Category Archives: Poetry

The Last Post

I started this blog an year ago, after I had closed down the one on Blogspot (Que Sera Sera: Life of a Desi Burger). A lot has changed since then, I have a whole lot of new friends in college, I am now engaged, I have two jobs and am a lot more richer than I was before now.
This place became a hide-out for me. I enjoy writing, hell, I want to make a career out of it. And then there was the added plus of dropping all my thoughts on someone who is there whenever I need to vent. But I now have my mom for that, we’re closer than ever. I have finally found that I can talk to her about anything and everything.

My writing these days has become intensely personal, not fit to put up where everyone can read it. So I have decided to close this blog down. My poetry will remain in my diary from now on, I don’t think anyone would mind though.

I’m sorry if I seem to be incoherent. I’m just scared of what life has in store for me and I don’t know how I’ll do as time goes on.

So I leave you all with a heavy heart, here’s the last poem that I wrote (a day before Eid, for some reason I haven’t been able to write after then.)

The dead girl stood smiling

She didn’t hear me call

so I went to see what she


held in her hand.

She was smoke,

mixing with the wisps

from the candle between us.


She was dead,

a dream, my silent



Yet the note she left me

was all too real.


It said, “You

are dead, no you

aren’t alive.

You are smoke


caught in an undying storm.

You, my dead girl,

will you stay with me

till I am dead too?”


I looked at the dead girl,

at the frozen smile,

then looked at my hand.


Smoke, smoke

The flame from the candle

burned right through.


The wispy smoke

mixed with me.

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The Letter

You slipped a letter underneath the door

I read it, pushed it back outside.

Who am I but a terrible bore?


You could not take it anymore.

The silence gave you nothing to hide.

You slipped a letter underneath the door.


Talking for me is a tiresome chore.

What you took to be ignorance, injured your pride.

Who am I but a terrible bore?


You told me once it was a foolish lore

that unfinished business never left your side.

You slipped a letter underneath the door.


I read it, my eyes never were this sore

The cursive letters seemed so snide.

Who am I but a terrible bore?


I knew from the look you wore

that last time you gave me a ride.

You slipped a letter underneath the door.

Who am I but a terrible bore?

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Villanelle Unveiled

I wrote a villanelle. Three actually, but the one I’m going to post is the only one I really like. This form was making me neurotic, I swear. I didn’t want to write it because I felt I would fail miserably. (Free verse is the only kind of poetry I’ve ever done, after all.)

But it wasn’t letting me rest either. I just had to write it, the weight of it was getting unbearable.

So after three tries, this is what materialized. Criticism is more than welcome, but please be gentle. I don’t want my first born to be slaughtered just yet.


Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep

While the lady in the apron stood at the shore,

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”


I gave the ocean all my treasures to keep.

But the lonely fisher-boy evened his score.

Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep.


What you sow, the others will reap,

the waves came whispering at my door.

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”


Once, the moon was a hurdle for my sheep.

Now, it rules the tides that crash and roar.

Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep.


Don’t take me down to where the weeds creep.

Don’t push me to mend what the wind tore.

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”


I ran to where my dreams lay in a heap.

I sorted them, put them back in my store.

Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep.

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”


P.s. Changes have been made after applying the constructive criticism given by Marie.

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My Dead Star

My star died tonight.

Turned to ash;

incinerated, and the dust

fell all over me.


My mouth is full, the gritty

taste has coated my tongue.

I can not speak.


It blurred my vision, I

can not see, the flowers

you put before me.

It’s gray, all gray for me.


But stop and stare

at the periphery.

Through hazy eyes

a twinkle I see.

My star is dead

but it blinks at me.

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Tomorrow, I’ll attempt a villanelle.

Should I try a sestina too?

Maybe after I master the villanelle.

It might take ages, or not.

Speaking of which, I’ve never even tried a sonnet before.


Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll love you tomorrow.

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The Note in the Box Under My Bed

You never came,

You never came,

You said you would

but you never came.


The blade was rusting,

I put it to use.

The liquid will seal this envelope.


There are bandages besides me,

a box of twenty and five.

Four would be enough,

but I’m cut on either side.


It isn’t deep

but it will be once

this note is hidden

inside my shoe?

under the bed?

where it can be easily found by you.


You could have come,

yesterday, today

and done what you promised to do.


But you chose to go

and leave behind

your clothes and your shoes

and oh! your razor too.

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Hear Ye, Hear Ye.

This is a public declaration of my insanity.

I slit my vein to see my blood

was it white like he claimed it was?

He lied. It was crimson

copper and cold

Red metal that dripped on the sidewalk.


I stood on a banister

swaying with the wind

then walked on my tippy toes.

I could balance,

the one thing he said was missing in my life.

I didn’t fall on my face

like he said I would.


I crushed my fingers

by swinging a hammer,

he had said I didn’t have the strength to do it.

I did it and then proceeded

to my toes

My bones were weak, I was not.


The wind bit me, burnt me,

red, black and blue

purple around the edges.

He had said I was dead,

couldn’t feel anything,

I proved him right

by killing myself.


Now that I’m dead,

in a garbage heap

around the corner of the new movie theatre,

there’s a note in a box

right under my bed.

Read it, then call me crazy

call me insane.

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