Probably the lengthiest poem I have ever written! I hope you like it. Please give me your honest opinions in the comments below! 

P.S The title of the poem is in Latin and translates to rebirth. 

She was made up of words,

They all said. She was meant

To be an author, they proclaimed.

But her mother, Mrs. Smith

Cooked dreams of an early

Marriage and a crawling toddler

For her. Thus, she ran.


She ran, leaving a world

Behind only to step into another.

She would paint her own life,

Embellish it with colloquialism,

Flowery words and further,

In her haste, she could only

Collect what her greedy hands

Touched. A toothbrush. A


Satchel and not as much a

Glance to the lady who was

Constituted of belligerence and

Hostility for her shaky career.

Betty was the bird emancipated

From a wooden cage. She would

Flap her wings around a strange


Place. She would grasp the

Feather and let it sink into

The welcoming ink and let the

Words spill out on an otherwise

Blank page. Oh! The jolts of

The train were like droplets of

Water flicked hurriedly after a


Nightmare. She was in a rocking

Carriage with people carrying

The burdens of their own stories after all.

She never batted her eyelashes

At another. Her concentration

Was pinpointed on the leather

Of the ledger she had managed


To gather. Her dexterous fingers

Groped the skin of the new diary

And her heart beat faster by

Imagining what would go in it

And which magazines her work would

Travel to. She was the witch and

This diary was her wand. She

Would cast enchanting spells

And thrive from it all.


For once, she heaved and a

Bizarre fear settled in the pit

Of her stomach. She knitted

Her brows deep in worry and

Anxiety for the thought of

Starting over. But the word

‘Valiance’ quivered in her mind like

Trees from an arrogant wind

Before a storm and she felt

Bolstered again. Because, she


Knew that no matter how harsh

The wind howls at the tress, they

Quiver but they never crumble and fall.

Lovey-Dovey Poems Galore!

Love is a stubborn and unseen force but it is felt by all.

Due to taking part in a contest, I have been submitting my love poems to the respective website. Are you ready to read them and provide your feedback?

Was that a chorus of ‘yes’ I just heard? Good!

Here you go! The Silence That Gorged On A lover

I am going to be uploading so many more love-related poetry in the coming weeks. Please support me and read my work. You can like and comment on the poems too. The big, red cherry on the cake is that you can participate as well. Let me know your thoughts!

“Ma, I put lipstick on and I feel so pretty!”. 

Grip the brush with the tightness
that a  warrior exhibits while holding a sword.
Dip it in a powdery box much like a king
does after a war. Except his fingers
caress the crimson Tilak and gently
graze his forehead. You are no less than
a king or a queen, for that matter. Spread
the colored powder across your skin,
with the delicateness of your mother
who watches with fascination as her
fifteen-year-old daughter lives out
her dream to look more beautiful
than she already is in her dressing
room. Now, smudge all the sprouting
blemishes that might have bloomed on
your skin, it will cover not only spots but
also your imperfections. Apply
lipstick now. Brush the tip across
your dry lips with the artistry of
an artist who has ample experience to
recreate Mona Lisa in his basement.
You are ready to face the world.
You wear a mask on the outside and
conceal yourself from within.

A lengthier poem, this one.

I have so much on my plate right now and this is why I come bearing some of the contents that are on my plate.

I have devoted myself to the empowerment of teenage girls. This is why I am going around interviewing young girls around India (virtually, of course) to document their life-changing experiences and interesting discoveries.

Check out the Facebook page and hit like-  Teen JWB

For any writing assignments, comment below or just email







What does it feel like to move on?

It feels like exactly how
it sounds. You move
three steps ahead of
a force that was once holding
you back. You break
away from shackles that
were rooted around
your wrists and ankles.
You had fallen down
and now you have gotten
up-stronger and with
much more vigor. Your
mind can conjure images
of a healthy future. And
you can actually smile
without feeling the torture.
You can look
back now, it’s safe,
because what you will
see won’t be a mistake.
It will be a lesson of a
lifetime. And you will
remember his face
without fear or tear
streaks. You are not
reading these lines. You
are reading between
them because you know
exactly how it feels to
have moved on.
Yes, you have conquered
the art of moving on
and looking back with
courage and not scorn.

I am talking to you. Yes, YOU. The beautiful woman who fell head over heels over someone who does not give a damn. I want to help you move on. (I rhymed here too. Give me a cookie). If you are feeling down for any reason (related to boys), feel reassured after reading this poem because you can do so much better.

Personally, I never moved on because I have never fallen in love, (But does falling for Nutella count?). And, this was only my imitation of a sanguine woman who feels that she is strong enough to forget.

Good night.
I love you all.
Stay blessed.

Why Submitting Poetry To These 4 Places Is A Big Mistake!

When your literary creations don’t get the credit they deserve, you feel like the boat that you built with so much effort just capsized.

2016 proved to be a boat wreck of some sort as I sent my poetry to a lot of WRONG places. Now, these wrong places I speak of are dominantly ONLINE. And they are wrong because they never reverted even though I was persistent they do so.

Therefore, I bring you a list that will alert you to look out for all those dormant specimens plaguing the internet in the name of “publishing” you.

1. The education Tree
This Delhi based organization took an initiative to promote aspiring writers. It was called #WriteYoung. I submitted. They never reverted. Thus, don’t waste your time in sending your work to organizations that only know how to stare at a wall, waiting for it to stare back.

2. The Madras Mag
Impudence at its best. I queried the Editor In chief on Twitter and all she said was that they were a small team. I was slightly assured by that. However, I waited and no one responded. It angered me so much that I wrote to them-“Is my work that repulsive?” Did they reply? No. Shocker, hun?

3. Paprikashta Magazine
Friendly Admin made sure that they deluded me into thinking that my work was being “assessed” by the “Editors”. I kept inquiring and nothing happened. After some time, even I let go of hope. It was brutal. I had sent five of my most favorite poems too.

4. Baatein
Wonderfully stupid Instagram page posting poetry. I was promised that my work would be published on a specific date. I waited. Nothing showed up. They promised me another date. I waited again and nothing changed. I threatened to retract my work and they promised that they would publish my poem for sure this time. Still nada. They then said that my poem was not worth it. That really downed my spirits and filled me with anger at the same time.

It is true. We, writers, struggle. And our struggle to get published is exacerbated by these ignorant and dismissive people who care less about promoting young writers. But at the same time, not everyone is like this. And others at least offer a gentle apology and reason as to why they could not publish you. My point is that you can reject my work. But notify me about it. Don’t make me feel like my vision and efforts were wasted.