Tuesday, April 4, 2017


Prompt: The rain.

My very first poem
Was about the rain

The words poured out
Just like the storm 
That had just ended

The poem was sad
Dramatic, depressing and childish

But I still remember 
How the writing itself
Felt like a cleanse

After that first one
The words kept coming

I wrote much more
Not very good and 
Full of teenage angst

That first was like 
Rain watering my mind

I don't romanticize it
But I am thankful
For what it started. 

(Four words a line for April 4. Not the best. But I tried.)

Monday, April 3, 2017


Prompt: Write a letter to your 12-year-old self.

Hello Ayesha,

Since you're reading this, it probably means there is a horrible fracture in the time-space continuum and universes are collapsing on themselves because of the paradox this future-past communication has caused. You'll understand that reference in a few years time. Then you'll pat yourself on the back for being clever and making the joke in the first place.

So here's the thing. I'm 25 right now, and no your fascination with round numbers doesn't end. I'm NOT writing to tell you that things get better, the world fixes itself, you will have friends who are good to you, your loneliness and anger are temporary, etc etc. 

I will not say these things to you because without all the angst you will go through now and in the next few years, you wouldn't grow to become me. Your anger, loneliness, attempts at writing, self-righteousness, stubbornness and belief that you know everything about everything, made me. 

All that pain that you've been hoarding, it crystallizes. But I do wonderful things with it. 

You'll grow up really quickly, you know. Wise beyond your years, everyone will say. It's not always a compliment. That feeling you have of being older inside your head? It'll never go away, but it makes me pretty amazing. 

You're gonna see some pretty terrible things in the future. You're seeing some pretty terrible things already. You're allowed to hate them. None of them are okay and they'll change you in ways I don't understand even now. 

You're gonna see and feel some pretty amazing things in the future too. I don't want to be all doom and gloom. 

Here's some advice. Be nicer to Zeina. She deserves it and needs it. 
Be nice to Srishti. She deserves it and needs it even more. 

I'm gonna end this letter now. You're me and so you'll understand why I'm trying not to ramble.


P.S. - I promised I wouldn't tell you to do something that'll change the future, but on the evening that you're with the beautiful boy outside your house chatting to fill an awkward silence, please fucking (oh yeah I curse a lot) kiss him. You definitely definitely will want to, so just do it.


Sunday, April 2, 2017


I watched you. 
For a long time
Your brow all furrowed
You were angry

All I wanted to do was reach out 
Smooth those worry lines out
Rub them away with my fingers

But it's only screens between us
And countries
And distance
And helplessness.

You did fall asleep 
Crawled into bed with your phone
As I curled around my laptop

You asked for music
So I made us a playlist
Of songs we love
Of quiet words
Of lullabies I wish I could sing

So I watched you fall asleep
An experience the time difference
Has stolen from me

I listened to your breath even out
That furrow finally smoothed
Before I fell asleep myself.

This is as close as I can come
To having you beside me
To a feeling of nearness
It is a depressing facsimile
Not even close to enough
But at this point
I take what I can get

And hope that soon
I won't be sleeping with a screen anymore. 


Saturday, April 1, 2017


To begin. A list. Not a poem. 

Offered with a fist of salt and a pinch of humour, with just a dash of bitterness combined with the slimmest hope of empathy.

Built from experiences gathered over the lSt few years.
To remember and remind of a hierarchy of suffering.
A pyramid of people one can complain to.
Who will care and who is mentally cursing you for complaining while having it "so good."

Here's the advice: If you are looking for a sympathetic ear, stick to your level.

Intercontinental or time difference LDRs - The top. No one gets to complain to us except for others in the same situation. No one else gets it. No one else has it as hard. We barely ever meet and they go sleep when I wake up and have you even checked the prices of flight tickets nowadays?

Intra-continental or accessible or less time difference LDRs - None of the benefits of being single. None of the benefits of being in a same place relationship. All the problems of both. Sure we get to meet once in three months, but do you know how horrible it is to fall asleep alone everyday?

Live-in or married relationships - Yeah we live together, but damn I miss having my own space sometimes. Do you know how annoying it is to clean up after two people and have to do the dishes and have to remind them of the bills all the time? Also, know how annoying the have a kid questions are? 

Dating but not living together - Sure we live in the same city, but with our schedules it gets so difficult to meet what with traffic and all. And god, all the when are you getting married questions every time anyone sees us together!

Single, all kinds - Everyone and everything sucks. No one gets to complain to us. At least you have someone. You've escaped the drudgery of dating and the nonsense that comes with trying to find a good person. And the jumping through hoops and the emotional highs and lows. Know how annoying Tinder can be? And those unsolicited dick pics!

I know I'm missing layers and tiers.
And I know the list will grow.
People with babies will get in there as more of my friends circle starts having them.
For now, stick to your level. 


National Poetry Month 2017

I have been pretty horrible over the last year or so at maintaining this lovely repository of thought and writing. I've stopped calling myself a writer because I don't deserve it, since I've been so bad even at keeping up my two blog posts per month minimum. Anyway, enough self bashing. It's a month of poetry and while I have never actually considered myself a poet, it's an excuse to try writing something every single day. Whether with a prompt or just building out the countless notes and drafts I keep abandoning, I'll try to make this a month where you, dear blog, will get updated every day. I might delay the posts. And I might upload many together. But I promise to try and have thirty pieces of writing on here at the end of this month. 

Here's to an attempt at reclaiming something I allowed myself to lose.