I would like to unfurl your mind and bear witness to whatever lies inside. I wish to understand the realm of your conscience, so deep down the abyss that I feel the constant rise of a mirage in front of my eyes, taking away from my grip years’ worth of foreplay and abandonment. Foreplays that... Continue Reading →

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I do not understand the essence of art fixed inside heavy wooden frames, endorsing the walls of dimmed exhibition halls. I cannot begin to comprehend what one means when they stare at an abstract painting and whisper through the silence a stupefying concoction of interpretations, temperaments, and visual prowess. There is a form of violence... Continue Reading →

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Welcome to the Underworld

Welcome to the Underworld, the gutteral hubris of dormant minds. Here the nightingale is still hauntingly passing by, it's throat hoarse from decades of awaiting, calling, anticipating. The muser is dead, his body long buried, stuck inside earth's immortal womb; his individuality, identity replaced by the singularity of his works. His works have for ever... Continue Reading →

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Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman

Humans being legally permitted to bring children into this worldz without minimal concerns about their capabilities as providers is somehow a horrifying, yet widely overlooked concept. What makes one believe with certainty that, these fragile, delicate, mimicking puddles of breathing, warm shapes of lives would nevertheless grow up with a healthy upbringing? What does a... Continue Reading →

Tuesday, 8th March 2022

Nowadays, cuts do not feel personal enough, personal enough to let that goop of horror, sweeping inside your membranes, drown away from the body. Cuts, several of them on the wrist, down my thighs, cannot take away the filth of hands grabbing me. They do not suffice the pretence of draining trauma anymore. As if,... Continue Reading →


A year ago, I remember defining love as barren land, bidding my time and unsuggestive hopes to spring up from the dried-up ground and bloom into well-groomed greenery, even if momentous. My idea of love then sprang from a few hours of staring clueless at a person’s face on a bridge with fishes swimming below,... Continue Reading →

Wednesday, 30th March 2022

I had always dreamt of transforming my prevalent pitiful example of an obnoxious and typically abusive life into something efficacious. Childhood, as vividly as memory serves, has been an acute representation of negligence, violence and impressive manipulation, with teeth harbouring decay from treats granted after every beating closer to lung puncture and broken ribs. Learning... Continue Reading →

Art of Touch

Delving down the sacrilege of living in a world comfortably mundane, the art of touch is exemplified into artistic measures. Touch. It is fascinatingly soft with a vehement tinge of deliberation and understanding, stitched to every movement of the hand down your neck, gliding down the hollows of your back, resting on your shivering waist.... Continue Reading →


The thing about loneliness is that it arrives unnoticed, burning the tip of your tongue with curses, threatening to escape from the walls of your throat like a broken dam. It arrives without care, no mercy, no disdain, the plain unsolicited emergence of overwhelming nothingness. It steals its way into the night, cloaking you with... Continue Reading →

Água Viva by Clarice Lispector

Água Viva is introduced as a medication on the nature of life and time with the entirety of narration strictly dependent on the whims of a writer meddling with the minds of her readers. It does not present one with falsified hopes and indefinite solutions. It brings to you a plethora of inner worlds and... Continue Reading →

Wednesday, 18 August 2021

Mother, assure me this once: the violence will stop. That the violence will stop with me tearing my womb off its fertility. Assure me generational trauma would finally end somewhere without delay. Tell me the iron rods and wood sticks won't touch a child's bare body just to be able to satisfy her mother's blind... Continue Reading →

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Illegible manifestation of postmodern debris

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Is that the time already?

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Your eyes, my lines.

Words Are All You Need

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