Taking Flight


I am closed away
Somewhere in my mind,
Somewhere past my own conscience,
Like a lost toy boxed away
After it has lost its battle,
Eager to be found again.
The paper plane in my hand
Hangs still,
As if frozen in time.
We don’t belong yet.
I make my way across the empty halls,
Awaiting to find
I hear the sound of laughter,
The kind of laughter that really makes you smile.
The empty halls fade into thin air
As if the sound of the laughter
Is beating on it,
Forcing it to go back
To its place.
The emptiness fades away
And I am left standing here
Under the sky blue sky.
I can feel the warmth,
The touch of a hand
Upon my cheek;
The touch invisible to me.
As I tread on the vastness of the water,
My feet gives light to tiny ripples,
Each of them leaving
As the next one appears.
I look on as I walk with my reflection,
My feet in touch with hers.
I feel so true.
The wind is so strong and steady.
I let it braid my undone hair.
I let it ruffle my pleated dress.
I let it just be.
With a flick of my wrist,
I push my plane forward
And into the sky.
The strong and steady wind catches it
And blows life
Into its paper wings.
And my plane?
It soars.
Up into the sky,
Past the massive white clouds,
Past the sapling in its mother’s embrace.
My plane keeps its pace
With its reflection
Without giving light to a single ripple.
But it doesn’t matter.
My once lifeless airplane
Has taken flight,
And has gone to find its own self.

Rain Dance

The clouds are getting together,
to reunite, to become one.
The sky is becoming a darkish grayish,
bluish, and purplish color.
The wind howls into the sky,
and murmurs its secrets onto the others,
“It’s coming, it’s coming”.
Its murmurs are so endless,
that it shakes the well-built house
and makes it creak.
The wind is soft and gentle,
and it surrounds me,
holding me in its arms.
It cradles the trees back and forth
as the trees sway under its melody.
“It’s coming”, the wind whispers.
The trees get all excited
and sways even more exuberantly.
They pass it onto the grass down there,
and in turn they whisper to each other,
running across the lawn.
They whisper, “It’s coming, it’s coming. The Storm is coming”.
Birds get back to their nests to care for their young,
while the flower buds are getting ready to come out.
Everyone awaits the big arrival.
First, lightning makes the show,
a big flash of light blinds my eyes.
Then thunder makes its big entrance;
It claps so hard that it shakes the earth.
Finally, rain starts to sweep across the country.
Thunder claps again and the rain pours even harder.
The more time passes by,
the more the rain pours,
pounding the earth with its earthly scent.
Pounding, pounding, and pounding.
I don’t want to do anything but watch its heavenly dance
and then lunge in and dance with them.
I want to feel the first cold trickle of rain to touch my skin
as my dress gets drenched with water.
I will dance until the rain stops,
and then the sun will come out to dry the earth.
Then, we’ll wait another day for the rain,
where we’ll dance in merriment again.

She Weaves Me A Casket

etching meanings without words.
Weaving memories,
reaping love;
I mimic her tune.
Weaving magic.
Weaving beauty,
from the inside out.
She beckons me to watch with her,
the jubilant sun,
waking up from its slumber.
Beckoning me,
and I watch with her,
a routine.
I always find her there,
wishing the sun ‘good morning’,
as the morning slowly awakes,
stretching and yawning.
She weaves me into faith,
every night,
reciting prayers,
thanking God for the blessed life
He granted us,
and hope that we keep on
leading a blessed life
for many years to come.
Hope that we reap
many more years
of happiness.
She weaves tears,
and so do I.
I don’t want to leave her,
for a foreign world.
I want to stay.
I want to grow up,
beside her.
I yearn to see her again.
I long for her grandmotherly love.
I cry for her but to no prevail.
she weaves me a casket…
leaving me in the open,
by myself.
Wearing a white shroud,
I bury my tears,
my pain,
my soul,
under the earth,
hoping it will stay there.
She weaves me a casket,
closing me in between four walls,
abandoning me forever.


I had a dream today. No. Not a dream. I was awake and lying in bed. I was remembering the time dadi died. How the news of her death reached my parents’ ears. It’s strange, I never think about how the news of her death came. I know how she died and when she died. But I never remember how the news of her death reached us. Baba crying in silence, ma wailing at the side. I didn’t know what was going on but it was the first time I had seen baba cry.

When news reached my ears, I wouldn’t believe it. I remember that I kept telling myself that it was just a mistake. That it’s not true. She could not leave us. That night I prayed to Allah with all my might. But it was of no use. You could not take back what was already taken.


I wonder what they did with her flowers.


“I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. But, and that is the greatest question, will I ever be able to write anything great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer? I hope so, oh, I hope so very much, for I can recapture everything when I write, my thoughts, my ideas and my fantasies.”

― Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

Early Morning


I feel the touch
Of the wind as I
Press myself against the iron railing,
Standing on my tip toes.
The wind softly grazes
My cheek welcoming me
To its embrace.
It hums a melody.
I close my eyes and listen to its song.
The birds hum it back in soliloquy
From their nest
adjacent to mines.
They hum it as they prepare
To take off for their
They take a hold of the wind’s
Strong hands
And plunge themselves
into the sky,
Flapping their wings
And flapping still.
I watch them
As they fly away playing
Their tune.