Messed up

I listen to messed up songs and

I hang around with messed up people.

There are quakes in my heart and

I can feel tremors of it in my toes.

My tears are like leaves in autumn

Falling off without consent.

My diaphragm doesn’t expand like balloons anymore

And I can’t breathe.

I dug into my veins, to find at least a well

Were once we’re streams,

All had dried up.

Alas, the deprivation of oxygen

Messed up my brain.



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I am sorry people for being away for not reading you post and not replying to your queries. I am a little but lost. I hope you haven’t forgotten me yet.


A bottle of ash

My works are like, leaves of a tree in autumn

Waiting to be carried to it’s grave.

Waiting to be carried by the air

To go the places, it has seen.

Carry them to a pile of other leaves

Where it’ll be burned later on

And those ashes I’ll wear on my face.

My face shall resemble a dead women’s then,

All words marks and no feelings

With wrinkles not beautiful like leaves veins,

Neither parallel nor reticulate.

But maybe like roots

That never found water.

Water not my words, while at death bed

And not burry us, while we both die.

Rather burn us and collect those ashes

In a discarded bottle and keep it safe, openly

For another dead woman, to find it,

Reach her hands into it and

Wear those ashes on her face.



©16/04/19 The Rendezvous Club

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Eating soil

My mamma caught me eating soil yesterday,

She wouldn’t have caught me, if

I hadn’t stolen the sieve

From the kitchen,

To separate the rocks from the soil.

I should have let those rocks

Poke my oesophagus.

She patted thrice on my back

And took me in,

Seated me next to the kitchen door

Went in to get a glass of water.

She asked me to drink at least half of it

And wiped the dirt off my face.

She asked me, why I was eating dirt?

I said, you told me that

I was made of soil and

I’ll return to soil one day.

So I was trying, to fasten the process.

Which process? She asked.

I said there was two and

I’m happy with either one.

First is that,

I think when I was made, someone left holes in me

And I wanted the soil to fill me up.

For things ache in me and

I want to feel whole .

And second is that,

If I eat too much soil then

I’ll have more than enough of it in me that,

Earth would want me to return to it soon

And I’ll finally be free.

Mamma then held me close to her chest and said

Baby things don’t work like that,

If they did,

Then I would have sat along with you

And ate soil.

My dear baby things don’t work like that.



© 14/04/19 The Rendezvous Club

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Blogger Bash Awards

Hey guys,

I was actually nominated for the blogger Bash award and the winner of the award is decided through online voting. I was nominated for the best blogging and writing category. So if you guys like what you’re reading on my blog. I would be happy if you head over to this site and vote for me 👉Bloggerbash. Vote for me on the site under the Best blogging and writing category. My site name is The Rendezvous Club. Thank you for all your support and love. Here’s the link again to the site for voting Blogger Bash awards 2019

Father- A short story

Someone asked me; Have you ever heard God’s voice. This took me back to that day, when I first heard his voice. I was fighting with God and I said to him, I am the unluckiest among all the people I know for I don’t even have a father. At that very moment, he asked me back, then Then who am I ? That was the very moment I got to know that actually, I was one among the luckiest in this world. For God is my father.

What good will love bring?

I think I love you

But I would not tell you.

You have places to go

And I have eyes to meet.

Our desire part ways

In the crossroads.

Our love unties

As future stare at us.

What good will love bring?

When I need you,

Yet not want you.

When I love you,

Yet need to part you.



©10/04/19 The Rendezvous Club

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Mad girl’s daughter

There were moments

When my mamma thought

I need therapy.

But I know

She won’t take me

What would the world say.

Mad girl’s daughter gone

Even more mad.

Demons on her back

Skeletons in her bag.

Sin is a word to describe,

We don’t know her past.

But then again they’ll sing

Mad girl’s daughter gone

Even more mad.

When Dad went out of the picture

You should have seen her suture.

Shadows kept in room

Windows kept her in.

Shadows kept in room

Windows kept her in.

Shadows kept in room

Windows kept her in.

Mad girl’s daughter gone

Even more mad.


Image from Pinterest


©9/4/19 The Rendezvous Club

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