Dewdrop Diaries

I couldn't sleep at night thinking,  In my room, with my clock tinkling.  The clock ticks as the fan does its merry go round,  I wonder, from where does my insomnia bound?  Alone, but could here murmurs too loud,  Just me or anyone else here? just want a sleep so sound.  I close my eyes, only to open and squirm,  Will it help? As I reminiscence my pain with a bottle of rum.  Regrets and wishes upon my sleeve,  I'm trying my best, is what I want my heart to believe.  I'm tired, I yawn, but still can't sleep,  Witted or hurt, with countless memories, think deep.  I try to write about them at night,  With a quill and a paper, the lamp on my right.  The ink smudges, as I stare,  Into my writing, realizing my life is too bare.  Bundles of dreams, miseries to brave,  Not wander into unknown existence, want to crave,  But my body betrays to mere living, with sleepless ties,  Wilted in time, a...

The person,  I now see,  In the mirror,  I do not recognise her anymore.  It is someone,  Who lost herself,  To win something  Useless.  To find meanings  In meaningless things.  To put life  In lifeless people.  To see the best  In the worst.  To live from  Someone else’s perspective.  To follow  Someone else’s footsteps.  To lead  A never-ending pathway.  To please those who  Never get pleased.  To only get disappointed.  To only get numb.  To only give up on  Herself at the last.  Maybe, Sometimes,  Choosing yourself  Sounds selfish  And choosing them  Sounds cowardice.

Ab joh hum hai?  Kya voh,  Hum hi hai?  Ya koi or hai?  Ab joh hum hai?  Voh kon hai?  Tum jab puraane yaad aate ho,  Saath me,  Ishq ke nazraane,  Yaad dilate ho,  Unke saath,  Saare puraane,  Afsaane yaad dilate ho,  Jisme hum,  Ishq kiya karte they,  Or ishq;  Jeeya bhi karte they!  Sikhaya tha tumhi ne mujhe,  Ishq me jeena,  Ab yaad bhi voh,  Tum hi dilate ho…  Mai bhi toh puraani tumhe yaad aati houngi?  Tum bhi toh,  Mere saath,  Us ishq me,  Hamare ishq me,  Mere saath,  Ishq kiya karte they,  Ishq me jeeya karte they!  Mera zulfien bikhraana,  Tumhare haathon ko bhi,  Yaad toh aata hoga?  Mera har ghadi,  Ghadi take jaana,  Or palon ko geen-na,  Tumhare waqt me bhi toh,  Waqt-be-waqt,  Yaad aata hoga?  Ab joh hum hai?  Kya voh,  Hum hi hai?  Ya koi or hai?

A journey like no other,  Where you take in every moment,  Rediscover your passion for retro songs,  Or frow fond of trips, long and short!  Few days when you’re on your own,  Full of excitement to begin an adventure,  To fill your heart with memories forever!  Happy ones, sad ones, funny ones,  Bonding with yourself over again!  Taking a trip to the ocean,  Listening to waves hitting the rocks,  Or probably climbing a mountain,  To watch stars weaving your den!  Finding yourself, like missing parts of a puzzle,  A rush of excitement within you,  Filled with emotions and memories of gold,  You return home to plan the next journey!  To visit distant lands or watch mysteries unfold!

आज मन को एक दर सा लग रहा है,  दर तुझसे, दर खुदसे।  आज मन ज़रा खोया सा लग रहा है,  खोया राह से, खोया राह में।  आज मन में एक पीड़ा सी हो रही है,  पीड़ा घाव की, पीड़ा चाव की।  आज मन को याद सी आ रही है,  याद उन दिनों की, याद उन लोगो की।  आज मन विचलित सा हो रखा है,  विचलित इन हवाओं से, विचलित इन कर्मो से।  आज मन को क्रोध सा आ रहा है,  क्रोध उस रात का, क्रोध उस बात का।  आज सभी विकारों ने मेरे मन को अपना घर सा बना लिया है,  आज सभी खुशियों ने मेरे हृदय से मुंह सा बना लिया है।  चाहा तो हमने भी बहुत उनको मनाना,  चाहा तो हमने भी उनको रोज भूलना।  याद शायद उन्हें भी तो आती होगी?  चुप्पी मेरी उनको भी तो सताती होगी?  दुर रहकर भी पास जाने की कोशिश की बहुत हमने,  पर दुर रहकर दूर ही रहना सिखाया उन्होंने।

She is like a tulip— not the rose with its obvious allure, not the sunflower with its easy joy, but something softer, something quieter, yet equally powerful.  A tulip blooms in its own time, not rushing, not demanding attention, but when the world begins to thaw, when the frost begins to retreat, there she is— standing tall, delicate yet strong, her petals folded tightly, protecting something inside.  Like the tulip, she carries her beauty not on her sleeves but deep within, and only those patient enough to wait for her to open will see the full breadth of her heart. She doesn’t unfold for everyone— and why should she? Not everyone understands the value of something so fragile, so rare.  Her roots are deep, grounded in soil that has been through winters, that has weathered the storms. She may appear delicate on the surface, but her strength lies in what is unseen, in the way she stands firm even when the winds blow, even when the world tries to bend her. She knows how to...

Days of summer, I wait to run wild,  Akin that little child-  Carefree, unaware of the world,  Living in the moment, Every single day!  Monsoon brings love and light,  Dark gloomy days know my plight,  Thunder weaving stories I have never heard,  Before it's sunny again,  Until there's cloudless days,  Walking through unnoticed hallways!  Like leaves in autumn,  Leaving comfort behind,  Letting go of loved ones,  By making changes!  Like mornings of winter,  Waiting for sunlight,  Snow fights, chilly nights,  Looking over the city lights!  While I am doing all that,  I hear a voice calling my name,  Calling me? Yes, it's calling...  And me...? I am falling,  Until spring breathes me back to life again,  Help me, I am falling!  After every winter night,  Before the next summer morning!

Mujhe khabar thi,  Ke milenge,  Ke zaroor milenge,  Do milenge,  Ya chaar milenge,  Apitu yeh naah khabar thi,  Ke itne saare milenge,  Ke gin naah sakenge,  Ke yeh ghaav,  Ishq ke,  Itne chubhenge,  Ke seh naah sakenge…  Ke reh bhi naah sakenge,  Ke keh bhi naah sakenge,  Yeh ghaav,  Itne gehre honge,  Ke kabhi mit bhi naah sakenge…  Mujhe khabar thi,  Ke milenge,  Ke zaroor milenge,  Hriday pe milenge,  Hriday me milenge,  Yeh ghaav,  Ishq ke,  Be-intehaan rahenge…  Ke itne rahenge,  Naah jee sakenge,  Naah mar sakenge,  Or agar  Mar bhi gaye,  Tabh bhi,  Yeh ghaav,  Ishq ke,  Kabhi naah mitenge…  Mujhe khabar thi,  Ke milenge,  Ke zaroor milenge,

She is a poetry:  Written in silence,  Read in peace,  Spoken in whispers…  She marks people as;  Stories, Smiles, Scars,  Gazes and Faces;  Everything depicts a story,  And there she realizes,  There are more than stories,  Written over them…  She dreams of love,  And all that it brings,  And wakes up with a heart that soars and sings…  She is forever the girl who,  Would rather sit beside you at cafes,  Then across from you…  Marks beautiful sentences in books,  And goes back to them later…  Gets a little too excited about things,  And ignores when people ask her to calm down…  She is the companion that,  Writes poetries in the hope that,  They’ll reach to the ones who need them...  Will fly to the moon,  But will come back,  Every night,  To sleep beside you…  She loves like me,  Hair-pulling, lip-biting,  Tongue-twisting, dee...

It was just  You and me;  Sitting on the bed,  Half-naked.  We were drinking  Cheap wine  And eating cold pizza.  We were nothing but  Two fuck-ups  Who loved fucking  And fucking each other up.  We couldn’t help but laugh.  Caught between rounds,  We were too lazy  For anything else  Other than more sex,  And so,  We lie down,  Play dead.  Undies on the floor,  Hearts at the door.  We both felt like  We desired more,  But we had never really reached  Anything past this stage before.  We are creatures of convenience;  sexual deviants  Who are always;  Just one "2AM text" away,  But were never really  The type to stay.  It's either that  Or we just don't say,  You were never a fan  Of honesty at 3AM.  For once,  I want to cuddle  And be tender.  But I'm afraid  That if I stopped;  Being roug...

मन की हालत आज हल्की हुई है,  सदियों की कमी शायद आज पूरी हुई है।  ना चाहकर भी आज उस राह पर रुख मोड़ना ही पड़ा,  जिससे बचकर भागने के लिए बोला करते थे झूठ हम बड़ा।  राह से खबर मिली आज हमे यह,  के आए थे राही कई याहा।  आज हम भी उन राहियो की सूची में शामिल हुए,  आज हम भी उन भटके हुए मुसाफिरों से एकमेल हुए।  मुसाफिरों की उस टोली में से दिखा कोई अलबेला,  ना जान ना पहचान पर फिर भी वो मुखड़ा लगा अपनेसा।  रातें साथ काटी हमने कई उस दौर में,  बाते तो मत पूछो कितनी बाटी हमने उस दौर में।  खुश थे सब, मगन थे सब अपने साथी के साथ,  लेकिन नमी थी आखों में के अब कुछ ही दिन है ये बात और ये साथ।  उन पलों को हस के जीए हम,  आगे की ना सोचकर आज में जीए हम।  जाते जाते वो कह गए हमसे;  मुसाफिर हो तुम भी, मुसाफिर हैं हम भी,  किसी मोड़ पर फिर मुलाकात होगी।  प्रीत की डोर बंधते वक्त नही लगा ज़रा भी,  लेकिन उस डोर को टूटने के लिए लग गई पूरी उम्र ही।  आज भी उन पलों को याद कर हम मुस्कुराते है,  आज भी उन बाहों की गर्...

What color are his eyes? I don’t know how to answer that. They’re not just blue or brown or green— They are the color of moments I can’t quite name.  They’re the shade of early mornings, When the sky is still deciding Whether to wake up or linger in its dream. They’re the deep hue of words left unspoken, Of thoughts you glimpse but can’t quite reach.  His eyes change with the light, The way the ocean shifts with the tides. In the sun, they shimmer, Like gold dust caught in a breeze, But in the quiet, in the dark, They turn soft, almost gray, Like the clouds before rain, Full of something unspoken, Something heavy.  What color are his eyes? They are the color of trust, Of secrets shared in the middle of the night When no one else is listening. They are the color of warmth, Of laughter caught in the corner of his smile. But they are also the color of storms, Of walls built high, Of doors closed, Of distance.  His eyes are more than color; They are stories, Stories he d...

We don’t know what tomorrow will bring, and maybe that’s the beauty of it— the uncertainty, the way each dawn rises like a question, a blank page waiting for our touch. We make plans, draw lines in the sand, but the tide comes, erases what we thought was certain, leaving us with something new, something we didn’t expect.  We don’t know what tomorrow will bring, and that is both the promise and the fear. We stand on the edge of today, looking into the mist, trying to catch a glimpse of what lies ahead, but the future hides, dancing just out of reach, teasing us with its mystery. We want to know, to hold it in our hands, to shape it into something we can control. But it slips through our fingers like sand, like time.  Tomorrow could bring rain, or it could bring light. It could be filled with laughter or laced with tears. We make ourselves believe we are ready for it, whatever it is, but the truth is, we are always a little unprepared, always a little unsure of what comes next....

She speaks to me  Fondly of  Passions and talents,  Guitars and music,  Stars and eyes.  Then,  Stop short  Apologizes for speaking at all.  All because  Somewhere, someone  Stopped her  When she talked,  Ignored her beautiful words,  And told her to shut up.  Said,  "Keep it down,  Nobody cares"

I never stopped writing you letters  I knew, you would neither reply,  Nor read them,  Still,  I wrote them.  It does not show something,  It does not reflect anything…  It is just a consistency in me  Without considering whether,  You exist or not.  My pages should know you,  My ink should show you.  That if someday,  Somehow,  Somewhere,  Somebody,  Reads you,  Should know how you lived in me,  FOREVER.  That, how I came across the world  Without you,  But still sensing your touch,  Moment by Moment.  I buried some letters;  Underneath the plants,  You planted,  Just to let them know,  And grow;  Under the shadow of your love.

Khoobsoorat sa lagta tha,  Voh sama,  Jisme hum kabhi,  Kiya karte they roz,  Intezaar,  Ek dusre ka,  Ek dusre ke liye…  Apnaa sa lagta tha,  Voh jahaan,  Jisme hum roz,  Jeeya karte they,  Or,  Ek dusre ko,  Diya karte they,  Vajah jeene ki…  Suhaana saa lagta tha,  Voh aasman,  Jisme mai roz,  Chaand ki Chhaya me,  Dekha karti thi,  Chehra tumhara…  Pyaara sa lagta tha,  Voh zamana,  Jisme hum-tum,  Khoja karte they,  Socha karte they,  Tarika naya,  Prem karne ka…  Iqraar saa lagta tha,  Voh sehlana tumhara,  Mere baalon ko,  Mere khayaalon ko,  Mere nigaahon ko…  Ishq hi lagta tha,  Voh dhoondhna tumhara,  Mujhe har shaqs me,  Mujhe har aks me,  Har aate-jaate;  Pal me,  Har beet-te;  Kshan me… 

I'm blinded by the lights, Dazzled by their false delight, They promise brilliance, a radiant gleam, But in their glare, I lose my dream. The streets are alive, buzzing and bright, But here I stand, lost in the night. My pain bleeds out in silent screams, Hidden beneath their golden beams. I write my sorrow in every line, Bleeding my pain in its own shine. Ink flows dark like the night I hide, But no one sees the storm inside. I call it poetry—these fractured cries, But it's just the language of goodbyes. Each word a whisper of a silent plea, A sorrowful commentary, unheard by me. The lights, they blind, but still I stare, A moth to a flame, lost in despair. Their brilliance masks the ache beneath, A hollow heart, a soul’s retreat. I wonder, when will the light reveal The cracks, the scars, the pain I feel? For every gleam hides a darker truth, A lost innocence, a shattered youth. But still, I write, I pour it out, Hoping to find a way through doubt. E...

Why does art go hungry, when it feeds the soul? Why does it starve in the corners of our minds, reaching out, its hands empty, while we feast on the ordinary, the convenient, the easy distractions? Art is the pulse beneath our skin, the heartbeat of something deeper, a language without words that speaks to us in shapes, in colors, in sounds. But still, it goes hungry, its stomach growling while we look away, too busy to notice its silent plea. We are told that art is a luxury, that it must wait until the bills are paid, until the work is done. We push it aside, saying there are more important things, more urgent needs. But what if art is the need? What if it is the quiet hunger we don’t know how to name, the emptiness we feel when we’ve filled ourselves with everything else? Art goes hungry because we forget how much it gives. We forget that it is not just a painting on a wall, or a song played in passing. It is the breath of our stories, the ref...

I ask the trees cheerfully  To always let me  Change along with their  Ever growing branches.  I ask the moon soulfully  To forever be my light,  Awakening me each night  To show me the beauty  Of a darkness turned bright.  I ask the sea calmly  To be my strength  So that I too  Can transform each day  Just like the waves do.  I ask the sky bravely  To welcome me  When it’s time for goodbye.  But most of all,  I ask the world hopefully  To help me see  All the things I can be.

My 8 miles commute to class takes about 30 minutes,  One way.  The distance isn’t far but it takes time,  Like a lot of things.  I experience little joys on the ride-  Sweet doses of novelty and solitude-  But I do find myself  Looking back at some things that I have passed  And some things that have passed me in this journey.  Wondering if I`ll ever go back,  And will the things that have passed come back to me?  I know where I want to go.  I know I`m in motion, but I don’t always know  If I`m going forward the whole time.  I do this every day, So I shouldn’t be so confused,  But sometimes I forget  And occasionally take some wrong turns,  Getting stuck behind trash trucks or get caught at a dead end,  And then hate myself  For taking the risk in the first place.  Other times I`ll catch myself  Embracing the detour,  Deliberately going out of my way to drive by an avenue,...