Congratulations, You Made It!

Photo by Tim Swaan on Unsplash

Dear Reader,

I just have one question for you, which may sound more of a statement/reminder than a question, but here you goes: Would the puzzle of what to look forward to in the next year have truly mattered if we did not go through what we did this year?

To me, it wouldn’t have. Because until now, almost everything had been the same, fundamentally. But this year, there was a change in everything. Uncertainity has been the only thing certain this year and to know is there any uncertainity to look forward to in the next year is a puzzle indeed.

But while 2020 has marked havoc, distress, pain, it has also symbolized mental unity, strength, and resilience. It has taught most of us many lessons and made us learn something which we had forgotten to do in our hectic routines — pause. This year has forced us to slow down and actually see everything around us. Yes, this year has hurt, a lot. It truly has but here you are, breathing, managing, surviving.

If there is anything I wish to look forward to in the year 2021, it is neither normalcy nor consistency.

It is my opinion, and I do not ask you to agree with me but this year has made me believe that normalcy is overrated. Predictability is overrated. I have learnt to believe our inability to pause and stay mindful has made us too “comfortable” in our routines. Think about it. We had a terrible year! There is no denying that. But if there is one thing we can all try to feel a little good about is the valuable lessons we took away from this year.

I believe 2020 was an effort to provoke everything we hold important and valuable. To shake our minds and make us question the world within which we live and what we imbibe every day from it. And in the midst of a silent wave of insanity, we drew strength. We chose to try to stay grateful and self-reflect, let go; to bring about good changes in things that are in our control. We did everything we could and although things have not gotten better in a literal sense, I believe we can all find one reason — whatever be it, for us to hold our head up high and walk out of this mess we call 2020.

This year was a battle we did not choose, but it is the battles we do not choose which turn out to be the toughest, and in turn, make us stronger in a way we do not even realize. And we have made it ‘til the end, and this has shaped you — whether you realize it or not.

And therefore, I have decided to try and use this opportunity of looking forward to look forward to the uncertainty.

No, I am not asking for this year to repeat itself. But I have chosen to look forward to the possibility of impossibility, nothing and everything, good changes. I have decided to look forward to new beginnings. New challenges, new storms, new situations. I look forward to embracing the uncertainty. To telling stories of how this year was just incredibly peculiar and hopefully have it as just a memory. I look forward (not really) to being confused, puzzled and at bewildering crossroads. I look forward to writing more and hoping for a more convenient change and being as blessed as I have been until now. I look forward to strength, gratefulness and staying mindful.

This year has been bad for all of us and some of us have had it even worse. I will neither have nor give false hopes; we never know what can happen. But if there is one thing we can hope for ourselves in the coming year: becoming stronger individuals. To me, 2020 has been less of a year and more of a situation, where I have spent most of its span in the cliche “figuring out.” And ironically, this has shaped us positively unlike the events of the year. And it has made all of us stronger whether you have realized it or not. I can assure you that.

However, if I have offended anyone with my words, I deeply apologize. I did not intend on doing so. I have just presented my personal opinions, and they do not mean to hurt any of the reader’s sentiments.


Originally publshed in ‘A Cornered Gurl’ in response to the ‘Young Minds of Medium 2021 Hopes and Dreams’ Challenge

Hello everyone! Wish you all a happy and prosperous New Year! As much as we all had our struggles amplified in this year, 2020 was definitely a year to remember. Just look back in retrospect, can you really believe this is the year that went by? To be very honest, I cannot. If someone asked me to imagine myself in a hypothetical 2020 before 2020, I would’ve deemed it to be impossible. I guess it’s not!
Thank you so much for reading guys! Peace and blessings. Xoxo

Feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comment section! You can reach out to me here too.

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@theniharikadiaries

When Reality Hits

Heart of the Matter.

Photo Credits – Pinterest

It killed me.
Knowing that I couldn’t live without you and you were the air entering my lungs in every moment. The sweet nectar in our love we tasted under the oak trees at nightfall before we walked in the same direction, hearts intertwined and the hands interlocked perfectly like the perfect key to a lock, slowly turned into venom, consuming each nerve with a spiralling outrage. I wrote my pain unto chapped sheets which bent peculiarly every time its friction acted against the rustling tip, and I mixed that ink with the ashes of the letters you wrote to me which I burnt. No, my apologies, the heartfelt letters I wrote to you which you sent back because you can’t deal with my darkest demons, because you have your own, while I thought love was all about fighting against your demons together and falling in love with each other’s flaws, fears, insecurities. You stamped over my soul like a mere insect in your ravishing realm of creatures you converse with, make them feel important, and you make them see you as their hope. But unluckily, the only hope, ah, so blind. And then you see another marvellous creature. The list adds on. A lifetime of warmth burned into the coldness of the air as you walked away and every sound intensified but nothing struck my brain as hard as the sound of your shoes rhythmically hitting against the stone pavement and my heart beating along that bleeding rhapsody.

And in the series of irascible moods and uncontrollable rage, irregular eating habits and countless nights of insomnia that followed, I popped up a few pills and drugged me with some delusional reliefs through sleep, because I dreamt only of you and at times, us. As it gave my heart peace knowing that maybe I will once again get to bathe in the comfort and swoon in the brisk energetic fires of our passionate love with you as my soulmate forever and even now I can never think any wrong of you at all because I believe you just wanted your mind and nerves a different air to endure for sometime and you wanted to protect me since you love me. Until I saw that you replaced me like a mere utility. Not that I don’t dream or think of you anymore, just my eyes bleed streams of broken hopes as the agony in my heart consumes my every light, as I dream of how much I want to hate you and all I can do is hate. And there I went down with the stupid theories you made me feed upon but you were the one savoring the delicious feast in it, that you only hate me because you love me. The crazy part? I believed it. Shit.

Been more than months, and I have figured out the reason for my blind belief in that. I was an already broken soul, who believed another such soul would repair me. And now, I realize, nobody has a mended heart. It’s just either someone is more broken or less broken but never completely healed, because it just doesn’t ever happen. I am realizing I am the carpenter of my own mind and I can choose how to react to pain and pick the battles I wanna willingly fight in. Pain is inevitable, as I implore myself, look into the eyes of my deepest demons lurking around the unknown parts of my shadows I was unaware existed, and I deal the way I hoped from someone else. I have decided to fall in love with my insecurities, my parched throat, the drooping of my eyes, my overfilled fridge; my empty voids and torn lips. I’m embracing my scars, and it’s not easy. It’s a simple choice, just not an easy one. But when the sun seems to set and rise according to your mood, it’s always ink black, because you made me drown into the despair of such nothingness that I didn’t even bother to raise my head above the looming anguish of the wrathful waters of worthlessness which you forcefully wrecked my mind into, to see the sun at all. But once you make the choice of that struggle of embracing your scars and walking ahead, you learn to take responsibility for everything in your life; not being at fault for everything, but taking responsibility for it, and you stoopingly fall into such a comfortingly pricking cascade of self-love, no matter how long the fall; because there is always the same destination to it, love. And all of a sudden I’m thinking: ever fallen in love with yourself so much that had all those feelings of love/hate you had for that grim devil under the face of a gentleman just softly melt away?
It hits me.


Okay, so this is the first time I tried to experiment with words in a non-poem way, and I guess it worked out? Let me know in the comments whether you liked this way of writing I tried to experience with and should I post more such works. Also, this is my first post in the New Year 2020 and hence wanted to do something new😊 Other than that, I will indeed try harder to post more consistently and I hope that you guys follow, comment and share!

Suggestions welcome!

Thank you for reading!

@theniharikadiaries

It’s night.

And the cicada bellows a horror tune,
Into the turbidity of thoughts of the chilled night,
That petrifying screech of intense terror.
And its horror,
Provokes the aeons and alerts their nerves,
With an abandoned pain
Of a long-forgotten tale.
And somewhere the oak leaves rustle,
Perhaps to calm the cicada’s call,
Or to soothe an ear bleeding velvet of woes,
Or to ruffle the rough pages inked with distorted handwritings,
Scratch poetry written loosely,
The pages repeatedly falling down,
As if the God’s way of saying “Nah, don’t write any further”.
Somewhere a broken warrior,
Loses a fight,
In the battlefield of life,
And the cicada is now the sound of vanquished hope,
But the wind is the voice of the Almighty,
Encouraging words of hope beckon this warrior,
To make her realise,
Broken she is,
But destroyed she is not.
The pieces though shattered are a part of her,
If binded well,
The battle ends.
And here I stand amidst this thick haze,
This hazy envelope of the mysterious night,
Foamed with the tales of broken souls,
Valiant, yet short of hope.
Eerie for some, comforting to plenty the night does sound,
But to me it’s sound of the ringing death knell,
As I stand up at the window sill,
And gaze up at the distorted moon,
Purposelessness crawling up my torn skin,
Hopeless eyes of archaic stones,
Shot with the hard-hitting lunar light,
The fire of this plight burns more bright,
My vision blurred,
Eyelashes drooping like showered rooftops,
My heart thuds against my chest,
Heavier than the crashed hopes of my past.
And I then see my destination down,
And feel the desire to taste,
The unfathomable joy of death.
Just one step,
And it all ends.
The final destination,
Of my psychotic pain.

I step ahead and fall,
A feeling I’ve never felt before I feel in my final breaths,
Freedom.
I hope you are happy now,
Do thank me for the boon I’ve bestowed upon you.
I thump down on the concrete ground,
My head hitting this pavement,
Has perhaps overpowered the cicada’s call.
My nerves bursting red in wrath,
I have pooled the pavement with demonic tears,
I feel the freedom through my deadened veins,
You.


Hello guys! So I’ve written this one about my perception of the night and what it symbolizes. The poem is grave, I do agree, and I would honestly love to know in the comment section whether my poems are now getting repetitive concerning themes and if yes, do suggest some topics you would like to read. I am planning to make this blog more interactive.😊

Anyway, this poem is about a person who craves her rightful freedom which has been stolen from her and feels the only way to now be free would be death. The ending of the poem, however, can have many views. In fact, this whole poem can have various perceptions of it. What I intend to believe, is that she wishes to be with someone whom she is not free to, and is so driven by that despair and so disturbed with confusion that she believes that it is impossible for her to be free with the one she wants to be, but wants to be free nevertheless. In the end, her despair overpowers the desire for the initially wanted freedom and she only wants to be free of the gloom which has sadly consumed her life, causing her to commit suicide.

Basically, the message I truly intend to convey is sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is let them be free. Give them their time and space. The freedom of choice and belief. Let them be them and love them for it. Of course, misuse of freedom is extremely wrong, but everyone deserves their rightful freedom to not make them feel like a prisoner of birth. Do share your views and perceptions on this one.


Also read: Before You End Your Life – Writing My Heart Out

And, the writing style of writing ‘You’, in the end was learnt by me through Miss Gabriela M.’s works, who is a US university professor and author of three novels and an exceptional poet.

Also, my friend has too started a blog and I was hoping you guys could take out some time to check it out here.

******************

Thank you for your support!

Suggestions welcome!

Follow, comment and share!

@theniharikadiaries 🙂

Massacre

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

There are times when I feel it’s the end,
Whether to my profound happiness or my uncared pain I’m not aware,
I feel like breaking free from this prison of torment within which I’m encaged,
Which feels a task so lucid with my fists clenched and my heart burning
With a perilous fire of rage.

Because I’m tired of a bleeding heart,
I’m tired of my salty tears,
I’m tired of the gloominess I’m enforced to endure,
In this massacre whether I’ll survive I’m unsure.

And even though there are moments when people show they care,
My self-hatred has grown everlastingly that those moments seem unfair,
Because all I do is cause people pain endlessly,
Sometimes I feel the world would be a better place without me.

And that’s when I fall asleep from the excruciating thoughts,
But then I wake up and again go through the same,
My life seems to be slipping from my hands,
But there’s no point of having one for internally I’ve collapsed.

I feel like it’s Groundhog Day,
Where the same insane sorrow sanely I try to treat everyday,
But I’ve tried every way,
No stars are gonna shine as there is no light,
In my gloomy little sky called life.

So for once I’ll follow my heart,
No matter how much it bleeds and helplessly cries for hope,
For once and forever I end your troubles dear friend,
For now to this massacre I put an end.


Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts or drop in any suggestions ❤
You can contact me here and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Originally published on 5th August, 2019

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@theniharikadiaries

The Trance

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

You swallow the words which make you choke,
You burn them and let the fire burn you,
You shriek and scream and wail,
Losing every breath begging for an escape.

Your thoughts collect and intertwine,
The wires of your brain get messier than they are,
The suffocation, the nausea is getting too much to bear,
Your poems are breaking down into puzzles never to be solved.

And you panic.
As the words crawl up to your throat and your soul ignites,
You try to find a piece of paper to write down these lines,
But the world stirs into a nightmare blur,
As your feelings knock at your chest for the first time
After you numbed your nerves.

And you find yourself in a trance again,
Phrasing lines you didn’t realize you felt,
Suffering headaches you didn’t ask for,
Bleeding your veins to feel a purpose.

And it teases your sanity and tazes your skin,
Pokes at your eyes and begs for it’s darkest wish,
You hallucinate realities you don’t want to exist in,
With ending your reality as the only solution.

And you dissolve.
In the taste of age-old wine,
Letting your tongue imprison the superior mind,
And your eyes pour out the crumbled thoughts,
And the scene distorts as your mind pauses.

And you inhale.
The smoke of incinerated selves of your past,
You paint a mirage of victorious shadows,
You try your best to stay still but the scene swallows you,
And you drown in the defeat brought upon by you.

The trance begins and takes with you every sight you hold on to,
It forbids you to move and chains your feet to the ground,
But your head can’t gather the strength to stay at one place,
So you decide to cling to your nocturnal escapes,
Only to welcome the trance again the next day.


“The trance happens when you don’t focus on anything, and the whole big picture swallows and moves around you.

The character ‘Sam’ in the novel ‘The Perks of Being A Wallflower’, by Stephen Chbosky explaining what she called “the trance” to Charlie, the narrator of the novel.

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts or drop in any suggestions ❤
You can contact me here and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

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@theniharikadiaries

Her Eyes Never Failed To Fool

Oh, babe, I know how much you loved to play hide and seek where you stole my heart and everything I could call mine.
And you always made me the seeker, dooming me to find myself in your vague reflection and you, the hider – never revealing your true self beneath those pearl eyes and teal stockings.
But the games were fun until that day when you took me to the lakes for one final round of hide and seek and stole my breath and strangled me in your ocean and left me to drown.

I never got to seek you again.


Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts or drop in any suggestions ❤
You can contact me here and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl on Medium

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@theniharikadiaries

The Unwelcome Guest

My conscience was under redevelopment
And I had visitors in the new home I built,
They came and go, some stayed for long,
But the unwelcome guest never left.

The unwelcome guest stayed in the bottom cellar,
Which was there in the pit of my stomach,
Isolated it was, as there was no room
To notice it, with the other visitors.

The unwelcome guest was often hungry,
But it had learnt to oppress its hunger,
Because in the dining room in my heart,
There were other guests being fulfilled.

Until one day, there was silence,
Etching onto the corners of my stomach,
The hunger of the unwelcome guest could no longer be suppressed,
It made its way to the dining room.

The seats were empty and the shadows lurked,
My conscience was now a building out of order,
I have learnt to fix what’s broken and I solve equations I get accidently right,
But the unwelcome guest has cast a shadow so dark,
Every light has ushered out,
The chandeliers in my heart don’t sparkle anymore.

There are no visitors willing to stay,
Everything is intact but nothing is right,
But the unwelcome guest remains ghosted,
Until one day.

As the unwelcome guest wants to take over,
And become the owner of the house I’ve grown till now,
Which though is out of order right now,
With the unwelcome guest pulling the reins,
My home will destroy to ruins.

The unwelcome guest can’t be fed anymore – as it has become the feeder,
It is eating at me and every part I call home
And leaving me with my veins ripped off,

It’s waiting for the pain to become so deep
that it’ll become a habit to master over time,
The only thing I feel would be emptiness,
Because pain would be the habit which will become me,
And the only feeling I’ll ever feel, but yet not a feeling.

The unwelcome guest cannot be defeated,
As hatred is what I deserve,
I have tried too hard to be someone I think I was
But now I know I am nothing,
But a puppet in the hands of this guest I did not invite.

The dining room has turned into an empty stage,
The windows are shut and the roof at a endless height,
The dust of the diner’s footsteps are hiding behind faded curtains,
The path is now paved with broken glass

As the unwelcome guest has become my owner,
My soul is surrendered to that invisible face,
Which has been proving me wrong since the day I believed,
That peace was something I could achieve.


Hello everyone! I had written this one a while back however I am posting it now. This poem is a fictional piece of work, with the concept of ‘the unwelcome guest’ being the central motif, that is a concept, idea, object which repeats itself throughout the text and is hence recurring.

The poem begins with the setting of a well- built house, with the unwelcome guest not being prominent due to being kept buried by the owner. However, gradually the factors the owners held on to for not dealing with the unwelcome guest eventually moved away which paved way for the unwelcome guest to take control, rather than the owner having the chance to deal with the unwelcome guest.

The main motive for writing this poem was to display the disturbing effects of the negative feelings inside us, and how keeping it buried does more harm than good.

Yes, it is important to have a perspective to understand our thoughts and emotions and our very being, but it is alright to not have an immediate perspective about everything, and sometimes feeling your negative emotions is the only way to gain needed perspective.


P.S – Am I the only one who is totally obsessed with the ‘evermore‘ album by Taylor Swift? It feels like it was only yesterday when ‘folklore‘ came out (which I am still not done obsessing with) and now we have evermore. If creating two albums in a year especially the year being 2020 is not an achievement then I don’t know what is.
Check them both out on Spotify here!

And here, I end this post. You can contact me here and I will reply as soon as possible!

Thank you for reading!
Follow, comment and share!
@theniharikadiaries

The Business of Broken Worth

Photo

Photo Credits – Film Daily

She sighs,
Her eyes are sunken into dreams she has forgotten to see,
But her face is luminous and her hair shines
With the light she lost within herself.

She drags her feet because her wings are broken,
To that place where her worth is stolen,
Where her tempting appearance and fake smile,
Gives away the dread in her eyes.

She inhales,
The air she is forced to breath,
It suffocates her but sustains her too,
Her evening begins with candle-lights and clandestine rooms,
Where ‘NO’ is a word her throat can never know.

But then the sun rises and it begs,
To conjure some hope as it’s the sun after all,
But even when the sun rises her nightmares do not end,
She is left cold and miserable.
The only make-up you can see on her face now,
Is the dust of broken mirrors.

Her eyes are bleeding
The dreams which were taken away,
Her limbs are too tired to walk any further,
Each day she is losing the light from her eyes,
She was once the queen of fireflies.

And again she is doomed to be dragged into those doors,
To uphold fake smiles and reluctance ignored,
Her fate has imprisoned her with madness unknown,
While her destiny awaits,
To be sold for another night again.


Orginally featured in “The Writers Hub” – a recent initiative presented by LHS MUN and Ankara!

• The Writers Hub gives amateur as well as professional writers, a platform to showcase thier writings to a large and open audience.
You can submit poems, stories, articles, blogs, pieces of any genre free of cost, with no age linit for the writers!
•The writer will get complte credit for thier post.

Click here for details on how to become a part of The Writers Hub community!


Thank you for reading, it is deeply appreciated. My serious inactivity here gives you no reason to comment but feel free to let me know your thoughts on this one and thank you again! 
You can contact me here.

@theniharikadiaries

 

The Undiscovered Evidence

The ship had no name. But was it unnamed? The crew did not speak. But were they voiceless? If someone would’ve seen it in water, it must have been too late to know the mysteries behind the scene, but would it have been too late to save them?

I read all the articles written about the devastating incident that had happened just two days ago. A cruise travelling to Puerto Rico disappeared. But just after an hour when the waters were searched, no remains of the ship had been found. So the cruise didn’t just disappear. It vanished. As if concealed under a cloaking spell. A mysterious enchantment. But all that I let myself wonder was that if the emergency call for help to save themselves was made in that fraction of a minute before they could drown and knew were in danger, why was the investigation made after an hour? After all, the crew captain only had to push four buttons and dial a missed call at the least.

It was when my coffee pot got drained of liquid that I looked up to the black-framed metal clock. It was some three hours past midnight. Having read every article ever written and all available database of the investigations, I knew one thing for sure – it was all false. It had too many loopholes to be true and I wanted to know the real truth, no matter how harsh, at any cost. The truth which comes from investigating the so-called truth and not accepting it under all circumstances. It’s all under the government after all. You never know what has actually happened. We live in a world where even an accident could be a setup, staged just perfectly enough with the accurate props and stage setting. I knew there was only one thing I could do if I wanted to unveil the masks and find the matter behind the curtains. I spent the remaining energy of the coffee I had finished in gearing up for my impromptu voyage tomorrow.

My ship had been travelling for quite a while. My phone still had a connection. I was going through my list of possible theories when all of a sudden my phone lost network. I checked the map. I was just about to reach Puerto Rico. If the truth was in sight, it was very simple. It was just the waters and a shore in sight. But who knew I was to enter what future generations would call “The Bermuda Triangle”?

I sailed the ship towards the shore and saw a vague vision of an abandoned ship and its crew. I couldn’t see the name of the ship. I reached the shore.
They were all still alive.

Five years of professional experience and twenty-six of existential experience had prepared me to deal with shock quite well. I went up to one of the crew members for inquiry. I wanted to get every minuscule detail.
“Could you please help me with the reality of the incident? I am Detective Liza Richards, and I am just here to know what actually happened at the shores of Puerto Rico two days ago.”
“You want the truth?” asked a pearly-eyed man in a husky voice.
“Yes”, I mumbled.
They all roared in laughter. Never in my career had I come across somebody who found the idea of finding the sooth amusing.
“You’re the perfect example for irony. You come to seek the truth and converse with your suspects like they’re humans. Tell me, do you even ask them if they want to be recorded on the camera you’ve hidden in your cloth?”
I was startled, and if I would’ve allowed myself, scared.
“I think it would be better if we showed you the ‘truth’ instead”.
The last thing I remember was his husky voice turning into that of a beast and his teeth turning into fangs. He sprang upon me as he bit my neck. I wailed in pain. Was this a human or an animal? Or neither? My question was answered when I could see my blood trickling down to my wrist from my shoulders like a stream of a broken heart, with my heart rate slowly reducing and a suffocation enveloping me like an innocent prisoner.
He was a monster.
The truth rotted with the private investigator but there was no body found. But Liza’s story didn’t end as a mysterious death on the shores of Puerto Rico,
she became a crew member who never would be counted.
She disappeared, but she didn’t die.
Not really…

Vampire Art | Vampire art, Female vampire, Beautiful dark art


Hey Guys! This is my first try at writing a short story and yes, another vampire fiction. I had written a poem previously based on the same theme i.e. related to vampires, named The Bloodbath of Our Love, do check it out. The ending in this story is that Liza was turned into a vampire by the crew member. Since this is my first time writing a short story, your open and honest feedback would be really appreciated. I would really love to know your thoughts on this one!

Hope you’re all well and safe!
You can contact me here
Thank you so much for reading!
Follow, comment and share!
@theniharikadiaries

Scarred Nights

brown rocky mountain photography

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

My thickest voids scream into
The toxic visions of reality,
They dwell on the highs and escapes;
As I dive into my consciousness,
And search within the dark waters.
Every corner,
Every cliff,
Just,
One metaphor.
That’s all I need right to describe
My poetic hallucinations.

I am drifted on this island,
where everything I see is controlled by
the puppet master inside my head.
Grey clouds and raging storms,
With swirling letters once thrown away.

I did not choose to envision these disturbing sceneries,
But they happen to be the things that control me.
My insatiable sanity stirs my soul into delusions,
And spins a web of beautiful lies to make suicide seem noble.

I rip the pillow covers of their burden,
of soaking my emotions every night,
The chains break in their efforts
To bar my soul so it doesn’t free itself,
Of the magical metaphors I write to survive.

I maintained hope,
But it consumed me.
My every breath tripped,
Along the crevices of the cliffs
Of high expectations,
I had from myself.
Hope came crashing down
And ghosted itself behind dusty corners,
As I crumbled,
Piece by piece,
Every shred of my sanity,
Being stripped down till nothing but a deep void.

I am told,
Whenever you describe your dark parts in a poem,
Say “demon”.
Defeat them,
And you emerge victorious.
But if I do,
I won’t live to see the party.
Because I am that demon to be erased,
I am the metaphor,
Balancing on my grave.

Gratitude Post!

gratitude final

Hello Guys! Yes, a year back I joined WordPress and today is my one-year anniversary!
And this post is just an effort to make you readers know my gratitude towards you all.

We’re in tough times right now and these tiny moments of hope and joy somehow provide us strength and something to be grateful for. In this whole universe of bleak misfortunes and pain, I live in a small world, and I’m lucky to be blessed, healthy and breathing in that fraction of the universe. I’m grateful to you all, and even though there are a million things I can be morose about, these simple and small moments like just listening to the sounds of the rain, simply sitting together with my family, having this notification of a one-year achievement, make me feel happy in their own special way. And I’m sorry if I don’t say it often but thank you so much for being a constant support and reading whatever I post on this blog. I am very grateful to have you as my reader and without you I’m nothing. Thank you for all your suggestions, appreciations and the thoughts you’ve presented in the comment sections, I deeply value them. Thank you for your beautiful kindness 🙂

And today, that’s what I want to write a little about. Gratitude. The tiny speck of light which can make you feel so much better and bring you hope. If we think about it, there’s always a cliche ‘bright side’ to everything. When we get through pain, it makes us stronger individuals. And if we try to hold on to a positive approach towards negative things, we can be grateful and find a way to draw hope. This doesn’t mean being positive about a negative thing, it only means to have an approach towards the negativity which is positive. If you’re feeling any negativity, pain or emptiness, having a positive approach means accepting that pain and not being in denial of it or refusing to feel the pain.

Having a positive approach means allowing yourself to feel the pain as you know it’s only going to make you stronger.

And it is our ability to have a positive approach towards the negative things in life which defines our strength and hence the ability to be grateful.

I do not intend to be insensitive or hurt anyone by my words because there will be times when we cannot be grateful and that is completely okay. There will be times we end up being so deeply buried inside the pain it starts to feel you’re within your own grave stuck in bleak madness without any ray of hope. I won’t say I know how it feels because I truly cannot. But I understand, and what I do know that it is okay and you will get through it and you deserve to see the light because you have so much of strength within you and you will get through this battle. Do not give up.

I will end this post now but before I do, I want to know, from all you readers what are you grateful for. What moments have brought you joy in your little world? And has practicing gratitude helped you during times when you felt low? I wanna know your story and I hope you share it.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re blessed and safe.


You can contact me here.
I’m open to all your thoughts and opinions.
Thank you!
@theniharikadiaries

Glass Leaves

book rose thing

Photo Credits – Shutterstock

I’m tired,
My spine stays relaxed as I shut my eyes and disconnect
From the commotion of reality,
Which has all of a sudden shushed. 

But my mind is louder than it has ever been before,
Though the night doesn’t make a single twitch,
The voices in my head are draining me,
And my mind of its energy.

I turn to the other side.
My eyes are shut and I can see nothing,
I fall into a vision of an unknown delusion,
As my mind loses its illusion of control over Me.
The voices now seem to be shrieking underwater,
I can hear someone else speak.

I turn to the other side to see who is breathing
Such a familiar breath and I see you.
The energy in being drained by energy
is coursing through my blood,
As I succumb to the nocturnal desires.
I see you and only you,
and nothing’s more peaceful than that as of now.

My nerves put their best efforts
to rationalize this state,
But they’re failing to make my mind function again.
I’m lost in the vast universe you hold within the realm of your eyes,
My throat aches for words to utter,
But I fail in my every try.
I’m silent.

I then hold you,
I can see your hands in mine,
But I cannot feel them.
I know something is wrong.

I blink.
I can’t see you anymore,
You’ve disappeared into the void I was staring.
And melted into reality.
As I turn to see but a blurred scenery,
While the slumber crawls into the silent abyss.

It seems that the true works of art,
Are only birthed by silence.
The silence of the soul,
Or the desire to be silent
and to quiet the insanity of the demons in your mind,
Or the silence asked of you,
When the world suffocates your voice,
And asks you to crouch down.
But we rise up with our art anyhow.

And the silence which is capable of birthing poems,
the night is ringing today.
The painting in the sky’s canvas,
Is filling up the pages in a poet’s hut somewhere.

And while our love has frozen
Into an epitome of eternal autumn,
And the future in our pages
Has withered away into hallucinations,
I won’t lie to myself and let the nights drive me paranoid,
I will find that deserted quill,
And rewrite my story.


Hey Guys! I wrote this some days back and the ending today, so it feels a little abrupt or rushed to me? I don’t know, I’m really looking forward to your thoughts on this one in the comment box. So I thought of the title ‘Glass Leaves’ as I refer to that phase as ‘Autumn’, and the leaves which have withered, that is the pages, which now hurt like glass? I don’t know, let me know if you like the title as I’m trying to come up with better titles for what I write. I would certainly not consider this a great piece, and I hope someone actually reads it fully. 

I hope you’re all well and safe. Please take care and my love and blessings to you all.

You can contact me here.
Thank you for reading!
Suggestions welcome!
@theniharikadiaries