My beloved brazen queen

As my soul awakes from that long night, you pick my dust onto your heart
As the twilight hour glows on your face, that beautiful smile tears my demons apart.
Drawing a silent love from my dreams, you bless me with your grace
Though you love this unhonourable dust, heavens still smile upon your face.

As I look upon the love in your eyes, it fills my heart with tears
Blurry eyes and vexed emotions, you free my sorrows and my fears .
Without much thought, you offer me your wild side, that I often fail to express
How haunted my nights shall be if you ever throw me out of your wilderness.

Where are you, I implore thee, my demons are again awake
Exorcise them with your smile, I beg you for humanity’s sake.
They feast upon my peace, silencing my desperate call
They rejoice upon that devilish  hour that I started that brawl.

Wake me again from this dark night, soothe this fire that burns within me
Believe in my lies, We’ll be the greatest thing this world has ever seen.
Run back into my arms and once again draw our love from my drunken dreams
I implore thee to accept me into your wilderness, my beloved brazen queen.


Broken Scribbles

Write all your broken scribbles and they’ll knit a story, one you can’t read just yet but as they come to life, they will free your soul of all the demons that haunt your soul. After all, what better way can you let go of your fears than to mirror them before your heart.
Cocooned in a loved that died upon your birth, you replaced your desperate call for warmth with the chase for the world. “You are a dreamer, but so were they. The only difference made was when they called theirs your own.” Blessed you were, for someone once in archaic shadows loved you with all her heart, as she held you in her arms. Her lullaby sweeter than the frugal lark that sells you, your nightly solace.
Yet happiness is as fickle as the hatred, you often felt in your childish innocence.
But they were dreamers, the ones who controlled your destiny or at least you thought they did. So you blamed them when your soul lay shattered by that first blow. A wound you forgot for its pain would’ve killed you, but its scars are still there, as fresh as the breath that keeps you alive. It was a necessary sin after all, ’cause even though pain demands to be felt, some wounds need more time than others, but maybe some are too deep to heal and as you let time heal them, they never do. They simply transcend from sorrow to your second shadow, one you only see in ravenous despair. Before your innocence was marred, you were happy with the cage that glittered with new adventures, as you glorified it with your own curiosity. Yet you don’t remember living in that cage, do you ? even as you died each day in it and that alone was your gravest folly.‘Cause now you do remember the who’es but you’ll never know the how’es and the why’es.

Doesn’t it haunt you that such a long time, one that forces you to write this confession, is as oblivious as the dreams you’ve dreamt every night but naturally die with the awakened eyes? Do you ever wonder how immense the depth of those sorrows must be that your heart involuntarily chose to bury so you could live? Do you ever wonder about that demon, one who robbed you of peace? You fear that there are more victims of that beast and beg providence to end his “little game”, one that robs innocent lives of their playful childhood. You begged them too, didn’t you? Just how you now beg providence now, but they didn’t listen or at least they said they did. Maybe heavens will have more truth in its silence.
They changed your cage, told you it happens and you believed them.You started again, curiosity yet again your companion, but someone was with her, they both hated each other but couldn’t be separated anymore. Hence ever since, curiosity kept you alive and darkness killed you each day. But you met the stars again, those long forgotten friends who once looked too royal for you to talk to them, so you alone adored. Now you were more shameless after all, your soul begged to be naked in front of someone, and stars alone smiled at its scars. You talked them of the most frivolous things, your day, the boy you fancied or the one who offends your uncooked morals. You cried to them of your loneliness, how you miss the dreamers, that ancient love that played with you in your nascency. You would bid them “goodnight” and they would simply smile, amused at your naivety as though saying, “Sweet Child, see us always as your friends and not as stars who can never sleep, for your faith alone gives us that sacred repose that universe has forbids us from.” Yet you did, you ate the forbidden apple of wisdom and you knew the lie or the truth the heavens have tricked them in.

You wonder if they are angry with you, but when you see them smile through their twinkle you choose to believe what you want. You say, they are the divine truth, the truly wise who forgive thee of the sins you can’t evade, like that of knowledge.Though they know you are only a fool to replace the sacred knowledge of childhood with the doomed farce of adulthood, a tragedy man called wisdom. You choose to believe that they’ve forgiven you for forgetting them, for seeing them as rocks made up of gas and not as those friends who talked through their light. “You are forgiven, my child as long as you see life in us”, they seem to say.

It was in those days that you had first written your broken scribbles, or maybe not. Yes! I remember, your first letter , written when the wolf has ripped your skin, you wrote of its heinous smile, his tricky way and its loathsome claws that stained your polka-dot frock. But you didn’t write of the wolf again until your hands forced you to and you wrote of his nasty den, the “games” he would play with you but you hid those letters until they found them. Their eyebrows knitted in worries, mostly about you but not you. They feared that your voice would be the very end of you, your prestige, everyone would know you are yet another victim to the well-known wolf and then you wouldn’t be the accolade that until now has adorned their status. You killed your voice as they did the same to your letters. But “past” is a sacred thing, a providence’s design backed by fate and time and the more you offend it with your ignorance, the more brutal his attacks are on your present.

Luckily, you kept writing your past in secret and it healed you in its shadow but life is ignorant of your past, it has its own games waiting for you to lose at, win you may some but the victory still awaits in distance. It calls out to you through the horizon you yet can’t see. You surely would have forgotten the language of the universe just like most do as society replaces it with their own but you were blessed with heart wrenching sorrows that always kept it alive, whenever you ran back to the stars.

You’ve lived the faulty human live, feeding mirages, glorifying vanity in aggrandized charity. You gave some happiness, yet robbed more from the same, broke hearts, the way, yours was broken, chose drunken passion over friendship, grooved to the songs of evil and turned a deaf ear to the piercing cries of compassion, solely because the former could easily be blamed. You’ve lived a human life but a version you think humans should but today things have changed, just like they did a while back.
You are weaker but for good, the past is happier with you for embracing its thorns with gratitude, and it rewards you with a little strength each day, to pen new and piece again those dusty broken scribbles.

My Weeping Willow

​Each night I take a moment to adore my precious weeping willow. 

That teardrop on her right cheek, speak of the sacrifice her lover made.  

The scars on the left, are from a battle she fought with him. 

Her lips moving in constant murmur, speaking of the tragedy they couldn’t evade. 

Somedays, she’s too weak to face me so she hides behind her ravenous veil. 

The other days, she peeps through it a little,  curious to know if I too dread in such miserable days. 

But today’s she’s in her utmost ferocity, calling out to the heavens and their heinous ways. 

Raging at the injustice that she and her lover had to face. 

With his ancient wit, he though found a middle way.

Yet could not win over the solitude that dictates their melancholic days.

Though they see only her beauty and his ferocious blaze. 

I see the scarred goddess and injured warrior, trapped forever in their lonesome cage. 

A Hidden Gem In God’s Own Land, Callicut. 

A Hidden gem in God’s Own Land

While the top three tourist destinations rank Alleopy;Backwaters,  Munnar and Kochi,  there is more to kerela than what meet the ignorant eye. This one’s for all those crazy travellers that are always looking for something new. 

Callicut or Kozhikode has not only an interesting population mix of the only city dominated by a Muslim population,  the way this Islamic essence meets the Kerela Culture is indeed a fascinating phenomenon.

It is here,  at Kappad, that Vasco Do Gama landed in 1498.

With that being just one of the shades to this city’s charm,  here’s a list of few things which makes Kozhikode a must tick on every hungry traveller’s checklist,  both literally and metaphorically. 

1. Sunsets
You won’t be able to say goodbye to the beautiful dawn that sinks into this city with a different style each evening and the beautiful memories that you witness around you. 

2. I fish something  foodalacious here! 

 A treat to your taste buds. The cuisines in even the most local restaurants are a dream come true of every foodie,  especially the one that craves for new flavours.The best part,  is cheaper than you can ever imagine. At a local restaurant,  a kerela meal will range from 40 to 80 rupees. Even the fancy diners have an unbelievably reasonable price. 

While the sea is obvious a must,  don’t miss out on the Malabar Biryani and Banana leaf meal.

3. S.M Street 

If you can survive the Sunday rush at S. M. street and still manage to buy the tasty colorful cakes,  you can survive anything. 

4. Mananchira Square 

Located at the heart of the city,  the park is built around a man-made pond. The Musical fountain and the public library are just the highlight of this beautiful space. 

5. Kalli Valli: The Mishkal Mosque 

An interesting architectural piece reflecting the rich architectural history the city still protects.

How to reach here:

  1. By flight till Kochi and an overnight bus or train till Kozhikode. 
  2. By train as the Kozhikode train station is well connected to all the places
  3. By bus,  from anywhere in Kerela. 

Where to stay:

While you several good hotels,  for budget travellers,  you can find a few hostels links here. 

Youth Hostel-

CSI women ‘s hostel-

Men’ s hostel –

May the adventure knock at your step. 

Disclaimer : None of the pictures belong to the author and thanks Google for its reliable support. 

Yet not a Writer

Neither a writer as I stand far from how one should be

Nor a reflection of that truth that one is scared to believe.

Neither a muse to someone’s greatest literary piece

Nor the ink on those sacred leaves.

For,I still have stories to write that mourns thy sorrows

I still have that song to compose that sings of a better ‘morrow.

I still have that shadow to be painted, one words cannot capture

I still have that verse to write that leaves the pen enraptured.

Yet not a writer for I still haven’t given in

To those muffled musings that vex me within.


I still haven’t spoken of the common dream so deep

That attends to each soul resting in universal sleep.

I still haven’t given justice to those unheard cries

Ones in which the greatest tragedy lies.

I still haven’t told the story of this common death

Creativity as it dies to pay reason’s debt.

I still haven’t written of that little boy’s plague

One that now rests in some distant forgotten who grave.

I still haven’t abandoned the sanity that restricts

Sacred poetry the many hidden magic tricks.

I still haven’t shattered any deluded reality

As I yet call the war a common normality.

I still haven’t spoken of the common loneliness prevalent in the global hood

One we have accepted in the name of greater good.


I’m still not a writer for I yet not believe

A voice to this romance is all a writer can be.

What are you?

If not the broken smile amongst their fake laughter 

Are you that happiness that everyone’s after?

If not that hopeful gaze upon that dying sunset 

Are you the deal with the devil that is easy to get?

If not the mysterious twinkle of some northern Star 

Are you that reason that two nations started a war?

If not that nascent step that’s unsure of its destination

Are you the futility caged in pompous adoration?

If not the sacrifice given at the alter of allure 

Are you that pain that struggle relishes to endure?

If not that cry of compassion in this world filled with hate 

Are you the dogma that prevents theses vices to abate?

If not the common absurdity in this world that makes no sense 

Are you that eye that looks through a different lens?

If you know not of things that mould you into thee

Keep searching through this web of accepted cruelties.

How do you feel?

You are born to a mother, yet raised by her own

Surname after your father’s, but your were a princess to someone else’s throne

They ask you of the legacy,one you’ve never been told

If only they asked you which Panchatantra story do you love the most.

You are expected to learn of world’s great wonders

Yet you are chided as you teach yourself to sing to roaring thunders.

Someone scarred you for life, but for common good,you hide those heinous fouls

So in subliminal slumber your tortured soul howls.

They ask you, how’s school, but forget to inquire if you have any friends?

So you go on adapting yourself to new chapters, swaying on each bend

They give chance upon chance to have a fresh start but what about those unfinished ends?

Each is a victim of their own circumstances so you have none but yourself to blame

You forget who’s a bigger pawn in this vicious game.

You now have friends but know nothing of friendship

You then meet a lover and instantly have him worshiped.

Each day you cry out your story, only to vanish in a pitch dark vacuum

How can anyone sing your song when you yourself don’t remember the tune?

You are sure you had some happy days but you’re too stubborn to remember

For sorrow is your muse now, that has you surrendered.

But I implore you not to lose that ray of hope

For maybe you’ll find a better muse that helps you cope.

Keep writing these meaningless scribbles if you find comfort in them

Maybe they alone can someday turn you into a gem.


A lover, a fool

​Greatful to fate that you met your stranger 

Surprised by the electricity that you both ignite 

Connected thou art and has been proven on many occasions 

Helpless to circumstances as designed by fate 

Still you Rip your heart open hopeful that he’s wiling to see 

All the wounds that afflicts it and in a hope that some might heal

As he places that kiss that feels like the very first 

You know he’s met you to quench an unknown thirst 

And as you see fear of losing you in those affectionate eyes

You forget the tragedy in which such precious moment lies 

It’s only human as you watch the thunderstorm strike 

On quaint sleeping mountains from your candlelit sight 

As the new morning Dawn the fate is back again 

To aqquaint with the truth that you struggled to belie 

Your love though great is yet very fragile

So it ended just like all great things do 

But don’t you worry there’s still hope for you 

You shall meet yet another stranger

A love stronger than before 

Tragedy it may again be 

But you’ll again be a lover ,a fool.

Sea and the Wave

As expected the sea fell in love with the chaotic waves it had never known

Attracted to the forbidden fruit,seed of which had archaically sown

So they though they March on to spin a story yet untold

Both hopeful of the possibilities this adventure could behold 

The waves reciprocated with passion more intense

A love so pure that had their souls divinely cleansed

They danced in love until it was the hour of truth 

That their destinies had more to them than this folly of youth

Lazy Rhyme by Procrastination

Hello my name is procrastination

 I’ve put many on a never-ending vacation

I sedate your hard-earned qualification

I protect thee from life,a complication

You wish to leave me in a contradiction

Yet choose me fooled with my dreams of aviation

I have the supreme power of sedation

I’ll never let you reach your destination
As I deceive you with the dreams of unrealised creation

My successor shall be beloved stagnation

Always supported by my ways of delegation.