mermaidspen | Humans of Himachal

To bake a cake in the eye of the storm

It hurts to grow old, he saidwith a hint of pain in his eyes,and looked

Piercing gaze of pines;So much life on the verge of dying butLanguorous eyes can’t save

I’m no longer writing in ragefor I’ve exhausted it all. I can’t hold the tiny

I am loudbehind a tinted glass,a place where nothing really stays.I write about you in

I want to meet the first revolution and ask her if it was bearable? Was

We, as a society, I believeare the most spoiledconsumers of goodsbe it emotionsor objects. Together,

When I was born,I had the scent of my motherThe voice of my father,And eyes,

I personally believeit’s easy to rememberpeople as colours.Poets make theblue of sky,My friends are cheery

I’m aware of my privileges and the best one I have is literature.Seriously, nothing tops

Unboxing oneself/ is a long/never ending process. I dodge affection/ like bullets/ the thought of/