Flowers and Colours








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What I learnt from Harry Potter

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What am I writing for?

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  I find my writings buried deep; beneath millions of verses- phrased by people unknown; leaving me crumpled and torn.   I stare at those neglected words as my will burns down to ashes; into the dirt, my thoughts downpour; And I ask myself, 'What am I writing for?'   Is it for a chunk of money or fame?  For a name or to be best in the game? With the 'neither and nors' tied in loose knots, I stumble upon my own thoughts. When the ink stains the flawless white sheet Amidst the stacks of strokes and curves, I discover That my writings is all me; wild, natural and raw And to be myself,  the words must flow.          
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When rain gives you warmth

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In the month of June, when the sky wept and the rain overwhelmed the lands, I was born and thence I fell in love with rains. Every time I hear the rain splatter against the roof, or watch the tiny droplets chase each other down the window glass, my heart warms up with severe nostalgia. There was a time when my cousins and I would sit on the verandah of our house, watching the rain trickle down the roof tiles and make paper boats with old news papers. The boats once ready to sail would be set off to the never never land which was apparently somewhere down the drains. But all the fun would last only till the thunder strikes along with the fancy lightning and everyone would scream and huddle around in some dark corner of the house. The elders would calm us down saying that its just the sound of battle between Gods and Demons and we have nothing to worry about (Maybe because we weren’t participating). Rains started to get more fun during school days. Whenever the schools reopened, the road...
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