Peachy Boy and Raspberry Girl


I’m writing a letter to my past self
The one that wondered if she would ever find love
I’m telling her that I’ve found them now
Over here making fruit ranking lists on a Saturday morning

He likes peaches, pineapples and nectarines
He likes them too much and cries over the ones he left out
She likes berries, in black, blue and red
Lemons and limes though not on their own

Call us dumb but we love it
Call us happy and you would be right
They don’t tell you when you are fifteen
That to be in love is to share the pleasure of simple things.

I’ll Stay

I’ll stay as long as you want
to make up for all the missed years
back when I did not know you
back when I was bruised and alone

I’ll stay as long as it takes
to make it all right
to overwrite the bad memories
with pictures of a worthy future

I’ll stay with you now
Won’t let you slip away anymore
won’t let you forget this promise
even on the days you will walk alone

And when winter arrives
like a picture on a postcard
We will have to part but I’ll leave behind
my memories to keep you warm.


You may have left
you may have ripped me apart
but you can’t take away
the shiver that ran down my spine
when you called me by my name
or the flutter in my heart
when I think of the way
you used to look at me
piercing through my leaded soul
you can’t take away
the way you held me
when I woke up shivering
from my recurring dream
or the impression
of your wet lips seeking mine
when I woke up to your sound
my fingers reaching
to caress your quivering throat
you may have left me
but you can never take away
the memories you imprinted
in the shards of my broken heart.

You and I

We are a coincidence
In a strange world of improbables
Like strands of gossamer
Floating around in a haunted attic
So unique, so distinctive
Yet so inexplicably similar
That it makes it hard to believe
A sentient creator didn’t premeditate this story.

Tramping alone on unforgiving trails
Our paths crossed at the foot of a waterfall
Tumbling down a towering granite mountain
Our eyes locked from opposite sides
Of a rainbow that was left behind
In the wake of the spray from the falls
There ain’t a grander view in the whole wide world.

The tingling evidence of our very existence
Plucks invisible strings
At the depths of our hearts
Stirring buried instincts
Lifting us out of the shadows
And soaring to the stars
On wings we grew on our own
Turning into better selves worthy of the other.

You and I
We are a stunning coincidence
Far beyond our wildest dreams.

Lost In A Cozy Dream

I dream of you dearest friend
I dream of the day this illusion would end
I dream of when I’d meet you at last
Our moment of reckoning descending on us fast

A myriad of thoughts pass through my mind
As I attempt to conjecture what we might find
Bereft of veils to hide behind and pretend I’m whole
Exposing both fragile body and soul

Would your loving heart be so freeing?
Would your embrace melt my entire being?
Would your smile break the tension of tears held at bay?
Would you flinch at the intensity of what I feel or say?

Hopes and ideals we’ve projected on to each other
Are our dreams better off away from reality rather
This chronically dejected state of mine
Would you be bored of in no time?

Uncertainties and crippling fears abound
But of one thing I am sound
Not seven seas, elven kingdoms or all the world’s gold
Would I trade for a day with you when my thoughts turn cold.

Dedicated to the crazy “internet family”.

Sarah’s Dream

It’s a sunny day
no longer a thing to dread
from a wooden cottage
a girl walks out
to a rock by the sea
carrying a cup of tea.

She leans back on the rock
pauses for a minute
her expansive gaze
taking in the calm sea
and chirping seagulls.

Distant notes from a guitar
light her face up in a smile
with a content sigh she reaches
for the bookmark in a worn-out book.

Dedicated to anybody who thinks this is a happy poem  😉

And yet I wonder

Your long fingers gliding on the piano
in an ethereal ballad of lament
your gravelly voice
forging sounds of inexplicable allure

The crack in your parched lips
in my mind I let a finger trace
an untold number of tales I’ve conjured
to hide behind your thousand yard stare

You are the epitome of inspiration
for all the words that I write
my only redemption
is the hope that you’d notice some day

Every faltering step that I take
every grave mistake that I make
it’s all for your sake
and yet I wonder, love

This life that I lead and the air that I breathe
you unwittingly bequeathed me
I’m eternally in your debt
and yet I wonder, love

Who are you?
my master and my muse
was I better off before you salvaged me?
was I better off dead?

Song in my head: Glass Arm Shattering by Porcupine Tree


Sometimes it’s not worth the anticipation
and reality is just not good enough
Sometimes people don’t mean what they say
and you realize you don’t even care

Sometimes the world is unfair
and the rulers resolutely unaware
Sometimes you should leave the mess alone
and not untangle the knots anymore

Sometimes when the band plays a different tune
you can take in your stride and move through the moment
Sometimes when you can’t get the words to rhyme
you can be grateful that you have dozens to rip off

Sometimes you tarried far too long
and missed the last ray of the sun
Sometimes you fail to cross the finishing line
but rejoice for at least you tried

Sometimes your choices are all you can control
your thoughts are all you can shape
Remember you can always choose
to close your eyes and make everything better

Now Playing: Let It Be by The Beatles



You’re smiling at wordless whispers
remembering stolen glances and impassive kisses
when you were broken and broke
dancing with anyone who’d take you home

You’re recoiling the next moment
watch that smile turn into disgust
projecting your thoughts onto
a world of illusions and dreams

You’re wishing for a calamity
the brooding drumbeat tells you
a loneliness so bad
that it bleeds into the surrounding walls

You’re imploring a memory
of a warm afternoon when you made a promise
to never leave the sanctuary of a certain love
you’re still at the beck and call of the absent lover

You’re drowning in an ocean of self pity
walking like a zombie to your own funeral
You will never understand
that it was never about you

You’re neither loved nor hated
all that you had
and all that you will ever have
is indifference.

Immerse Your Soul In Love

I am inside the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles. It is a remarkably beautiful and intimate auditorium with a magnificent, ornate ceiling. Its aroma vaguely reminds me of an old Sivan temple in my college town that I used to frequent back in the day. The temple was a kaleidoscope of distinctive smells: of vibhuti and camphor, multitudes of agarbattis and of bats clinging to the dark ceilings, as if to remind you that the temple was first built sometime in the second or third century. What is of significance at the moment, however, is neither the ceiling nor the nostalgia. It is, in fact, the people who have just walked on to the stage: six odd English men who make gorgeous music that is, at times, out of the world. I follow them with an embarrassing passion and dedication; they are called Radiohead. With a bit of careful planning, the help of very kind friends and an enormous amount of luck, I’d laid my hands on a ticket. After weeks of intense anticipation, here I am, at last, sharing four walls with the band and a few thousand like minded fans.

I spent the past two hours roaming around by myself and lost in thought. At the pre-party I met a group of fans from the Radiohead subreddit, some of whom I had only known as usernames and flairs, and others I hadn’t known at all. Armed with a drink, my awkward and insecure fan girl self plodded on through discussions on favorite albums, past live shows and best Thom dance moves, and was intimidated by those who were fans since OK Computer and had been to several Radiohead gigs. After we had clicked a photo together, we dispersed to our seats, the lucky ones to the pit. Mine is the right most seat on the first row of Loge, incredibly close to the stage. I’m now trying to create a makeshift stand for my phone in hope of live streaming the show on Periscope as a token of gratitude for all the fans who had streamed the previous gigs on this tour, but this would later turn out to be a massive failure. My thoughts wander to the forty thousand fans on the subreddit, especially some of the regulars on the live stream threads. I ponder over what I have in common with this disparate group of individuals “on the internet” whom I have been on a virtual tour with.

Why are we fans? What do we get from this collective adoration of musicians and sportsmen and actors whom we hardly know? Why do we obsess over their scribbles and words and interviews from the past? We are deeply convinced of our undying love despite knowing that it is not their real selves that we love, it is only an image of these artists projected by the media and our own selves that we love. We buy posters for our walls and decals for our cars. We are shouting at the top of our lungs, but what exactly is our message? Is it acceptance and belonging that we crave? Or are these displays just a manifestation of juvenile arrogance? I recall what Carrie Brownstein wrote on being a fan and it slightly warms my heart.

My favorite kind of musical experience is to feel afterward that your heart is filled up and transformed, like it is pumping a whole new kind of blood into your veins. This is what it is to be a fan: curious, open, desiring for connection, to feel like art has chosen you, claimed you as its witness.

I snap back and focus on the present. The first big surprise of the set is the proverbial True Love Waits. This elusive fan favourite has finally found its place on a record and is now pervading the room in all its glory. I am shocked and thrilled beyond words. Staring at the stage, mouth wide open, hand on my chest as if I’m trying to clutch my heart. Out of nowhere, there is an arm around my waist. It belongs to the girl next seat who just arrived with her partner during the last song. She has exactly the same expression of disbelief on her face. She pats my back gently and I hug her, overwhelmed.

I have only read about the legendary fans of jam bands like Grateful Dead and Phish and have always wanted to be a part of such an accepting and tolerant group. I get to experience a mild taste of it today thanks to this amazing, drunk couple who proceed to share the rest of the concert with me. As his favourite song starts, the guy screams in joy and together we yell “Weird Fishes”. As Jonny is banging the drums with fervor during Bloom, Thom pauses for a moment to shoot a fond and amused look, I turn to look at the girl and she laughs. We both get it. And as Idioteque starts, the three of us collectively lose our shit and dance and jump and flail following the path carved by our glorious leader. I do not know these two people, I do not even know their names but I will always remember them and be forever grateful that they let me share this precarious joy.

The last song of the day is Street Spirit, quite possibly their darkest song; one about looking at the devil in his eyes and knowing that he will have the last laugh. Once Thom famously said that it is a song that has no glimmer of resolve. I have the balls (well, metaphorical) to disagree. Call me naive, but I do think that it has the vaguest hint of redemption. It lies in knowing that you are facing death but calling on love to give you the strength for acceptance. The terror of the certainty diminishes when confronted by the power of love. We are not afraid because we are not alone. As we sing along to the refrain, the auditorium echoes with the voice of all of us, the fans, who have immersed our souls in love. In our love for the band, for music, for humanity, and for hope.

Edit: Bwahaha, I found another person with a similar opinion on Street Spirit. WE ARE NOT ALONE!

Now Playing: Street Spirit (Fade Out) by Radiohead


Radiohead Live at the Shrine Auditorium