The Ombré Journal

Watch this journal blend hues of love, moving tints from hysterical sunshines to blurry midnights.


I move my fingers over your skin. Your surfaces intrigue me, so I scrape away the dust. Dig my fingers in, looking for traces of your past. To find what you did, and what they did to you. But there’s no story in the shallow, and I find none.

Till I scrape deeper. Deeper where you still have walls. Shattered, but not brittle. Some small openings, reminiscent of those who tried to break in. But not all eyes could take such iridescence. So they leave, running back to the dark. Broken is beautiful, but not everyone has a taste for it. All I find is old, broken, but there is this charm to it. Like once it had flowers and birds sat on it. Maybe it shone in the sun, and God touched it when it rained.



I see the calm waters and these mysterious, magnetic streets. With each step, I don’t blink. I breathe, and I fall for it all. Who could tell me if I had seen all of you? But like all innocent lovers- I believe…

Like a celestial event, the streets, the people, the waters- all align and manifest into a magical masquerade once a year.

And behind this mask I might not see most of you, but you are still the most beautiful thing I ever came across.

The inevitable

People come, people go. Good wins over evil. True. But when you step into a place, you seldom feel the triumph and joy of its successful history. Nevertheless, you can often feel the sorrow of its painful past.

There is this thing about pain that lingers, even if it were defeated and won over. About empathy, where we can imagine how hurtful could it be, but empathised joy comes to us through more than just stimuli or imagination. Maybe because the perception of happiness comes to each as his own, while wounds hurt everyone.

Could it be that our souls are knitted together with more pain, than joy ?

At WorldWarII Museum, Munich

Questions I need to ask

But what happens when the lights go out ? How do you hold yourself together, as I start to drip in gold? Do you feel scared? Overwhelmed? Unsure ?

You are afraid of the dark, I get it. So does that mean you want light? But, light has a source; it can be put out. Darkness, is just there. It exists; inevitably. So why do you want something that can be taken away from you?

Is it the fear ? Or a compulsive need to lose when you love ?

So, coming back to it: How do you hold yourself together, when the lights go out and I drip in gold?


Sometimes love doesn’t give you a lot to hold on to. Sometimes all you have are a few moments that slipped through your fingers. But some feelings run way beyond the uncertain limits of time. It is like a flower you touched once and suddenly now your entire soul smells of it. One touch that grows on you and crawls on your skin. Love anything or anyone, and you find your heart wrung on the ropes of hope and longing. For to love at all is to cut open a piece of you without your consent. And maybe the brief moment they looked into your eyes or the night you spent talking your hearts out stays with you forever- but some poems are incomplete beyond our control.


You are drawn to things that scare you the most. Like a physical oxymoron, you are so scared of it that you are endlessly drawn towards it. Constantly, over and over again. Sometimes the scary portions can be overwhelming; so much so that you push to deny your calling. But the strings never cease to pull.

The strings don’t cease to pull, and across the worlds and across the time, you wind up right at its door. In a completely unrelated but parallel conversation, man cannot breathe under water. Has not discovered even half of it, stepped into hardly any of it. But time and again man finds himself drawn to its vast, mysterious, unknown depths; like he is drawn to the need to love.

Some of us like to dip our toes, and some go for a swim. Some of us sail in the safety of our boats, and some dive right into it- vulnerable. And then, some of us just want to sit next to it to observe it, breathe it in. Maybe, if we’re lucky, have some droplets splash at our face when the breeze glides over it. It is a part of our physical body; the attraction, the thirst, is inevitable. Just like the waves of the ocean, loves moves and glides, rises and falls; as if celestial forces are pulling at it.

It has the power drown you, block your vision, engulf you; only to pretend that it accepts you- until it smashes you back at the shore when you can’t breathe any longer. Well, they do say that nothing stays in the ocean forever. But that doesn’t stop the rather curious heart. Ironically, it calms you even when it is a bustling unit of chaos. Aren’t we all just physical manifestations of psychological oxymorons? The heart might want what it wants. What is inquisitional is what it needs is something it also fears.

But man is regardless, endlessly drawn to the waters; to love. Hoping to not drown, hoping to not get hurt. To touch, and to run away- only to come back to be drenched again.


The songs taught us, 

that love hurts.

So here i am-

Stuck on the shore;

Lashed by the waves,

That engulf me, and leave me.

And engulf me, to only leave me again.

I don’t remember the love, 

but I do, the songs.


No matter how deep you descend

To find what you lost

You’ll have to find your reflection

And drown in it

To an alcove where tranquil hits you;

And to recover from what hit you so hard

You’d find a way to mould with it

It will find a way to mould with you

Even if there comes a day of oblivion

When there’s no depth

Or no drowning

For its only a universal order

That the cosmos shall rise and dissolve at the same place.


And like all others

You’re only a fallen bird

Afraid to fly again


But not miserable.


Wings tell you 

That you were destined to fly.

Or else,

To die under the negligence of rusted souls,

is the fate of an insect.

Two sides

The wind may carry,

The unsent letters

That die

In often used drawers;

And all things romantic,

That the novels,

the songs,

Lie to us about.
But I look around,

And watch an aftermath;


Ornated with dead leaves,

Blinding dust ,

Stagnant feelings.


And you know what’s strange about feelings?

That they never come in moderation.

They don’t consider the prospects of not getting answers, because they dwell in a state of utter denial. You’ll look for drops, and they shall come in drops; initially. 

And then one fine day, out of nowhere and in a totally uncalled for event, 

You’ll look up to the sky for a drop

And find yourself beneath this violent waterfall of feelings.

You’ll swim against the current of understanding and it’ll hurt- but you’ll swim anyway. Because you’ve been looking for this high everywhere. 

That’s the strangest thing about feelings. And I guess you will never know; till your time comes.

God, I could burn oceans with what I feel.

She wolf

Smoking sudden warm breaths,

She lay wounded on the snow.

Because she knows no other way of life,

Than this high of the hurting,

And the momentary drunkenness on blood.

Once she chose to love and nurture,

But then,

Got hurt by her own choices.

And today she lay on the snow;

Alone, and wounded. 

So you could see none of that.

What you can, in her iridescent eyes,

Is the thrill of the hunt,

The sins,

The bullets shot in the dark.

She loved you,

Gave you her bleeding heart. 

And now with the same courage,

She can rip you apart.

She has this thirst that would never end;

Because she has been the bait.

And now that she saved herself,

Everyone else shall need saving.

And when all that time,

She lay wounded on the snow,

Smoking sudden warm breaths,

With her face buried;

She’ll have you raw,

And as cold as her soul tonight.

You can’t escape her;

She habitually froze you in time.

You’ll read the anger in her eyes.

Because along with everything else,

She even killed the love she knew so well.

Because she has been the bait.

And now that she saved herself,

Everyone else shall need saving. 

The fire shall have you two.

You can’t battle the she-wolf,

Who shall have you on your knees,

falling into pieces…

The Night. 

​I believe, that no matter how much the movies personify darkness as something horrifying, there will always be something very soothing about it. Moods suddenly switch as you dim the lights. People open up; suddenly it is the soul that whispers and not the brain. Conversations are louder in expression. There are no inhibitions or fears, because the sense of vision is curbed. You’re lesser bothered about judgements. You feel safe and talk your heart out. It is almost like you’re talking to yourself. A different world altogether, and ecstatic. And love, I want to be there with you. Up on the rooftop with our legs hanging midair, as I talk to you about love and it’s fears, and how you think the earth was made. I fear oblivion, but I hope that that day you find me here in the flickering and dim lights, brushing your hair and telling you; that I think about you when I see this endless ocean. So let’s not wait for oblivion and be immortal tonight. Because the dark is where the souls are loved, the souls are safe. Because I think about you when I see this endless ocean, and I’m in love with you.

What you do

But what do you doWhen you’re empty

Not by choice, but for pouring 

all of yourself

For the wrong people? 

When you’re all alone

At 3 at night,


Wishing that it all ends?

When you bottle up your emotions

But everyone makes sure

They crack that bottle a little; 

And suddenly you are

Afraid that you’ll burst?

Afraid, that this time if you fall

You can’t get up from here.

That it has been dark for a while now

But the overrated ray of hope

Only haunts you.

You silently sob away,

Holding on to love.

But what do you do

When you love with all of your heart

And still

You’re not enough 

to make anyone stay?

Hardships, Part II

How hard it is,

For a broken heart, 

To love again.
How it longs for the arms

It is afraid to lose everyday.

How it seeks the touch

It’s afraid to not be able to live without someday. 

How it believes in the promises

It knows can stab it tomorrow.

How it wants to romanticise the nights

It fears will scare it to oblivion. 
How hard it is,

For a broken heart, 

To love again.

But the broken heart,

Loves so much better.

Through so much pain.

For as much as nothing at all.
So yes,

My love, 

Loving you isn’t hard.

It’s effortless.

But it’s hard for me to love.

For it’s just a feeling in some hollow in my chest. 

For its not something that I have known like this ever before I met you.

For I haven’t been loved.
A broken heart loves to much better. 

’cause a broken heart

loves, to love.

In the hope of being loved, 

But not to be loved.

And that’s the catch.

Hardships, Part I

How hard it is,

For a broken heart,

To love again; 

For its burnt edges,

To seek fire again;

For its cuts and slits, 

To want to play with blades again.
But afterall

The heart, even though broken,

is nothing, 

But a 10 year old,

Who wants to climb the tree;

Not to claim it,

But only for the high.
So loving you, 

My love, 

Is quite a pain.

But my burnt edges,

Seek fire again.

I know what I am,

Getting myself into.

You’ll come;

And then one day, 

You will not. 

And all this time,

I’ll pretend.

That I didn’t see this coming. 

’cause I chose to climb the tree,

Not to claim it,

But only for the high.

The Point of Divergence. 

Love me,Slow, and with poise,

And as humble as they crawl.

Your heart was cold,

But then I took you higher,

To the point where, 

The sea diverges from the shore,

The sky from the land,

Black from white, the night from the stars.

It’s slow, but it’s not the typical.


What if,

It was all a lie.

That there was no such point of divergence. 

The stars were bullet holes in the night, 

That shone bright. 

The sea was the melted shore,

That was dying.

The horizon was just an illusion, 

That you dreamed about. 

And the black was just shadowed white.

What if,

I was the pain in your heart,

You wake up with.

I am the nightmare

That won’t let you sleep tonight. 

Promise me.

Promise me that you’ll fly on these lies,

Back into the time;

Where you find me melting into your arms,

And hold me just as close.

Promise me,

You’ll live in this alternate existence,


And remember me,

For all those lies,

For all those moments, 

When I took your breath away. 

(Artwork by Shamanth Joshi)



To put it bluntly, I don’t have many regrets. I have never been that kind of a person anyway.
Except for this;
That I could never write about you.
About the million ways we could have lived and died, together.
Words stop occurring to me whenever I think about you.

No matter how hard I try.

And it drains me. Drains me of courage, of perseverance.
I wish I could describe you in understated words.

In words that don’t deserve you, but I would do it anyway. Because words are all I have to lose.
And losing to you is a privilege.
An honour.
A high during the midnight that has no regrets in the morning.
And even if it gave me pain, why won’t I do it?

Because, if at all, then you’re the only and the most lovely way I’d like to die.

Things You say, and you don’t. 

You say you love me,


The dark is obnoxious to you;

You’re afraid of fire;

Scared of heights;

And depths annoy you;

Tears, to you, are creepy;

You squint when you see wounds;

You run away from wild animals;

Are ashamed of disabilities;

Imperfections you find ugly;

You hesitate to touch the broken;

And discard the wornouts;

You dislike silences;

Fear getting hurt;

Rains that come without a warning sadden you;

You lose your shit when you see chaos;

Shadows make you sweat;

And nightmares don’t let you sleep.


You do say you love me.

(Artwork by Shamanth Joshi)

Just so you know


Walk with me

On thorns and on petals,


And get to know,

How am I,


Pain and relief.

Fall in love, and you’ll know

Why hurricanes are named after people

Why the saddest poems are written at 3 am in tears

Why love is the darkest form of light in the universe

And the bravest thing you’ll ever do is love again.


It’s hard.

For a broken heart to love.

For the soul who had been abandoned once, to hold on to someone again.
For it is all a reminder. A reminder of heavy winds and dark, starless skies. It’s not you, but pure, unadulterated fear. Fear of loss. Fear of hurt. Fear of the fearlessness that love bestows.

It does pain. A lot.


They take all of that pain for you. And that is what is beautiful. Their love- behind the scars, the uncalled for crying, the sadness- is beautiful.

Because despite of being a verbatim narration of the worst that love can do, they write the most beautiful of the songs about you. They hold you in their arms so close, even if it makes their heart ache a little more tonight.

(The wonderful charcoal sketch is by a beloved friend Yachika Sharma.)

About falling, and in love. 

People could excite you. Blind you with their luminosity. Make your heart beat so fast you could lose your breath. They can praise you and make you feel like a thousand dollars. They’re there, and you’ll find them at all points in your life.

But find someone who can calm you down with a mere glance when you’re restless. Who doesn’t blind you, but clears the fog of misconceptions you have about the world (and yourself), so that you can see better. Someone who can hold you close and make you catch your breath. Who nourishes you; doesn’t rate you but makes you feel priceless. Don’t stumble upon the rocks of the historic tales you hear about love. Fall in love, but don’t really fall; Rise.


How about that?


I can’t explain, how I feel about you. It’s not the kind of feeling that has a word for it. It’s a little, kind of, restless. Like the initial drops of rain- offbeat and anxious. It’s very ecstatic, very. It’s overpowering and blinding, and oh so very radiant. But, it’s also a little bit of pain.

Pain, because to love you means to give you what I don’t even have. I am tired, devoid, wasted. But the feeling is powerful- so much that even though I’m afraid of falling, I jumped. It’s not the kind of feeling that has a word for it. But it’s all words, and words are all I have. 


I gave up on wanting, a lifetime ago.And then this day, I started wanting. 

I started wanting those late night conversations, those warm phone calls where you mostly whisper. Dim lights and chilled breezes. Moonlit skies and rooftop dates where you don’t actually talk. Accidental touches and intentional cuddles. And all things poetic. 

But let’s not write about them today. 

Let’s let go how dim lights light up sparks. Let’s not write songs about them. And today, let’s write a song about you. How you put me at rest, calm me down. And how I breathe for real only near you. About all of it, and about stuff I don’t want to write about.

Because words only let you down.

But then, came this day when I started wanting. 

Things I should let you know

So today

Lets us let the seconds slip from our fingers

And the sea to make noise in the silent chaos

Let the breeze brush our hair away

And the sun to shine shyly from behind the clouds

Let’s not write songs about them today;

And let’s write a song about you.
So today

Let’s leave the stars shining upon the ocean

And the sand move below our feet

Let the trees sway in love for the wind

And dew drops to wet the grass for dawn

Let’s not write songs about them today;

And let’s write a song about you.
So today

Let’s ignore the moonshine painting the town silver

And the birds singing their poetry

Let the rain engrave patterns on the windows

And the flowers bloom their death away

Let’s not write songs about them today;

And let’s write a song about you.

Here I am

Here, I ama remembrance that has been lost

and broken, and then washed away

multitudinous times by the shore, that you

washed upon me, by the sheer wrath

of your love; as a poet would say.
Here, I am

a page that you turned over too soon

to start over with another page

because you’d rather look at plastic

flowers, than the real ashes of

a once spring soul; as a poet would say.
Here, I am

the wind you closed your windows to

to escape my touch, for you were

too scared of falling in love but

so was I, and for you I could take all

of that pain and much more; as a poet would say.


The sun never asked the moon to be his. He burnt every bit of himself,  so that she always shone. Despite of her many faces, her many phases, he never burned any lesser than he did the day before.
That’s how I am always going to feel. You’re eccentric, beautiful, and all that I’m not. But that’s how you complete me, and I haven’t been any fuller, any luminous before.
There might not be anyway in which I could ever deserve you. And that’s okay, because only words bleed within the pages where I press you close to me.
Just let me stand close, and let me make you smile. And let me watch you while you sleep, and while you shine bright. Just hold me close, and I’ll never let you go. Because you’re eccentric,  beautiful, and everything that I’m not. And that’s how you’re my favourite kind of magic.

You are

Of how far you’ve come,
And so strong as you have,
You hardly notice.
But you’re a hurricane at rest.
You’re a million mysterious galaxies escaping oblivion.
You’re the song that the sea keeps humming.
It’s wonderful the way you wake up every morning and become the little happy drizzle as you do.
You’re the aurora that breathes love.
You’re someone’s day.
A little sun that lights up a little pretty world somewhere.
You deserve all the love, but you’ll be the most beautiful constellation anyway.
Because you’re the song the sea keeps humming.

Just do it


What is it ?

What is it about nights that creates nightmares?
and about days that makes daydreams?
About rain that beautifies an artist,
and of you that pierces in me.

About that man on the footpath
waiting for oblivion,
and of us still waiting
to meet for the very first time.
About that kid
who doesn’t want to go home,
and of the girl for whom
no one waits up.
About the father who can’t sleep at peace,
and of the flowers who aren’t willing to bloom
but bloom anyway.
What if the sun doesn’t want to set today?
What if the day wants the stars as well?
And what if the tree doesn’t want to part from its leaves this autumn?
And what exactly about your eyes that hex?
What is it about happiness that sublimes…
and of sorrow that stays fresh..?


You can let me go,
But never let go of me.
If you just let me invade you, meddle with the pieces of me within yourself… you’ll decipher what’s mine within me.
All I need is a walk on the beach,
A conversation of the eyes,
And a touch to remember.Unadulterated.
Sometimes I wish for dried flowers in an old diary,  leaving watermarks of what were the magnificence of you and me. I’m a pile of pieces not easy to assemble, but maybe easy to love?
All I need is a cup of coffee in bed,
A dance in the rain,
And you. Unadulterated.
What’s more yours than the sparkle in my eyes, than the aurora that escapes me with each breath that I name yours. It’s a big world, love, but the world within us is grand. It’s love in every hour, minute, second; all endless and luminous.
Never let go of me, but you can let me go. And I will crawl back to you. Unadulterated.


It’ll Never Be an End.

As the sun dips in the horizon, we escape from our cages. The darkness is seductive,  like a slow dance with your lover where the first touch is electric. We can’t help but break out of the chains; maybe not in the body, but in the mind. You’d find me in a flowerbed and wrap your arms around me. Can’t see you, but the way my breath races to match the breath I can feel at the back of my neck… its symbolic like the dance of a peacock. Your fingers slowly move my hair to the side; you always liked them this way. There’s something about a caged couple: every meeting is like a first date, each touch just as electric as the first time your fingers brushed against his. Like all this time you’ve been anxious about your own presence around yourself,  and your hands interlock and suddenly… you are fine about yourself.
I haven’t seen you for a very long time, love, but I know it’s you. Though it’s a black outline of a body I see every night,  I know, even all this time you’re just as beautiful. They couldn’t keep us as apart as they thought they could. Our love is still alive. I’m a lover who’s following her heartbeat in this jungle,blindfolded by the night,  to end up in your arms. But I think you’re doing the same too. No one else will hold me that way. No one can. The cage… it’ll never be an end. The love story that was coloured by sunshine is now marked by seductive silences and pitch darkness. But it’ll never be an end. The night will keep us alive, even as we reunite in heaven.

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