i wrote you a letter

when i was ten

i didn’t know it was for you

way back then

because the week after i wrote it

the universe brought me to you

that was the time i realized

there was more to us than just dirt and skin

there was magic in our intention, a galaxy within

i still have the yellowed letter

written in a cursive tone my mother tried imbibing onto me

the words aren’t straight, and the sentences make no sense

i wrote it in a daze, kept it in my book,

soon to be forgotten away

yet i can make out a sentence, that still makes me sway

“for two i say, let me hold your hand on a quiet november day.”

years have passed by, and my youth has aged away

we don’t fit the same shoes and are miles away

our realities far too incongruent, a triangulation at play

i spent my childhood in a melancholic, shy daze

yet i remember, everything about you in great detail

seven summers i spent with you, and three in wait

how your blazer was blue and mine, a bottle green

once i was ashamed of it,

i felt unclean

i couldn’t afford a blue one

but you told me green looked good on me

and i believed you, so now my world remains evergreen.

the small videos and lollipop wrappers

still fills me with glee

a digital archive for this archaic poet, dating me older and older

physically, far from you

mentally, still sitting in that chair, in a row behind you

the ground we once sat on

making plans to play video games at your house is dead and new

our lives have been changed greatly

but to me, you still feel brand new

i wish i ever got the chance

to play with you

i won’t try to pretty my words,

because we have been anything but pretty

but the memories i hold of you have been nothing short of

beautifully haunting

you would understand, an artist’s plight

for you’re too, a painter- holding onto grief

a deliberate exercise, to produce light

to make the story of us, be seen

i’m frightened by the intensity of my thoughts for you

i’m terrified of loosing the memories I have of you

the notion that you invoked this in me,

is something that chills me down to my bones

how could you ever become my home?

the human experience frightens me in every lifetime,

but like the helpless sailor, I’m sucked in your storm everytime

i could write a sea’s worth of poetry

when it comes to you

your name, to me, is a synonym for love

you’re worth the immortality of words

yet no matter how much I write, it won’t be enough

the fire, the hurt, the indifference, the love

it all amalgamates down to one thing only

your name, is a testament for all my firsts.

i wish i could tell you, how the stars love you

i wish i could tell you, how there will always be someone waiting for you

to come home

in a field, in white and green.

november winds cooling the warm afternoon under the tree.

i wish i could tell you in all the ways you kept me standing through a tsunami.

i wish i could tell you, you didn’t save me, but gave me a reason to stay.

it’s a cold night, and i’m sitting under this almost full moon

the cake has a single candle on it, and I’m playing your favorite tune

the cards told me, you once thought of me like this too

and to that i wonder, what did i do

to ever be thought by you, after all these years in exile, sitting in blue.

it was a privilege of a lifetime

to have known you

to have dreamed of you

to have seen you

for you, there will always be a light on

for you, there will always be a version of me eternally

pouring out love into your lifeform.

i’ve never been the one

to get things right on the first try

and all this grief in me

is the product of the failure that keeps me up at night

it is foolish of me, to ask for another chance

so i stay in this hurt, because even though it stings, it teaches me love

perhaps it is my penance

to hold you in my mind

and emulate you


or till I reach your height

and pray i see you once more

while we wear our masks and go along this life

wishing for things to be different

but acting like i’m okay, that we’re okay when our worlds are falling apart

it is difficult to speak of you

around the ones we once knew

through art and poetry is the only way

i can ever reach you

and i hope for us, in this world- it is enough.

the infiniteness of love that once poured out of me

hasn’t changed,

despite all that went down

no power in this world could ever change

my fondness for you

and the lessons I learned with you, from you

for you

so I carry you with my soul

love you in my mind

hold you in my heart

in silence, i love you everyday

paint you vivid, use my best paints

our lives have been changed greatly

so much so

that only in my unconscious state

with you, in all your love and glory

resting beside me

after a long, arduous journey called life

i touch your cheek and whisper,

welcome home.

to you, the dreamer

the last sunset of my twentieth year

carries a scent of pensive consternation 

of daring faith, a tiring gaze

like clockwork

peeking and preening,

beyond the horizon

for a drunken, golden haze 

where my soul believes, my purpose lays 

i see you stare.


a small number, compared to them

a big one, when i look at it for myself 

but what do i know of psyche and terra

i’m new to this unknown era 

too young for the old

too old for the young

mindlessly you murmur,

i don’t know the ways of this world

you examine me, lacing your shoes,

tossing me a pair,

bigger than the ones you gave me

when the nineteenth sun faded into a memory

battered and burnt soles

i can never wear

beyond remedy, beyond repair

a smiling labyrinth-

that face of yours,

never have i been able to

make sense of your retorts

my fatal flaw, is to live for you

i know of the pain, to be your marionette

regardless, i wear your shoes

yet i know, only through you

my soul’s wishes would be fulfilled

through you,

i’d overturn this blue

the same dream

i’ve been dreaming

for over a decade,

i’ve been screaming

quietly under the stars

in clothes too big,

visions too promising

bare feet on marble,

bruised and aching

through you is my world

brought to fruition

by this amalgamation of heartache,

lies a rest for the restless,

sleeping for over a decade

you know it too,

of my wishes

that’s why you keep quiet

when you run your fingers

over my serrated edges

to embrace these changes

i wish to bathe under amber skies

and fade into it, in a golden coffin made of light

a basket filled with memories of mischief

of a life well lived

filled to the brim, held between my two palms

the sun radiating from within

i want to be remembered, as a keeper of love

the jester with words, of pride, of being enough

i want to devour the world

and drink the sunlight

i want to laugh and love and pray and have you stay

from dawn to day

immortal moments, never to decay

no matter how hard my mind may say

so forward

towards the hazy, apollonian light

i am dragged along, with your hand in mine

i only know how to move forward

you only know how to pull me forward,

with all your stubborn might

you tell me

during my darkest nights

to gaze at the star map

dated this day

and remind myself

that two decades ago

the stars twinkled

like ethereal diamonds

when they welcomed me

on this land

to stay

i have a purpose

and it makes you sigh

those knowing eyes,

refuse to tell me why

yet, you grab on

and i feel safe

you tell me i’ll understand

your calculated silence

one day

till then, you tell me to smile

to race towards the drunken amber skies

the shadows of our nights

merging as one

to let go of our past, of what is said and done

to laugh at the sound of the demons

that once covered us

razing the road of our past tragedies

stumbling towards love

towards the endless light,

hand in hand,

we grin

as we run


Weary traveller

Has your path been rough?


Does the journey with no seeming end

make you feel like all your steps haven’t been enough?


It’s a wonderful day out, why don’t you sit?

Even if it is a mere moment, I want you to be idle.


I want you to feel the wind and close your eyes

Imagine your body to float in the sea of clouds

I want you to hear the bells in the distance chime

For a moment, I want you to breathe and feel alive


I would be lying

If I told you I’m not guilty of being the cynic

Who never believed in taking rest

Only living to mimic

The behaviours of the grind chasers and hustlers

Running and running, until my feet were beyond hurt


But one day, amidst the chaos

My world collapsed

And I fell into despair

My nerves shot, and my feet bled

The importance of momentary peace didn’t hit me until

I sat onto my infirmary’s bed and gazed at the trees for hours and hours


Life isn’t a sprint

And you don’t need to rush

It’s not a long run either

It’s a walk

A walk with no destination


You’re meant to wander these lands before you return to the soil


And while wandering, my dear traveller

Taking a break

To enjoy the view of the reality you create and live

Doesn’t mean you have to halt


Just like the way, when you write

A comma isn’t a full stop.


I lay in a field of gold

Watching the morning sky turn bold

Feeling my thoughts take a seat 

The usual cerebral chatter shushed and quiet 

As it lays its head next to me

Mind and body laying in divorced harmony 


I watch my mind fall into a dream 

And I lay awake, feeling midday rays on me

a part inside, on instinct, heals


Under the sun, gentle breezes, and seeing broken light seep past the leaves

My soul whispers a revelation 

I halt, before it dawns on me


Just by watching the world and time go by

In the silence and transitory, impermanence of it all 


I understood what it means

To exist without a cause. 

tabula rasa

you don’t have to carry your past with you

to justify your existence


in a body held together by bandages,

covered in phantom wounds that still ache

deadweights, ghosts and pain

act as cruel punishers

as well as haunting reminders

that chain you in

for ‘memories’ sake


perhaps under some circumstances

it would be kinder to have a blank slate,

no name,

a new fate.


so rip the bandages off

and let all parts of you fall 

watch it go and hit the ground

let the most wretched parts of your past

seep down, past the ground 


then, bit by bit

pick the shattered, but good parts up

like the time you sat under the azure skies

and watched the world pass by in awestruck silence 

or the day you woke up to the sun

hitting your face ever so slightly

filling you up with warmth


pick those moments up

and rearrange yourself

to start anew


you may feel incomplete

and might limp along this unknown path

not used to this bizarre emptiness

missing the weights from your past

but remember

there is so much out there

you have the whole world to see

life is a journey

you must pack light.


and one day, i promise

the empty parts of you will brim

with better, lovelier moments

replacing all the ghosts that once haunted you

soon, a new you, a body filled with beautiful memories will laugh

and continue to trudge forward this path you forged

for a brand new start




Green’s Book Club, aka FINALLY! A LIST!

hello fellow readers, i present to you, the books I was recommended by my comment section, here are 256 recommendations from various genre’s, i couldn’t find the list i had kept with the author’s names along with the books but I’m sure it is just one google search away, enjoy! happy reading!



100 Days
21 thoughts about the 21 century
A blade so black
A Canticle for Leibowitz
A Different Familiar
a Discovery of witches
An Ember in the ashes
A gentleman in Moscow
A Night Divided
a place called perfect
A tale of two cities
A Thousand Ships
A wrinkle in time (series)
Achilles vs. Mecha-Hector: A Bronzepunk Adventure
Aleister Crowley’s diaries
Alice in zombieland
All Quiet on the Western Front
All The Light We Cannot See
Amazing grace
American gods
An Enchantment of Ravens.
And I Darken
Anne of Green Gables
Aristotle and Dante discover the secrets of the universe
Asylum Series
black beauty
Black Dagger Brotherhood
blood heir
blue Fingers: a ninja tail.
Book of tomorrow
book thief
Call of the Wild
Captive Prince
captive prince
carry on
Catherynne M. Valente’s Fairyland Series
check please
children of blood and bone
Children of the After
Children of the Lamp
Closed due to love
Crime and Punishment
Criminal Intentions
Crooked Kingdom
Darius the Great is Not Okay
Darkest minds
Dead Poet Society
Dividing Eden
Doon series
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
duma key
Eliza and her Monsters
Eon the dragoneye rebirth
Fairytales for Wilde girls
Fallen Angels
Fallen series
Far from the tree
Five Feet Apart,
Flowers for Algernon
Gods behaving badly
Good Omens
Heretics Anonymous
house of leaves
hyperbole and a half
I am Princess X
If We Were Villains
ill give you the sun
Inheritance series
Into the Drowning Deep
It’s kind of a funny story
Kill The Farm Boy
Kingkiller chronicle
Kon Tiki
Land of Stories
Laskar Pelangi and Pemimpi
Legend trilogy
Little Women
Love letters to the dead.
lovely bones
Lunar Chronicles
Master and margarita
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children series
Monday’s Not Coming
Moon Chosen
Murderbot Diaries
My Brother’s Husband
Mythos and Heroes
Neanderthal Opens the Door to the Universe
Noughts & Crosses
number the stars
Number the stars
Once & Future
One of Us is Lying/Two Can Keep a Secret
Out Of Salem
Punch like a Girl
radio silence
Random Acts of Senseless Violence.
red queen
Red Rising
Salt to the Sea
school of good and evil
scythe + thunderhead
Scythe trilogy
Seraphina and the black cloak
Seven Ways We Lie
Shadow of the Fox,
Shanghai Dream
Silent Companions
Silver in the Blood
six of crows
Skulduggery Pleasant
Song of the Lioness Quartet-
Strange Angels
Strange Weather
the 57 bus
The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle
The Abyss Surrounds Us
The Alienist
The all guardsman party
The amazing Maurice & his educated rodents
The Angelfire series
The art of racing in the rain
The Ascendance Trilogy
The Bartimus trilogy
the Binding
The Black Jewels trilogy
The Bridgertons
the broken empire trilogy
The buried crown
The chaos of stars
The Coddling Of The American Mind
The Companions Quartet
The Cresswell Plot
The darkest minds
The Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy
The Day the World Ended at Little Bighorn
The Dresden Files
The Eyre affair
The Fire Thief
The Foxhole Court Series.
The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue
The Giver
the golden compass series
The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation
the graveyard book
the Greek Escape
the Half Bad series
The Hangman’s Daughter
The Hannibal quartet
The Hazel Wood
The Histories
The hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy
The House of the Scorpion
The Illuminae Files
The ink trilogy
The invisible gorilla
The Labyrinth of Spirits
The Last Apprentice
The long way to a small angry planet!
The Lord of the flies
The Man in the High Castle
the martian
the monstrous series
The Name of the Wind
The Necronomicon
The Nightingale,
The Outsiders
The Paladins series
The Pegasus series
the raven boys
the salvation sequence
The Second Life of Abigal Walker
The Secret Garden
The Secret History
The Secrets Of The Immortal Nicholas Flamel
the splintered series
The Star-Touched Queen
the stormlight archives
The sun is also a star
the tragedy of darth plagus the wise
the Truthwitch series
The Twistrose Key
The Unwind dystology
the warrior heir
The Waves
The Weight of Zero
The wheel of time series
The Winternight trilogy
the witch boy
The Witcher series
The Young Elites trilogy
They Both Die at the End
This Is Kind of an Epic Love Story
This Mortal Coil
Three dark crown series
Three Day Summer
tiger tiger
Tigers Curse
Tithe series
to be a cat
To Reign In Hell
Tomorrow when the war began
Touch of Frost
Trickster’s Queen
Under a pole star
Vassa In The Night
warrior cats
Waste Of Space
We were liars
Welcome to Nightvale
What I learnt from travelling the world
When The Sky Fell On Splendor
Where I End And You Begin
Whistling in the dark
White Fang
White Stag
Wild And Crooked
Willful Machines
Wings of fire
Witch and Wizards
you know me well
Zodiac War


whenever i feel the world is closing in on me

and i have nowhere to run, no one to seek

just these haunting words and angry tears with me

i flee, lock my phone in the drawer

and sit in this garden,

with the one i cherish and neglect the most

my soul welcomes me home


the avarice for my sanity surpasses the material greed and preening eyes of this world

and even though i am the one

who causes myself the most ache

by enabling this world to rip me apart

this soul tells me to be gentle with myself and my mistakes

and not take things to heart


it reminds me how the wrathful sun,

no matter how angry and blazing it gets,

eventually sets


it tells me without rain,

nothing that is planted can grow in the fields


it reminds me everything goes

and this world is transitory

all it wants me to do is to remind myself that


i am breathing

i exist

this will pass

and i will go on

notes on a haunting #1

I value beauty in simplicity.

but lately, with every piece i push out, every time I hit ‘publish’ here, or on Instagram.

I feel unremarkable.

and i say to myself, from time to time- it’s okay to be small. it’s okay to be content with what you have, with what you’ve made, with what all tidbits that have added onto this constitution of you, it’s okay to be the way you are. it’s okay to write the way you do. but at the same time,

I’m afraid to tell people I am a writer.

because I do not consider myself as one. and I know this a fucked up way of thinking and I’m trying to work at it. I don’t have a lyrical way of storytelling that magically flows out of my fingers and glitters ever page I fill. I don’t have an endless supply of synonyms, literary devices, passive voices and foreign sayings that I can refer to all the time in my prose and people will like it because it sounds classy, poised, sophisticated. I can try that, and sometimes it slips out, intentional or not, but looking back at it, I realize, that’s not me.

I like to tell things the way it is. I am descriptive. these ideas that float in my mind are complex, but the narrative in my head is simple. however, the world of literature is never kind to a laconic style of writing, it lacks the flair, the nuance, the elegance of a song, the vividness of a beautiful tale. an unspoken dogma of style circles me like a hawk every time I open my notes app, poking and jabbing and deeming every sentence I write as erroneous, lazy, simple, not enough.

I often feel like a joke, a sham, in comparison to my peers who have a more, traditional approach to storytelling.

and this cognitive dissonance in me is a monster that seemingly has no need to rest, because the notion of a writer that has been presented to me throughout my life is a direct contradiction to who I am at the core as a person, I feel at loss.

a laconic pen wielder whose heart feels too much. a walking contradiction.

I need to get this toxic mindset that more words=better aptitude at writing.

I want to think that, even if it’s just wishful thinking- that even though my words are a handful,

they are remarkable.



And this spring is plagued

Reality is a poison

Seeping into my dreams

My sanctuary is now a prison


Head and heart

Falling into the abyss

A hypersomniac afraid to sleep

The irony is priceless


Where do we go

When the heavens cry retribution

Love demands blood

And bodies stack up against

The dawn of a new world

So bleak yet so vivid

Interesting times, a paradigm of ignorance


Where do we go

When the vines behind our marble chair

Creep up and engulf us whole


We watch horror unfold

While soft winds caress us and the cruel sun shines down at us



Where do we go?

When the oracle laughs

With her blood stained teeth, eyes wide

For not listening?

Jabbing ruined fingers at the makers of this tragedy


Where do we go?

When we are the

Architects of our own destruction?

Progenitors of a diseased future?



We go nowhere.


Sweet springtime maiden
Hums a tune that once echoed these halls
I bemoan the faded light 
That now resides in time’s palace 
A victim of time’s deep-seated horrors
I sputter gold
My eyes weep memories
These hands fester with open wounds
Guilt conquers this grief-stricken soul
Sorrow filled air lays siege 
On empty halls, dried rivers and razed fields.
Faces of men I swore I’d never forget
Become swirling shadows in my subconscious
Grey faces march forth 
The familiar crescent, 
And chattering begins
Of war and treason
Bereaved hearts and broken lines
Blood seeps this white robe
Power covered my grey vision
And the wreaths strangle me alike
That day, I lost a fire so bright
The stars became quiet
Treachery painted the skies 
The one responsible for his end
I exist in plays, stories and songs
my glory has dents
A tale of two friends
And power that ruined them

Idle Talk

Or, In conversation with neoteric magicians //

Tell me what you’re afraid of,

It’s just us tonight, suspended in time

My eyes and your words

A myriad of somethings

That you think amount to nothing

Is it sailing the endless waters

Away from safety

Into the mouth of sirens

And never coming back?

Is it the hesitation to share

Your fire with the rest

Because you’ve seen far too many

Burn in it?

Is it the ease of shutting yourself out

To sit and gaze from a fortress,

away from the crowd

Concealed hurt, false pride

Content with the wind as your only companion

Because you’ve been hurt too many times?

Is it the dead roses

That wilt under your feet

Because you’ve seen them go

Six feet beneath?

Maybe it is your shadow

That wicked, mocking form you stomp on everyday

And pray for it to stray further and further away?

It never does; endless dismay

Or is it the desolate knowing

That underneath these glittering robes

This heart is eternally black?

Do you reckon it is fearing chaos for others

Because you know what it feels to be it?

You’re afraid of a lot of things

But I think, five words can sum up and answer your feelings:

Tell me this,

Are you afraid of living?

On Writing

A week without writing

Is like a dagger to the heart

A duty being forsaken

A wish being denied

A voice refusing to die out

My head fills up with words

Screaming, growing paranoid

It haunts my senses

Write me down, write me down

Let me exist, I am loud


And so I tell my mind

That these feelings are not fake

That the things I feel

Are worth a page

A page that I might scoff at

A month or two later

Yet when it is done, it remains

Smiling under heaps of the everyday bustle

The words lay on paper

Ink glowing gold against the dark

A cacophony of thoughts

Unhinged and far from polished



Existing at last