Doors To Heaven

They said you were gone
But I looked for you anyway
Found you in the cracks
Of the doors to heaven

Now I don’t want to go
back, where I don’t belong
Keep our song on
And let’s run away from this winter

Spend the rest our lives
In a never ending spring
What do you say, darling?
Will you run away with me?

Little poem I just wrote 🙂 Sprinkling your life with some positive feels. Here I go!

A Tribute to Maybes

Credits: Candle Noel Cranston

Maybe you make messiahs out of people because you do not want to be the one responsible when the world comes crashing down, and you don’t want to be alone.

Maybe it is okay to not help but start welling up when someone speaks too loud; like each wave of vibration from their voice causes an earthquake inside your skin and bones.

Maybe it is fine to miss people who went back to Allah too soon. Maybe it is just selfishness to miss them if they were here you could ask them for help and advice but maybe that’s okay. Maybe some people are sent only to give you, and not to love you and stay.

But maybe you are stronger than you think. You chose the difficult roads with big rewards at the end. For instance, If I hadn’t moved to a different country, back to where I never felt like I belonged, away from my parents and my little sister and the long drives at night; then how would I have met my best friend who changed my life? How would I have learnt to handle everything on my own, from finances to health and education, to official government procedures to fit into this new place? How would I know how “Veronica Decides to Die” can lead to whispering to myself, “I want to fight on for the better things ahead.”

Maybe the heaps of love you have in your heart for other people, makes being tortured and alone and sick, all worth it? And maybe the time of sickness is now gone, maybe now is the time for the sun to come up? Maybe having a dark past is alright, because of all the light it gave birth to, inside your chest, that now ruminates everywhere… And people think it is your smile that’s contagious.

Maybe it is okay to put flowers in your hair, because who cares if you world came tumbling down yesterday, let’s just sit and breathe the evening air and feel good. Because man, are you a badass! Maybe your hands tremble, maybe you cannot speak, or breathe or stand up sometimes; but hasn’t the frequency of such episodes decreased?

And maybe it is okay to be a tad bit super proud of yourself, for all that you’ve accomplished. Because maybe no one else could have done it like you. 


(Disclaimer: Not a traditional poem but I think it’s closer to the spoken word poetry category)


Decade, upon decade; I tell fate
Being loved by strangers catches me off guard,
Surprises me- “Is this what it is supposed to feel like?”
Is it really like they show in the movies?
Sisters, brothers, fathers and mothers
Is home really just people, who know and even care
about which side of the bed you like most.

Oh, I wouldn’t know, so don’t ask me how.
The only home that I have ever felt
lives outside of my house.
Out there, separated; from my blood.
Because on the genetic code map in these cells,
somehow, home was never marked.

I am sorry, dear home, for getting scared so easily
Not knowing where to go when you are not in my sights.
For I am still learning, how to receive all this love
that you so freely give me
As though I am actually as amazing as you say.

I try to hold on to the little amount these walls taught
Here, love was hiding and shutting up.
But then again, you are not like these walls.
You are kinder and you care.
You actually know which side of the seat I like most,
and how I sleep talk or “sleep type” sometimes.

I chuckle, and then sigh as I walk back inside
and these walls are still as cruel as before I met you.
I’m about to whisper to fate:
“Please make this stop, before I forget how to give love too.”
But I don’t, I can’t.
Cause you’re looking right at me
Smiling across the room.

And we both know, we finally understand
this is what home feels like.


Miracles are not always loud and close.

Not always mountains that crumble to the ground
or ships that sail with high winds against them.

No, no, no.

In all actuality, miracles are often found
sipping coffee in the background
as you scream and fight with your fate.

They are waiting for you to stop for a moment and look around.

And many a times, they come to you
but you are too large-eyed to look at something that seems so small.

Your belittling drives them away.

But friend, if only you knew how many miracles touched you
on just how many rainy days;

you would not have been feeling so alone.
There just was no way.

Somewhat poetic, somewhat random. Mostly just fragments from a coffee-driven brain. ^-^ Hope you liked it!

Beautiful Things.

I promised myself I would post more, right after I wrote this which kinda explains why I was so lost for so much time. So I looked through the memos in my phone and found two small pieces that I think will make you happy. I hope you like them! 🙂

Here is the first:post-2

And the second, to make sure it ends in hope, always:



“For the unthought thought.”

One of the most fun parts of being a writer is finding old little pieces of writing that you’d completely forgotten about.
I was clearing out my bag tonight and found a small crumpled up notepad paper, on which I had written this about how I was in a state of restlessness, on the verge of getting a new thought, yet I could not capture what the new thought was. Here it is:


Come to me, will you? I have been waiting for a very long time.

Pacing up and down this woody floor and sandy shore. I have been running,

through water and the sky and the knowledge of my eyes. I have been asking,

the winds and the birds and the people with dim faces, looking up.

I have been soaring through the distance and travelling between worlds-

looking for you.

I have done everything and all that is in my power to meet you.

But you are the ignorant lover,
and I am your play toy.

You are the winter sunset,
and I am the blind man.

You are the largest soap bubble,
and I the eager child.

You are the sky,
and I am a flightless bird.

We both have perfect knowledge of each other’s existence; yet I just cannot reach you.

Perfectly capable of embracing the other, but you will just not let me.


Originally written on the 18th of March, 2014, in the green book.

Would you stay?

Would you stay? Please tell me the truth!

When I fall to the ground and break into pieces like fine glass does, all scattered, would you search for me in all my hiding places that you know of? When all you see, when you look at me, are scars and disgusting wounds that bleed dark red and then turn the ugliest shade of blue; When I can’t give anything back to you. When I’m unable to act like a merry lark that sings on a tree with the sun shining bright in it’s face. Oh love, when picking my pieces up and trying to glue them back together hurts you, would you still want to fix me? When tears run down my face and happiness is hard to remember and I tremble, would you hold me till I stop being so sad? Would you stay?

Would you stay?

Because I will, for you. I will always try to make you okay. I will clean your wounds and cover them, over and over. And if I run out of band aids, I’ll use my own skin.