I see you,

You don’t see me.

You feel me,

I don’t feel you.

I stay for us,

I stay for him,

I stay for them,

But not for me.

I do what’s right,

I fall apart.

You do what’s right,

We fall apart.

You stand there.

I stand here.

We stand together,

Still, we’re apart.


You swim to me.

I swim to you.

The current’s so strong,

Tell me, what more can we do?


-Gitanjali Singh Cherian


Daily Prompt: Water

At first, pit-pat of tiny hand on water,

Accompanied by gurgle and coo.

Perfect, gentle harmony.

Later on, with splash and splosh,

Rubber duckies, bubbles and squirt toys.

I hear the laughter even now.

Next, first visit to the sea,

Big eyes even bigger at the sight.

The whoosh of crashing into waves with squeals of delight.

Now, muddy rain puddles; the big treat.

Squelch and splat,

Mischievous eyes and cheeky grin.

-Gitanjali Singh Cherian

In response to the Daily Prompt of 28th June 2016 – Water

Note: This is a work-in-progress and will be revised at some point in the future 🙂



I weep not because I feel defeated

Nor because I am overwhelmed.

The effort at times seems pointless

Yet I know I must continue.

I weep not for the abandoned dreams

That lie by the wayside, beseeching.

Ghosts from another time, another world

Enticing me to be merry and whole again.

I weep not for the sacrifices

That go unnoticed to their graves.

The flames of youth, energy and time

Will soon be but a flicker in the wind.

I weep not because of the vultures,

Those that would see me fail.

Their pointed fingers, their smirking faces

Waiting for the moment I fall.

I weep today because I am tired

And tears are my only relief.

But don’t rejoice yet; return tomorrow

For tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll be smiling again.

-Gitanjali Singh Cherian


I long for the days when we had a home

A home to call our own

A place where we could sit in peace

When the rest of the battles were done

I long for the days when our lives were ours

Not a patchwork of other people’s needs

The days when we still had our dreams

Of a future that was ours to weave

I long for the days when I would wake in peace

The new dawn still held a promise for me

A time when I could sleep at night

The new dawn still held a promise for me

I long for the days when we conversed in peace

Not having to wait till the time was right

When we were allowed to feel what we felt

Undisguised by who was about

I long for the days when I could pause for a bit

If only to catch my breath

To lick my wounds and to rise one more time

To face my demons again

I long for the days when there was solitude

Solitude of a different kind

The kind that led me to comfort and peace

Not the darkest corners of my mind

I long for the days when I had space in my head

For your thoughts, your joys, your despair

When I wasn’t the monster I now have become

Consumed by my own ocean of sorrow

I long for the days when my mind wasn’t tired

Numbed by the ache of persistence

Willing my muscles to complete the tasks

My body no longer cares to endeavour

I long for the days when we had a home

A home to call our own

A place where we could sit in peace

When the rest of the battles were done

-Gitanjali Singh Cherian

(Seems to fit perfectly with the Daily Prompt of 3rd March 2016!)

Lamentations Of A Dejected Writer

Like a glass of warm champagne, my writing seems to have become something that doesn’t deliver what it was intended to.

It is not pleasing to the senses. It doesn’t delight.

It leaves you wanting more. It disappoints.

I used to be able to translate my thoughts into the most appropriate sentences that contained the most pertinent words to express exactly what was on my mind – to hit the nail on head, so to speak – with ease.

But now, not only can I not seem to find the right words, the thoughts themselves seem to collide, seem to find their way into what becomes a tangled mass of confusion that cannot be unravelled.


How did this happen, beloved Writing, how did this happen?

Is it because I ignored you for so long?

You, who have always been good to me;

You, who have always given me a platform to express myself, when others wouldn’t,

Or when I couldn’t, via any other medium.  

Did you feel neglected when I allowed other things to take precedence in my life?

Did I take you for granted when I believed I could return to you one day and pick up from where we left off?

Do you feel I have nothing more to offer you?

Nothing worthy of your time?

Did you give me my moment, my time to shine,

And did I, foolishly, let it pass me by?

Is it gone forever?


Or do you scorn me, do you mock me, but for a moment,

Just to teach me a lesson?