I have an endless list of poems
Running through my hair strands
I have words twined together
And rhymed, worn in plaits
Phrases ready to be released.
And Every time I think of you
Off goes a strand
Freed mid-air, only to reach rock bottom
Navigating themselves on white paper
“Behold the birth of Poetry”


-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair



Someday, Years from now, I’ll meet you,
And we shall exchange words for laughter,
Tears of our happiness, Someday.

Someday, Moments from today, I’ll wake up,
To a new dawn, In a place where,
The sun meets your feet, Someday.

Someday, I’ll join the wind, I’ll dance,
To the rhythm of the wind-chimes,
And you’ll be my musical drama, Someday.

Someday, Decades from today, I’ll be gone,
Somewhere, Nowhere, Far far away,
But I’ll meet you in the memoirs of my memory, Someday.


-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair



NaPoWriMo Day 24:  write an elegy – a poem typically written in honor or memory of someone dead. But we’d like to challenge you to write an elegy that has a hopefulness to it.
Almost on prompt!


Looking at you is like seeing a ghost
I know it ain’t real but it’s scary and cold
No matter how many spells I google
They never seem to protect,
No matter how many candles I burn
Your scent lingers, Like rotten eggs,
Your words are punches straight in the gut
No matter how hard I duck I feel the pain
You are the casted shadow that I try to avoid
Maybe that’s why I don’t turn around,
Maybe that’s why I smashed all my mirrors,
Maybe that’s why I prefer the night sky,
I feel fragments of my history die
I feel memories fade from my temporal lobe
No matter how many times I write my story
I know that this Alzheimer’s visits me everyday
No matter. Never did.
I still try to pick my dead pieces,
Crying, Laughing, Hoping, Remembering…


-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

Oh Lovers!

Day 8 of NaPoWriMo, Prompt – write poems in which mysterious and magical things occur. Your poem could take the form of a spell, for example, or simply describe an event that can’t be understood literally.

There once danced a river by that big rock,
She sang the melodies of the old country maid,
The one banished, the one in love,
The one who was “The One“!
She whispered, Oh so softly, “Close your eyes,
Grounded feet, you young ones. The moon’s out,
Hear the children of this night sing!
Row, Row a little harder. Let me take you,
Across and Away. Far and Gay. Let me, Oh Lovers!
Motionless you may not sit, for this night
Is wild as a forest fire, It may eat you alive,
This thirst for blood I hold within, will
Gulp you raw. This is a saga. This is a poem.
This is a mystery and This is the so-called history.
There once, stood a man, A man you see,
This poem he is. He wrote letters of love, to
The one named “NEVER TO BE LOVED“. He engulfed
his pride, dethroned because of his wife.
The truth…” answered the crystal ball. “Wake up!
This is your last call.” He the King, chained,
unarmed, stood for his last battle. With smoked
Sky, the windchimes rhyme, He was called,
To never to be answered. “That Woman, That No One,
She should be burnt alive! The truth that is!” said,
The Crystal Ball. Rushed, 10 horses, Oh so white,
Away from light, into the woods, shredded her to pieces,
Ripped her soul apart, Cursed was then, Banished!
Never to be human. Never to be “The One“, The woman,
The one named “NEVER TO BE LOVED“.
Turned to a river, to wash the paths we walked,
To water the barren earth we built houses on,
To quench the thirst of the lovers hidden.
Oh, she turned into this river, to sing,
The tales of her love, The truth of her love,
The sorrow of her love and The agony of her love.
So row, Oh merry ones, Let me take you,
Across and Away. Far and Gay. Let me, Oh Lovers!

-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

The Third Man

NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 3: Prompt:  writing a list poem in which all the items are made-up names. If band names don’t inspire, how about a list of titles for romantic novels? Or new television cop dramas? They can be as over-the-top as you like, because that’s (at least) half the fun. Happy writing!


And soon I was the third man,
The Psycho, On the waterfront,
A Rebel without a Cause, Who
After A Hard Day’s Night was Charged
With a touch of Evil. I thought,
It’s a Wonderful Life, But Repulsion.
These Mean Streets, City Lights, And
The Sound of Music, I Ran, with Freaks,
Into the Night of the Living Dead,
With nothing but Regret. This is
Not an Anatomy of a Murder, But,
The scream of a Man of Modern Times
Ruling the Throne of Blood.

-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair


List of Names of Classics Movies Used:
1)The Third Man (1949)
2)Modern Times (1936)
3)Psycho (1960)
4)A Hard Day’s Night (1964)
5)Repulsion (1965)
6)Touch of Evil (1958)
7)On the Waterfront (1954)
8)Anatomy of a Murder (1959)
9)It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)
10)City Lights (1931)
11)Throne of Blood (1957)
12)Freaks (1932)
13)Night of the Living Dead (1968)
14)Mean Streets (1973)
15)Ran (1985)
16)Rebel Without a Cause (1955)
17)The sound of Music (1965)

Graces of King’s.

PC- Hanson Chen (A very good friend)

Departure. Arrival. Delayed.
Eventually. Everything flies. Everyone flies
One last night in London airport, Waiting,
Hoping, Smiling, Reading this unwanted piece of literature,
A poem, to the times we laughed, to the memories we made,
One, for those merry men, One, to the Big Ben,
The beautiful Hyde Park, One by the Marble Arch,
One near where the Thames flows,
A glimpse of the St. Paul’s Cathedral for inner peace,
We stand here, right where it all started,
And I hear Adele sing,
“It made us restless
It was just like a movie
It was just like a song”
Here, at this airport, 
We stand, some Graces of King’s. 


-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

Ramen Rants

I want a love story. I want Romance. I want to have that head over heels kind of feeling for someone. For something. For me. I want to have my own version of the Titanic. A parallel universe version wherein the ship of my life didn’t sink. Where Jack didn’t die on me. Where Rose decides to share. Where we were rather in some hot tub than the North Atlantic Ocean. I want to have my own version of “500 Days of Summer” where I knew,  Summer was indeed at the end somebody’s Autumn. I want to be the Michael Cera of my movies, where I am the narrator as well as the main hero, and that after being torn between the page of my life, I will have the perfect end. I want to not be juggling my emotions every night, arguing with myself and having a quarter-life existential crisis. I want a million things. But I want to do these million things with this one version of me. I want to be a million version of that perfect ending.” The writer wrote haphazardly as she wept about how Cyrus at the end of the movie asks Carrie Pilby for her middle name!


P.S. I had Ramen for dinner. That image is not of the Ramen that I had.

A fiction #3

This is a one-character story.

Part 1: A fiction #1 Part 2: A fiction #2

Diary entry 05/12/2017 04:51 GMT:

Welcome to the Sahara (well, my version of the Sahara). Welcome to my inner mind, the world where I literally have no idea of what’s going on every passing second. Like I was saying the past two days, life hasn’t been all fun lately, it’s a bit more confusing and things are not in place, I am not in the place I thought I’d be. So, taking a look back, what went wrong you may ask? Because I ask this to myself every single day. I had or still have let’s say four jobs- the first: I am a very lovely daughter, second: I am a nightmare of a sister ( but in a good affectionate way), third: I am quite an obedient student and fourth and probably the most important one: I am what I want me to be, I am myself. Of all my jobs, the one that I am failing miserably is the last one, perhaps the most important one. This job requires me to be Me, Simply Me! And be unapologetic about it. But, like that well-furnished piece of carved wood, I have acquired quite a patina to myself with the passing time, and to the point that I am not quite sure if this patina is making my inner, true self, shine more or less.

Now, Tumblr is filled with inspiring quotes, “Life is too short to worry/ to wake up with regrets/ to wait/ to wear boring clothes, etc., etc., etc…..” Hell no!!! Life is the longest thing possible. You are measuring life in teaspoons when life is actually more like that largest wooden spoon Guinness book record holder Romanian spoon (I know this sounds crazy, but yeah, The largest wooden spoon measured 17.79 m (58 ft 4.39 in) in length and 1.50 m (4 ft 11 in) at its widest point and was made by Centrul Cultural Mioveni (Romania) in Mioveni, Romania, on 7 June 2013. The spoon is an outsized replica of a traditional Romanian spoon (Source- The Guinness World Records ) And NO! I don’t have a picture).

So, if my today’s deserted adventure taught me one thing then that would be, CHANGE YOUR MEASURING INSTRUMENTS/ DEVICES, It not always about what you did wrong, or how you did it wrong. It’s more like, Could you use the crumbled cake to make a cookie kind of situation? IMPROVISE!


To be continued…

A fiction #2

This is a one-character story.

Part 1: A fiction #1

Diary entry 04/12/2017 02:51 GMT:

I hate Sundays. I strongly dislike Sundays. I feel that hate is such a harsh word to use. I know that for many people Sunday is a day to relax, refresh, a step aside from their everyday mundane, boring life. But here’s the deal, for a person who lives in their imaginary desert most days of their life, every day seems to be a Sunday. And I don’t want to waste my real Sunday entrapped in a sand-covered place. So this is what I do to avoid Sundays. I sleep through most of it. I wake up at around 18:00 or 19:00 just to avoid the chaos that humans create on a Sunday morning/evening on the roads, the malls, and the restaurants. And don’t even get me started with the malls on weekends, God it’s flooded with a sea of people. Gets my anxiety tickling. So to not keep you hanging on tenterhooks, here’s what happens with the rest of my Sunday, I face the realities and the fears of my life. I go out to the MALL. I know, shocker, right! See, the thing is people don’t go to the mall in the later half after Sunday evening, they’d rather be enjoying dinner at a posh restaurant or stay in at home with their family, and this is the time for me to actually go and shop around. Less crowd, fewer people looking and messing around in the shops, more time for me to roam and find what I’d actually like to buy. And no, I don’t sleep at all later that night or the following morning. I indulge in some kinda productive work. And Sunday is also a day when I actually drink smoothies. I like smoothies. They are cool and healthy.


So, yeah don’t like camels and Sundays.  

  To be continued…

A fiction

This is a one-character story.

Diary entry 03/12/2017 02:51 GMT

The last time I wrote something long that really expressed myself and my then emotions was early in 2017. A year goes by and life can take a complete U-turn or divert its path and go somewhere unplanned. The then I had the comfort of my education, a hope of a secured future, family, friends, and ME. After a year’s worth effort, countless hours in front of the screen, endless dinner plates later, I am here, in the midst of a neverending desert. Stranded. Alone. Ready to just be another mirage. And to add to my miseries I have no water, no passersby, no camels ( I know this is a desert, but you should remember that this is a fragment of my imagination so no camels, big teeth, scares me, but would be so reassuring if they were there, to be honest) or a someone/ something that would give me hope of a non-barren green land nearby. To bring you back to reality, I have a complete obsession with tea and of course I carry my tea bags around in this desert I’m stuck in. But here’s the deal, Honey there ain’t no water here.

These pillows are not fluffy, the cold has turned them to stone. I don’t actually mind a hard pillow but it sometimes interrupts my imaginations and pop there breaks my bubble, leaving me alone. Again. So here it is a daily log of my life living as a prisoner to my own imaginations. Stuck in a desert or at least that’s what my head wants me to think of, could have been a cruise but no we are in a desert! At least I plan to age well.


To be continued…