not here to read. just here because this used to be my safe haven and now it's just destructed, so finding pieces of me that I lost on the way.

Grid View
List View
  • sunshower_ 2d

    I've had gazed at the skies, moon or nature in the past many a times, but the first time I really ever noticed the sky, saw the colours in flowers and felt them imbuing into my soul, was two winters ago when a shy sunshine crept in my sky. It was the first time I really ever felt noticed. I've had been complimented in the past, loved people, been liked by people, but the sky this sweet wildflower had brought me was unmatchable with what I've felt all my entire life. The first time I really felt loved by another person genuinely, that too without any iffs, buts, reasons, and consequences. This feeling both liberated me as well as caged me.


    Read More

    An eve versary

    Soft valves of the clouds
    Opened with a sigh
    They blushed too hard
    Seeing the tinted quiescent crescent
    Arrive drunk in the deep blue sky
    Clutching in his arms
    Tattered hope and broken porcelain vases
    Stitched onto his heart like scars
    Baltering his way towards a
    Drizzling December on the verge of
    Slipping irascible hailstorms
    Into the hands of susceptible love
    A reverie reverts into reality
    The clouds exonerate into tears

    After 16 wilted flowers
    Came the tip toeing
    Wallflower dressed in snow,
    Wearing the hat of hope
    And cardigan weaved with kindness
    He left at my doorstep
    Noticing me when I never really saw myself

    He drew rainbows over the skies
    Painted them in pink,
    Taught birds the song of love
    Slowly he entered into my playlist
    And then into my heart
    Which was barren and devoid of life
    So grew sunflowers over there
    And time and again
    I set fire over the fields
    But he again planted it with
    More sunflower with more love
    Until one day
    He saw the walls pulverising

    Almost 2 years later,
    Here we are,
    Joined with the thread of love,
    In love, waiting for the
    Amorous April arrive to our home
    Once again
    And greet us on our


  • sunshower_ 1w

    Certain lines might be not okay with some people. But that's the way it's supposed to be. Everyone's different. Everyone has different perspective, everyone has gone through different circumstances, grown up in different environment with different people. We're eternally learning new things.

    Read More

    i'm still learning:

    i. to balance the fear of loving too much and actually loving too much.

    ii. to not backspace long paragraphs and sometimes to not type long paragraphs.

    iii. to cut out people and memories. certain toxic people will make you feel like you're the one who is toxic. cut them off your life.

    iv. to love myself.

    v. to accept that some things cannot be changed and some things have to change.

    vi. to acknowledge that some things simply cannot go the way i want them to.

    vii. to either completely leave some places and people or stay there and not oscillate back and forth, leaving and coming back.

    viii. to understand who i am and what i truly want.

    ix. to understand my worth and to let go of some things.

    x. that having a pretty face doesn't mean a pretty heart.

    xi. that everyone is beautiful in their own way.

    xii. that it is not my responsibility to keep everyone happy.

    xiii. that i am my responsibility. i own myself. no one else does.

    xiv. you do not owe your parents anything. you cannot blame yourself for their wrongs. they try their best but of course they too are learning.

    xv. time is slipping away. the moment is mine to act upon, learning from the past, and not worrying about the future.

    xvi. no one is perfect. neither you, nor me or anyone. we have our own share of flaws. love is nothing like what they show in movies or books. it is everything that you wouldn't have even imagined. it works like seesaw. you have to balance the ends, forgive, accept, move on, together.

    xvii. you don't owe an explanation from anybody, nor do they.

    xviii. to limit my social circle/social media time. choosing quality over quantity.

    xix. that there will be people who will make me feel special and happy, to keep those few special people close.

    xx. to keep few crying sessions, poetry writing session, song listening sessions with my best friend, family time and to keep a 'me' time. hopefully i'll learn to choose myself over others.


  • sunshower_ 1w


    Read More

    a cobweb of untouched memories,
    she preserves death and love
    between the words of her stories
    and hangs it over clouds above.


  • sunshower_ 1w

    Anuv Jain's Alag Aasmaan

    is a soft lullaby
    cuddling against the soft voice,
    making you feel like
    tucked inside the blanket
    like a baby, in the winters
    warm, safe and loved

    never gets old,
    ages like wine,
    falls like drizzle,
    swishes its wand
    and turns the corners
    of your lips upwards

    is a brave whisper,
    imbuing strength in you,
    there's strength in
    there's strength in crying

    is unlike all songs out there
    with lyrics so different,
    becomes your anthem
    the more you listen to it,
    and it seeps in the gaps
    of your bones
    you loved a little less

    is a hopenote
    sewed with beads of melody,
    and fabric of love,
    torn at the hems,
    stars of memories,
    and smiles of words

    is a poem coloured in
    blue and purple,
    with flowers sprouting out
    of its edges,
    a wallflower shushing
    a sunflower miles apart,
    turning hushed sobs to
    bouts of tears of laughter

    is an ode to lovers
    leaving their house
    to go to different places
    under different skies
    but sharing the same home

    is poetically
    a masterpiece
    dancing upon the strings of
    like a smile weaved on the
    tender aching parts of the sky,
    after a thunderstorm,
    shining like a rainbow

    24 Nov '21

    A wn repost on post about Anuv Jain's song. Damn. Made my day totally! @writersnetwork <3 it's the last thing I expected.

    Read More


  • sunshower_ 1w

    Thoovanathumbikal(malayalam)- dragonflies in the spraying rain

    #silence #thunderc #appreciation

    @maestral @woodsorrels_ @heartsease i learnt three new words from you. ��

    If there are any mistakes do point out

    Read More


    i've some unfinished business
    left incomplete with
    the empty handed skies
    laying on vestigial alcoves of
    silence staring right back–
    their gaze on everything
    offering nothing but silence

    sometimes the silence
    between us stops time in its track,
    and we misread our eyes,
    it becomes intimidatingly
    awkward, the silence makes
    my heart heavy, and contrives
    bathos inside me.

    lately my hair is turning a shade
    lighter, like pages of your favourite novel,
    that i stained with coffee,
    and filled it with your odour,
    my fingertips, underlined graphite,
    fading alphabet, folded corner pages
    i'm searching you inside the words
    on the serifs, the asterisks you marked,
    the paragraphs your circled,
    but i find nothing.

    a concoction of torment and
    words brews like dark clouds
    against the blue seething,
    swarming; concealing the orange
    lamenting orb, whelving the colours
    upon swaying flowers of free verse,
    mauve sheets staining on the skies,
    contrails of unsaid feelings–
    as i try to supress the thunders,
    stuffing it inside the sentences,
    i see, a swarm of dragonflies
    making a pattern of two hearts,
    the boiling poem inside me
    cools down by few degrees,
    serein take over, as they
    dance their way away,
    taking the silence with them,
    leaving me with a baby poem
    and i slip it between
    the pages of our favourite novel,

    23 Nov '21

  • sunshower_ 2w

    Woolgathering on the clouds

    We are in the ocean of love crippled with the fear of drowning and desiring to taste the waters expecting it to be our favourite drink, not knowing everyone tastes it different.

    Some tightly clutching paper boats of their childhoods against their bosoms, some blindfolded after the trauma of abusive relationship of their parents , some with their hands tied, and some holding hands of their co-passenger and some deliberately jumping into the waves and some waiting eternally for their dream lover to arrive in yachts and swim them away.

    The ebbs and tides raft two lovers but sometimes they become the reason to break them apart.

    Like half crumpled paper and a fistful of mayhem of undone beliefs: love unfolds from a dull constellation of unaligned fate and still typing keyboard into a universe of backspaced confessions and 'happily ever after' endings.

    The soft haunting voice of Phoebe Bridgers sings you to a melancholic sleep and I lay awake reading Plath's bell jar and staring at Van Gogh's starry night; searching for Woolf's lighthouse; the background plays Hemingway's speech and in my dreams I kill myself like I do everytime, only to wake up.

    Why do writers kill themselves?
    Perhaps only time shall show me.

    Timid wind blows your hair from your smile, and we both crouch laughing our hearts out, unaware of the slithering time making its way towards us, past the memories, nature plays a nostalgic classic jazz blended with pop for us to dance our heads on each other's shoulders against the soft moonlight falling on each other's face.

    Dementia is way too hard too deal with, it'll be hard but I promise to stay even if our memories disappear and love leaves our home.

    Like falling leaves on a windy days, our memories are slipping from the webspace of our hards against the bare ground, filled with lava, like that from our childhood games.

    Longing and loneliness swing like a pendulum & an introspective violin piece; we never realised: love was never really the ocean, it wasn't just limited the ocean, but the whole shorelines, skylines subtly infuriating sometimes setting the clouds aflame with her hues, and sometimes crying aloud reminiscing over sacred vow she made to the land that got submerged beneath the mighty oceans like a forgotten secret; the changing seasons; stories that we shared— it wasn't limited to romantic partners and romanticising existence, but the little joy in ordinary things which makes us extraordinary; jokes and laughs and food that you share, the way you make someone smile, laying on the grass, walking barefoot, writing poems, complimenting a random stranger, confessing things you were too afraid to, the whole universe, including your existential crisis and not wanting to exist anymore, you existing, crying for your loved ones, remembering them through memories and stories.

    Let me stay for a little while and not write any poems,
    let me gaze at you,
    a masterpiece in making,
    save me not because you're the catastrophe I've been waiting for my entire life and
    the one I'll like to trade my life for.

    - Sunshower
    18 November '21

    P.S. after long trying my hand at long proses.
    P.P.S - TS reference

    #start #lonelyc #littlewhile #like

    @surefire @poeticgirl

    Read More


    "There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you'd better learn the sound of it. Otherwise you'll never understand what it's saying."

    Sarah Dessen, Just Listen

  • sunshower_ 5w

    Lily of the valleys

    She looks like a full moon night, draped in scars, sequins of stars, stained in peace and a smile as pretty as the moon.
    Her beauty echoes the admiration of people gazing at her every night and prayers on nights she hides behind the veil of doubts.


  • sunshower_ 5w


    your poems fall softly upon the tender,
    aching fragments of my skin
    like soft snowflakes burning September,
    our fingers entwined, our souls akin.


  • sunshower_ 5w

    "So the years went by
    I stayed the same
    But she began to drift away
    I was left alone
    Still I waited for the day
    When she'd say, "I will always love you""
    -When she loved me, Sarah McLachlan

    Read More


    There's a void
    Inside me
    Growing at the pace
    Of a black hole
    A void that has replaced
    Engulfed every life in me
    Within it, A void
    Filled with emotions
    I'm too afraid to encounter
    A void I've used to
    Hide my childhood,
    To store my tears,
    My bruises,
    Smiles, backspaced words,
    Wilted flowers that once
    Made a home in my rib cages
    The person I truly am

    A lump
    Within my throat
    Beats loudly
    I am unable to swallow
    A sadness that has made
    A house inside me
    Time is a skipping rope
    And I stumble upon it
    Legs entangled to it
    My knees bleeding,
    But still I walk again,
    Like everytime,
    I take a deep breath,
    "It's okay",
    I tell myself
    When deep within my heart
    I know,
    I've been too kind
    To people who didn't
    Deserve me
    I wish I could jump back
    Through the rope,
    To tell my younger self,
    That I'll always love her
    And it's really okay.

    26 Oct '21

  • sunshower_ 6w

    Tw: fiction
    Some sentences might have been inked under the influence of some provocative songs.

    "And now that I'm without your kisses
    I'll be needing stitches" - Stitches, Shawn Mendes

    /Tailored wounds/

    A choking metaphor finds a way
    To seep between her bones to enter
    Her poems once in a while,
    Here and there, ringing a cataclysm,
    Leaving cathartic musings,
    Stained time loops
    And nihilistic reverberation,
    It all starts with a flicker, a matchstick,
    Contributing a conflagration to a
    Larger part of her hands and mind,
    The fire ain't enough to warm her
    Frozen breaths, or powerful enough
    To plant penelopes in her
    Cracked heart; Clutching onto words
    Reeking of aestheticism, echoing soft past,
    She's a crossover of September sonnet
    And a jinxed June
    She's searching for a hand
    That'd spell back f o r e v e r on her palm,
    But all she can do is put a tired smile,
    Because when she closes her eyes,
    All she sees is that face and feel the hand
    On hers,
    For whom she once wrote scores of love poems,
    He was a shy wallflower, and
    she, a chirpy leucanthemum,
    She has a kinship with sunflowers and heathers,
    Whilst she wanders with daffodils,
    When they ask her about her home,
    She blows away dandelions petals,
    Lately she is wearing a pinafore
    And flared blue jeans,
    Working day and night in rural fields,
    Occasionally during a sunset,
    She grasps for a moment
    To convert it into a gasping haiku;
    Tendering the sheep, shearing the yarn,
    To stitch tilted smiles on her sleeves,
    Which has been to wars uncountable
    With herself and the world and her love;
    Her skin is a beautiful artwork
    Of battlefields she has been part of;
    As a souvenir of her endurance
    Her forehead is creased with waves,
    A faithful smile always lingering on
    Her pretty lips, she hopes to dust kindness
    On surfaces her feet trudge upon,
    Her soul is a triptych depicting
    Conflicting perception about love,
    Family and identity,
    Trickling drops of rain takes shape of a rainbow
    In the bleeding sky,
    Camouflaged with courage and hope,
    Falling over her face as tears
    She is too afraid to shed,
    A constant conflict between saying and
    Caring too much– keeps her on her toes,
    When I catch a glance of her heart,
    I wonder whether he'd have fallen in love
    h a r d e r
    with her if he'd met her
    before me
    Combustible heartbeats of ours
    Mush into a dough of silence
    My words lie often only upon the paper
    For my tongue can utter
    Only what my mind considers true
    I wish for an eternity
    Drenched in seclusion
    I wish upon a shooting star
    To fade away like her, far
    I have a loose grip
    But good instincts
    I'm searching for a moment
    Only mine to call,
    Mine to own,
    It's all only a thought, until the metaphors
    Overpower my worth and existence,
    I'm driving the car,
    To get my driver's license,
    Only to wake up
    From this dreamy reality.

    25 October '21

    #metaphor #wod

    Honestly I don't remember the last time I wrote such a long poem.

    @writersnetwork thanks!

    Read More

    Tailored wounds