The tree which never grew~

A cup of madness, with two cubes of lunacy.

Bath bombs.

Sometimes I think and rest of the times I wonder. Do mermaids clean themselves? And of they do, how. Won't they be using the same bath water again. How do they even have baths. How. What do they use to... Continue Reading →


Tag, You’re it.

Wednesdays are always good days, like buttermilk cinnamon rolls, Probably like salt on sacred doors. Matching the colour of your boyfriend's clothes. Happy faces and no open pores, Period blood with minimal overflows. Healthy markets and pricy stores, Wet socks and... Continue Reading →

I recently had a conversation with my non colour blinded friend, more like my Soulmate. I tried to convince him that I was colour blind, but only mildly. He refused to believe me unlike the others who have. Which got... Continue Reading →

Styles in my music.

Been listening to Harry Styles recently, trying to expand my music genre and artists, trying to go back to my roots as well (Hi, One Direction, thanks for breaking all my dreams Zyan) However, Styles had come out with his... Continue Reading →

Sonnet 43

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee... Continue Reading →

Blueberry yogurt and caterpillars.

You made promises to her, so did I. Not to her but to him. We are even, or trying to be. Filling each other with excuses and reasons instead of food and peaks of dedication. Oh wait, I'm sorry I... Continue Reading →

Would you hold my bra, I mean bag?

No, let not the title fool you. There is nothing scandalous here, except for a little wild night in the woods, filled with a roaring passion like the fruit but different and the unwinding of hooks and clips. The dance with... Continue Reading →

Why am I not a Hindu. As the Xavier hall was filling up. We, like most other students in the hall, avoided the first couple of rows and occupy the middle rows. As students of Developmental Journalism, this talk was... Continue Reading →

Sweet Caroline.

"Oh sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale..."   When I was little I prayed to be like Cinderella, not having the slightest clue why. Then I grew up, failing to realize that I was Ariel all this time. Who desired... Continue Reading →

Blog at

Up ↑