The Refugee Camp

When I first entered it’s gates,
It’s inhabitants promptly declared:
We don’t need you here;
There is already enough 
Mouths to feed, hands to beg.
I rolled on, passively, scorned upon
As an intruder, a fellow
Contender of breath and space.
Flocks from every calling rushed in,
Clinging to the love of life.
Trying to garner every morsel provided; 
Trying to overcome pangs 
Of insufficiency, tattered rags;
And vague, insecure probabilities .
Leaving behind open houses,
And a lifetime’s worth of sorrows,
All seemed scattered ,cluttered 
Within this confined boundary..
Guarding off their few timed possessions
from predators; is that where I fall?
But little do they realize..
There is nothing to negotiate; I am
just a spectator, rolling on, passively.

Born without.

Photo by Dazzle Jam on

I can’t remember my father since
The day I got to know my name;
A name thrown upon me by peers,
Easy to spit out, no family attached.
And as you walk past me I gargle out
Those ugly abuse adorning my lips,
I despise you for not handing me your penny,
You despise me for being frail red haired;
A scum with belly protruded beyond his nose,
A burden on the platform.
A disgrace by the street.

I am not cultured, they mutter as they pass,
And I grind about with my baggage,
Far dearer to me than any culture.
I have heard of books with rainbow inside,
I search for those colours in my imagination,
I search for them under the streetlights.
On a cold winter’s night, I warm them,
Those cold cranky paths where feet grace,
I live through such,
I live through such.

He appeared to be exactly my age,
Probably younger, wrapped around in
Mother’s warmth, fulminating, as he
Seemed to be dragged to the abode
Where they cultivate; it could have
Happened to me as well but
I was born wrong,
I was born without.


“Nothing feels better Loren”
I want to drive through the night to a sleepy city
Where nobody knows my name,
By morning I would have left everything behind.
I want to
Listen to the songs I'm not supposed to,
Louder with the windows up,
Shout too if I want.
See all those views ,
Up close and ugly.
I want to sleep in some place not mine.
Feel the late night drizzle on my face.
All this hustle bustle so mundane,
I want to kill that part of me that's staying.
I want to be leaving on a journey to nowhere land
In a cranked up car I can afford.
Maybe on an every week basis.
Maybe right now.

With you

That off- white Calico on your back, difficult terrain for me.
My fingers quiver on the touch of your skin.
I might fall into it's crevices.
You are a Cigarettes after sex song personified.
I am a Lana poem. We couldn't make peace, only love.
You dived into the depths, I got explicit.
We sat together and the summer night changed it's course.
It was an ocean forever.
I cannot cry,
I write. For the things I lose.
Photo by Leah Kelley on

A mid summer day

It was July ending. I was quite beaten down by the dreary of summer. Add to that hasty gynaecology postings and also the fact I was at that time pretty much on the verge of ending my thick and dusty relationship with my so called boyfriend at that time , which had got quite routine . Everything just bored me to death. All I did for fun was sing back to Lana del Ray in my intentionally darkened room. And then one day , getting out of my usual element I replied back to a stupid story shared by a writer on social media app. One conversation led to another, then the next thing we know we were out on the fine road to Jowai on one of my night offs, destined to God knows where. I was happy to be on the road after such a long and hectic time. He seemed shy. Not quite like the florid writer he was on social media who wrote verses and poems that seemed straight out of the a novel. I just assumed he had his insecurities too. And I let him be. All I cared about is the pleasant day and the beautiful landscape. It was like a day made just for falling in love.
We stopped somewhere, there was a bridge, and underneath was a small stream. I climbed down below with the intent to sit on the shore for a bit and called out to him. Watching him tiptoe on the slopes was funny. Then we sat listening to John Mayer and chatted. Even though he was listening to the those songs for the first time he seemed to like them. I told him those were among my favorites. And I told him that no one knows where I am in the world right now except you. He just smiled. He said he wished he had brought the camera to capture this moment to share on his page. I kept silent and changed the song.
Further ahead there were the fields, vast expanse of lands with little human trace, we had to halt. It was midday now, the sky was absolutely blue and roads squeaky clean. We found a milestone on the road to sit on. I complained how my favorite pair of jeans had faded to a lighter shade now. I was sad I will have to do away with them soon. The longer we hold on to something the more it gets dear to us, he told me.
Then we moved on.
After a long thrilling ride, we reached a small sleepy village, whose name I can’t recall. It had started raining in streaks. He stopped his bike and we ran off to a little shop by the roadside. The owner, a middle aged lady smiled at us. We could smell hot momos in the air, and that was all we needed. I couldn’t help gobbling up two plates and asking for another one. It was delicious, hot momos in the backdrop of a rainy day somewhere in Meghalaya, it was out of this world. We had had our fill and our desire to go further was quenched.
On our way back , we found a little hillock and I asked him to stop. I climbed it up till the top , pick off some pines and then walked down on the narrow edge further inside and finally settled down on a nook from here I could see a man fishing on a brook way down below at the foothill. It was a secludlarge1020454623.jpged little space, and I felt safe. He followed me to that place. Evidently he was tired. He asked me why I tore so many cones, to which I let him know my intent of gifting him those. So that he never forgets me . He bent forward and looked at me. I thought he might kiss me but he didn’t. So we continued our small talk , till we decided it was no more fun.
Few hours later, we were back to our bustling city of Guwahati . The whole day of peace started getting contaminated by the GS road jam. I was getting a bit irritated as well and told him if we could get through this I would still be able to catch my evening shift in the hospital. We almost reached my place when on the flyover there was another motorbike which started competing with us vehemently. He buckled up too. And in that haste , I heard a boom. For a moment I felt out of my senses. The very next moment, I found my heart beating real fast. I looked back and saw the other motorbike toppled upside down and the rider strewn far away from it, unable to move. Then the following moment I couldn’t decide whether to thank heavens for saving me or feel sorry for them.

A couple of minutes later I reached my place, too shook to say a proper goodbye. I could see he expected better but all I could say was a half hearted see you later.

That evening I called in my senior to inform her I was pretty sick to do the night shift. And I slept a dreamless night.
I broke up soon after .
I saw a photo on his social media of my cone. Nevertheless, I never bothered to meet this writer guy ever again.



I know that work can weave magic.
But what if the law of probabilities take over.
That stale rotten belated personality of mine,
Will keep rotting.
I will keep weeping,
For the birds that flew out of my hands,
For being one of those
Afraid to make the first move,
Like a creeper,
So passive, huh.
I can’t even separate and blurt
A ‘no’ out from a half hearted yes.
So pathetic.
Every night soon as comfort creeps into me,
I forget that man was not meant to be monogamous.
No, he needs to have his mistress
To get some high
Out of a dull paper bag full of life.
Ah, so pretentious.
Why can’t I just rub my face somewhere
And burst this paper bag?
Because I am not strong enough?
There’s no strength that betrayed me,
Only when the fear of probabilities made its move
I became an empty drum
Rolling down the roads
Collecting no moss.



I have been always a dual person,
What I want to be and what people would perceive of me,
These two keep their distance.
Sometimes I would want them to think of me in a certain way,
I would clap and dance when they wanted me to,
At other times I was more of stubborn than sensible,
Not giving it to them.
Which would amount to my own harm often,
As time would later tell.
But I am a person,
And to give up every time without scratching,
Is against what defines human from animal.
It’s like raking an abandoned highway
For a penny probably made of something precious,
Whose story your mother would tell you over and over again
Every night because you were otherwise too restless
To believe sleep is a better treasure.
Time will bring the dirt that comes with the wind on that highway,
But the penny, it might or might not.
When I think of the necessity of being dual,
It dawns upon me,
We are told we need to show we are better.
Better than what they know us to be,
The show must go on.
But when they go back to sleep,
Every one know they are wretched,
Nothing more than a sheep of the flock.
Just like that old hag who they laugh at on daytime,
For not being bright enough.
Just like that freedom loving spinster who they secretly admire and generously loathe at same time.
They know they had drunk, fornicated and what not,
They have made their rules for others to follow.
And God is just a father figure useful for scaring others into returning their debts.
And blaming for situations they made a blunder of,
And to ask for forgiveness just before they breathe their last.
To wash their hands, on and off.
I am a victim of that framework,
Of what my forefathers kept on passing.
That duality hits brick by brick
On the wall that is withering way because I cannot keep a mind of my own,
It’s too expensive,
In times like this.
I am not a fool to resist.
It might cost a lifetime of futility,
To merge into one,
And survive.


She said –
Rise, rise, rise.
If you want to catch me.
“I am the beautiful mistake
You choose to indulge in.”
She plucked the petals
Out of me.
Stuck in some feathers,
In my ears there is a clanking always,
Cacophony of chaos.

She said-
Go deeper within.
If you want your roots inside me.
“You are the balance I prefer
To fall upon when I’m shrivelled.”
I chose her blindfolded,
Before she could show
All her colors to me.
I let her overpower.
On her lips there is a taste always,
Of the life I wish to love.

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