yes, I’ve been ridiculous ever since checking my phone, just to see your name pop up.
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Barish

 (PS: It's a raw poem with bare minimum rhyme scheme, it just popped up in my mind, so yeah, it's fine, it gets more criticism than others, yet I hope y'all still like it) Yeh baarish bhi kitni ajeeb cheez hai Kisi ke liye chai aur pakode ka mausam, kisi ke liye bas bheeg jaane ka darr. Kahin pyara bhara kahin sirf kapde sukhane ki kich kich. Zyada ho jaaye toh baadh, kam ho jaaye toh sukha. Aur agar beech mein ho, toh log yaad bhi nahi karte. Log toh baarish se bachne ke hazaar tareeke leke ghoomte hain kabhi chhat ke neeche, kabhi chaate ke tale, aur kabhi seedha kaam se bhaag jaate hain. Par ek cheez hai, jo kabhi nahi bhaagti. Na kabhi shikayat karti, na kabhi bachaav chahti. Bas khadi rehti hai, chup-chaap. Mitti.   Ane na ane ka shikayat nai Bas intezar Barish aye bhi toh uske taal mai mehak jati  Kaam ho ya zyda Rang na toh bas pani ke rang mai hai  Lekin agar yehi barish pyar hoti? Logo ke hato mai chata  Apne kaam se ghume bhatke Aur kuch log  Bas ...
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Pretty Eyes

 World full of masks  some shaped like home. Familiar smiles, voices you’d bet your back on. They nod when you speak, but feast when you leave. Laugh with you, then laugh at you. You’re the bite in their next chew of gossip. "Eyes say it all", they say Yet cement theirs with care Cold behind the shimmer, Intent wrapped in glare. Likes in lullabies But knives behind the smiles So you wear your silence, And just nod to survive.
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Kagaz aur kavi

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  Kabhi shabd sunta, kabhi jazbaat. Kabhi chup rehta, lekin mehsoos sab hota. Aadat si thi logon ki kahaniyaan sunne ki. Samajhna mushkil tha, Par phir bhi har baat dil mein utar jaati thi.   Jab sab paraye lagte, Wahi ek saath hota. Haan, sa nazuk tha Kabhi kabhi doosron ke dard ke tale toota Lekin kabhi kisi ke liye bura nahi socha.   Haa, kabhi kabhi kalam tez chalta, Lekin har lakeer ke neeche kuch daba hota. Kahaniyo ki jaddo se kuch na kuch bunne ki toh adat thi   Kisi din kahani, kisi din kavita. Lekin jazbaat rokne ka khyal, kabhi na aya Haa mana kalam thi bhari kabhi Lekin logo se usne woh bhi chupaya Sunta sab tha, pal pal Lekin rehta khamosh tha   Waqt ke saath purana hona hi tha Kuch kone murjhaye toh kuch mite Lekin likha jiske liye tha khas tha Haa, woh mamuli sa kagaz tha Par uske khamossi ka ehas tha
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Why, if we knew?

Predictions are a normal part of us, guessing the next plot twist in a movie, or what marks we’ll get on a test. And most of the time, if we’re being honest, we’re right. If we’re logical enough, we usually know how things will play out. But no one tells you how dangerous it is to be right about your own heartbreak. No one tells you that sometimes the most painful part isn’t being left on seen, or being ignored, or walking past someone a hundred times hoping they’ll just look up once. The worst part is knowing it all in advance. Knowing this crush wasn’t going anywhere. Knowing your messages would sit unopened. Knowing you were signing up to hurt, but still doing it anyway. We set logic aside, ignore the signs, and let our softest parts take the fall. And when it happens, we don’t even get to say, “Lol, didn’t see that coming.” Because we did. We always did. So why do we still walk in with our eyes open, Knowing how it ends?
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Cakes

 I used to love cakes. Chocolate, mostly. Simple, sweet, easy to love. Now, I think twice before taking a bite. Not because I’ve stopped liking the taste. I still do. But somewhere along the way, the joy in it got replaced by guilt. People talk about body image like it’s about filters or magazine covers or influencers. But sometimes, it starts closer. Sometimes, it starts with someone, too close, pointing it out before you even notice it yourself. And not directly through side comments, looks, or the kind of silence that suddenly makes you feel too visible. It’s not just about food. It becomes about control. Saying no before anyone says something. Acting fine. Smiling through it. And pretending you're unaffected when the truth is, you've memorized every word that made you feel like too much. Yes, pressure can create diamonds. Everyone loves to say that. But sometimes pressure doesn’t build anything at all; rather, it breaks. Sometimes it just takes the fun out of cake. ...
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