I don’t know what it is about eyes that has me thinking too much at this point of time. I must explain myself before any further elaboration for the fear of sounding uncomfortably absurd. By “eyes” I mean the organ(s) of the human body which play a crucial part in the process of perceiving the sense of sight/vision in its entirety (physical structure, purpose, metaphysical aspect,etc).

I was speaking to a certain someone, I call him,for the purpose of clarity “P.T.”. The second initial of this name I give him is the same as the type of pets I own or perhaps it could be better for me to say the animal species of my children. Anyhow, P.T. has the most childlike wonder in his eyes. I see how his eyes lightens up when it views an object of interest or when P.T. speaks to me of his abstract understanding of nature and humanity (especially when the concept of the inherent beauty in everything comes up). Yesterday we concluded we were doomed to be melancholic if we accepted that the darkness had become an addiction and we could not fight it. But hey,man, there’s too much beauty (I said to him) and I saw his eyes light up (thus he proved my point).

Another pair of eyes that are consuming me now are those of M.S, who was, for the past few months, my healer. She was the cutest little creature that walked this earth. She had the most beautiful eyes and her eyelashes were majestic. Our eyes often communicated to each other more than what our words could. She was my person to share the silence with and convey the waves of the emotional specturum with the use of the eyes. M.S , my cute little healer had grand tears in her eyes the last time I saw her and her beautiful eyes were red. My eyes quickly took cue and what followed  can easily be understood. 

The eyes of D/J were incredibly powerful and meeting them with my own made my cheeks rouge. His eyes were not close in any way to the animal he described himself as:an old camel. Sigh. More like a young reptile. His eyes are a reminder of why I must, no matter what, continue to improve my French, so that, one day, our eyes meet but the sounds ,my lips seem to part for ,are remotely similar to his reading of Rimbaud.

S.D’s eyes are comforting and crescent-like. Her eyelashes are majestic, much like my cute little healer. S.D, with her half moon incredibly powerful eyes stood one day as my mother-figure reminding me of what must be done and some other reminding me of how much she loves and cares about me. Her eyes emanate joy when you utter the word “Rome”. My non biological Maa has beautiful eyes.

My soulmate/fake husband D has eyes that change shades of colour. The aesthetic appreciation as well as the ease of communication through his eyes make me so drawn to his. The funniest is when he makes the bechara eyes. I have no hesitations while looking into his eyes and not speaking for a while.

I must shut my eyes soon for I must let them rest! I guess it’s too much of a cliché to say that “Eyes are the window of the soul” but well that’s as close to the truth as we, as mortal beings, can get. A related issue to the physical pair of eyes that I must adress in great length is the third eye. For now, I must depart.
peace. love. anarchy 

happy new year,everyone!


in an attempt to connect my self to my virtual self i have once again opened this blog of mine, that you, my reader (perhaps a nonexistent entity; existing to the confines of my hopes and imagination) are welcome to share experiences with.

namaste/salut/hello once again. i sincerely wish everyone love and light and warmth and beauty along with the harsh ugly truths of life that ultimately would lead you to a higher understanding therefore in turn meaning the love, light etc.  in the past 5 months i have traveled far and wide; experienced much more than a (biologically) young woman such as myself could ever dream of; and finally learned to love myself. i have had always to a degree loved myself as my journey to overcome the hate and vile and bitterness and anger that has forever come my way. today i finally can say i love myself and this love, this point of life is blessed; i am overwhelmed and overcome with emotions such as gratitude to a force i am yet to understand.

i will write a blog separately dedicated to my travels (the link of which i will post soon) as i want to keep this one exclusively as my journal where i share des sentiments avec vous.

today i want to write a few lines.


cultural differences.

foggy mirrors in bathrooms of your desirable city

(suburbs of the Parisian dream)                                                                                                                                                                                as well as those back in confinement;

your (incorrect) nativity,

lead you to the same.

Jacques? David?

i am far from knowing their names.

however problematic it may seem for me,

i must begin to speak from my heart.

you can never truly know the colour of his eyes                                                                                                                                                                     shining, bright, changing (by virtue of the sun)

or the tenderness of his tears and how the longing                                                                                                                                                   (for the comforts of the mother’s breasts) lead him to mine,

clinging and loving;innocently seeking                                                                                                                                                           (child’s laughter forgetful of what divides us now)



peace love light.





viva la France!


namasté, bonjour, hello

to everyone and anyone who still hears me out.

i am in France for the semester among the other things happening in my life)

i have already visited Paris twice, i have seen works by Van Gogh, Dali, Picasso. what have i to keep me alive anymore?

i engage in the beautiful clichés of french life. wine and cheese and coffee and cigarettes. a waking life of poetry and fresh air and nature and culture welcomes me.

i am so far away from what i have been told was my motherland but i feel so at home.

i visited the grave of the love of my life mr james twice and all i could feel was a moment of grief and then came the liberation. i have let go of all that i harbored within and now i am set free.

the question still remains however, what does it mean to be content? is it pure eternal bliss or is it the sense of emptiness that comes from living your dreams and not knowing what to look forward to? i would like to believe it is a bit of both and none.

i think i am finally and truly at peace with who i am today.

i am not the strange piece of poetry that is fragmented at lines and borders

close to free verse or

incoherent ramblings,

the semblance to the words of a drunk.

i am not these clothes of the sixties,

a hippie with free wild hair and passions

to be free.

i am not the overly opinionated,

often misunderstood

angry young girl of twenty something

crying desperately to be heard

trying hard to be.

i am not my dreams and my feelings and my words and my skin and my lips

my touch or my voice.

i am just a world unto myself

without territories




or strife.


I’m still alive.


life has come to a full circle it seems. i cannot speak much today but i must speak about the nostalgia i am bathed in. it is strange and ancient in character. it parts with wisdom and strength. it serves to disillusion an overly idealistic youthful young woman of twenty.
tests on my grandma’s brain reveal that she is indeed a patient suffering from Alzheimer’s. there are not words sufficient enough to explain the overwhelming wave of emotions i experience (or percieve my self to experience) upon this juncture. my grandma, my nani the kindest, most loving and gentle woman who never raised her voice her entire life often finds herself aggrevated by the slightest things that may somewhat confuse her. i am at a complete loss for words to describe my own helpless passive existence. i am unable to convey the crisis i face today as i see someone forget who they are and what they have been. what is it that makes us anyway?
peace love light



say no to that woman who broke your heart. the woman who led you to believe in the kindness of women. the woman who robbed you from the certainty of that belief. say no to yourself and all that you are. say no. negation is contagious. i say, say no to all that defines you and all you define. my love, say no to love. perhaps,then and only then will you recognise the existence of the values and ideas that you negate, consciously.

ideally, reason and truth are one and the same. in my ideational irrational reality the truth is evident or perhaps apparent. i feel it is most crucial at this hour to distinctly establish or at the least recognise the underlying unity. but feelings are cheap and of no value in this world of objects.

some words i spewed out at a curious being- And remember what you have seen and learnt. do not,ever make your ego the central perspective of understanding things around you. you may not know or ever realize it, but your existence serves its own special and unique purpose even if YOU don’t feel like it/see it manifest materially.


poetry of a new year/era?


namaste, much love to you (whoever you are). may your new year be filed with light. oh sorry, you may not find light because you are light (i heard something like this during my time in Arambol, Goa). the last month has probably been among the few blocks of time where there has been a peak of beauty as experienced by me in my short course of a lifetime. i finally got to travel, according to my own choices/time. technically, the best thing consumed was those psilocybin mushrooms. but i absorbed the vibrations and energy of the places i went to, as well. i met people i have loved, and those i grew to love; fell in love. there is so much i am capable of, i feel now. i went to Bangalore, where my sister studies. i went to Kodaikanal, a small hill town quite well known for the blessed mushrooms. i went to goa. arambol, i can safely say, is now my love, my life. i went to pune, i met my old friends and love. it so happens that each time i sit to write on this platform of expression my life goes through a peak or some ebb or flow, some change. but then again change is the only constant and am i not clinging to cliches here to find some expression or explanation of the current state of affairs? however, the reason for this delayed post is as always the same, i am writing not virtually. also, i plan on getting a typewriter soon and it should help with what i seek to achieve from this task of writing/expression (some spontaneous prose/ flow of consciousness thought and such).

the poem i am writing now, is just something as random as my random self. i promise it has no edits, and i am going to type it just now. bear with me, my love.

when the sun,
the light
fills your soul;
when the waves,
the ocean
don’t teach,
the limits,
to be
in control.

where the heart
finds peace
truth love and dispassion.
you are
greater than the part
that makes
and the whole.

when the hills,
with voices
of young lost children;
when forests
send creatures
of assured
my heart awakens.

when (un)holy men
their prayers,
words of wisdom;

reminded am i
of the ancient wisdom.
god resides
in no place
other than
within my self,
your self
the self we share.

free your mind/free your self.


my mundane self


i like to take long walks on slippery rainy days
short long walks
strolls inside the house
an empty space almost as grand and void as my lovers’ tears.
i like to think of indifferent poets on empty quiet days.
indifference that has stung my indifferent self.
i like to think I know what beauty means
the empty
grand vessel that
escaped one and all ever since it could be conceived.
i like to think i know what they feel
what they see
and do
on dark empty days
to guard their indifferent souls
from grand meaningless tears.
tears that would stain forevermore their beautiful pertinent (non) existence.
i like to think of myself as an artist
a wildly wise otherworldly indifferent emphatic woman with all to give and no intentions to take.
yes, I do believe we were taught wrong.
Rimbaud should have spelt out my life
and love
instead of
the inconsequential poets
who dominated the books in school and my chronically deprived
indefinite existence,
my heart/soul.
derangement from the senses is needed to experience consciousness and its unbounded boundaries
or so I have gladly accepted as a prime belief.
i like to think i know the masks/masked.
masks adorned and masks abandoned at a momentary or personal convenience .
masks that define lives and those who live them.
i like to think that there is a safe place.
the mind and its infinity
infinite structureless sound strong walls that cannot be permeated yet do not manifest in material form.