It does not do to dwell on dreams

And forget to live.

To lay drowned in imagined passions;

Waking up to reality, miffed. 

Uttering absentminded perfunctory replies;

While in a perpetual fantasy, adrift. 

Considering yourself unfortunately stuck

In places unworthy of your bucket-list.

It does not do to say that you’ve listened,

When all you’ve caught is the vague gist.

Petulantly craving necklaces of rubies,

When you can’t afford earrings of amethyst.

Looking for signs of wear on the teeth

Of the horses that you’ve received as gifts.

Feeling tragically misunderstood when someone suggests

That you could use an opinion shift.

It does not do to try and feign indifference;

Whilst regretting all the chances you missed.

Losing heart in the opportunity of now,

To muse about that pestilent ‘what if-?’

Some times, moving on feels laughably easy;

Others, feels like a dagger’s in your chest buried to the hilt.

You have to remind yourself that you’ve come too far now. 

Yet not far enough considering that it’s your heart you risked. 

(A/N: the credits for the first two lines of this poem go to Joanne Kathleen Rowling, who made Albus Dumbledore say them in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.)


Some people

Some people

Don’t make you look twice;

Don’t say the funny punchline;

Don’t soothe your crying. 

They blow across your lives

Like a storm of dispersed seeds,

And one cotton ball

Lands at your feet. 

Some people 

Don’t have that “one thing”,

That’s oh-so-unique;

Or a song written for them

That you can’t stop humming;

Or a dazzling smile

That blinds your eyes;

Or arms that sweep you

Off your feet. 

Some people 

Simply arrive in your life

In the right place 

At the right time. 

When you’re ready to love,

And they’re ready to be loved.

You can’t pinpoint

What it is about them,

But there’s definitely something.

Those people 


Actually, all people leave. 

But the absence of some

Feels like greater than the sum of

All the rest of them. 

They manifest themselves in you;

Away, but a part of you. 

They transcend their tangibility,

They become what they never were,

And what you see around you

Is a catalogue of all the things

You never did with them.

Those people

Are the archetypes of your brain;

They are the microcosm

For your vast universe.

It’s impossible to escape

How aesthetically trapped

You are in this whole wide world. 

Caught in the sound of drums;

Salty air and seagulls;

A metallic taste on your tongue. 

(A/N: apologies for being MIA for the past two months; I’m back for good now.)


I had an iron heart and nerves of steel; but you forged me into something weak. 


[1] Yes, I paraphrased myself from an earlier post titled ‘The Blacksmith’, to check that out click here.

[2] I could do with a bottle of Merlot just about now. *sigh* It’s too bad I don’t drink.)

I Thought I Knew?

Days and dreams and in between

The dwams and nightly fantasies

A thought occurred to me.

That seems quite unlike 

All of these;

You and me

Leagues apart, never to meet.

I thought I knew

That a day will come

When this would be true.

Do none of our promises

Remain of any use?

I stand accused

Of wanting more than what is real;

Of seeing more in smoke and mirrors;

Of thinking of you as healing;

When you said it yourself –

You aren’t good for me. 


“And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the Sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.”

-Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe

It’s your silence that just keeps

Screaming back at me.

You didn’t realise 

That my mind capsized,

From the visions in my sleep;

From the voices of the deep. 

What they whisper I cannot say.

Is that why you won’t believe me?

One day I’ll find, I promise, a way 

To show you exactly what it is I dream.

Although I can’t swear on what you’ll see,

Just like you can’t swear that you won’t leave.



Days keep coming back like waves on my feet.

I can save nothing from the foam of the sea.

I’m adrift in an ocean of shipwrecked keels;

and there’s nothing I can salvage from their treasuries.

No part of the sunset that appeals to me.

All of it merges in my memories; 

There’s only brown born from all the reds and greens.

Only, I drowned from swimming in the sea. 

(A/N: It’s been a while since I wrote poetry that rhymed (many months to be frank) and I was nervous about posting this at all so please tell me if I should try this again!)