Dogs howl, and the night is nearly done, for miles and miles the dark blue sky spreads its wings over us, and dreams set in, of subconscious battles half won. I dwell on memories. They burn me inside out, I'm hollow, lovelorn, forgotten and dreary, but I must go to sleep, before today sprouts. I … Continue reading Tonight


I love my words

Give me a word and you'll have a picture, woven round it in a clumsy mess. Perhaps it won't qualify your stringent censure, but I'll call it my baby, and see it grow, in misty dreams, atop abodes of snow and fleeting down frozen streams. But you won't understand, why I so passionately love the … Continue reading I love my words


One day I'll die. And the world, forgetful as it already is, in hibernating spell shall lie, unaware of the tragedy. What happens then, of promises that weren't kept? Does it remind them of an untrue me, who in a painless hurry, left. What happens to bed time stories? Of passion flaring up in a … Continue reading Gone


I'm drawn to you like a moth to the fire. And lies here in extremity, the wildness of platonic desires. You are a sight to behold and a heart to open upto. And as our story may unfold, I will write down in words the rendezvous. Your gravity, is exhausting. It pulls me in like … Continue reading Drawn

Thomas Wyatt and the sonnet

The sonnet, that originated in Europe, mainly Italy, has found amongst its doting practitioners the likes of Milton, Gray, Wordsworth, Elizabeth Browning, George Meredith and many others. The earl of surrey and other English experimenters in the sixteenth century developed the English sonnet that was different from the Petrarchan form in the aspect that while … Continue reading Thomas Wyatt and the sonnet