Between threads.

it’s been ages of telling myself not to cry for you, but at this hour i either cry or write. the first time we met was my first entry in writing and since you’ve left, its never reached a stop. i miss how you used to listen to me at 3 when no one else was even awake for me. how you used to play the guitar and sing along with it, looking into my eyes focusing on your sing but then i start fading into your voice. and then, it’s you who found me again when i lost myself in your sing. i met you five years back and we’ve been on edge of leaving each other several times but then in the end you somehow try flipping me again. very hard. i’ve tried getting done with poetry. i’ve tried deleting memories from everywhere throwing all the birthday presents. “Before you start hurting yourself, remember you’ve got a one man army behind to hold you even if you haven’t have any band yet”, you said this to me that morning and the time when we fought all day over arguments directing uselessness. but you know there’s one thing that stays forever. the poetry i did for you. because it is an art and creativity i created and haven’t stopped with yet because you’ve left. and this is the reason i couldn’t stop. and this time, we did really end up.

-i still wonder how the things

ended so easily.



Give me a crushed paper

for i know i can rebuild it

fill it with words i could never feel

fill it with songs i sang in my fantasies

fill it with love i’ve always wanted to


with love which said impossible

at every point of my life.

i knew it was going to happen

i knew a storm was on the docket for me

little did i know,

i was not an optimist

not a lyricist

and not a singer

your songs were so pleasing

your eyes were the sickness

your words were not real;

and love,

not even a hint of it was left

to be heard

to be felt

anything for once.

My love was unheard and 

You, couldn’t see me. 


Instagram; @toohottobetrue_

Hard to love. 

how much more

do I have to lose

to give you the love you deserve

to give you my shadow when

the world is being a harsh light.

i’ll still keep on trying to

climb the ladder for you

even if I fall down a four

even if i’ll have to experience

the time of you not loving me

like you do now.

you are nothing,

but afraid of the world

giving cruel voices for loving me.

you are nothing,

but proving yourself a coward

while i have decided to be

what i am

and not bringing changes in me

for the world.

i wish you weren’t like the world

who is still against loving me

and also the world which didn’t made me realise

that i find it hard to love,

but i am hard to love.

-from my inside voices which remained

 polite at every stage of my life. 


i should’ve lied. 

30th August, 1:38 am. 

//Late again. It’s too late, for me to stay awake till this hour but, I couldn’t help myself but sit on the work chair and my work table with my journal before me. Yearning for the words to land on it. Yearning for the words that belong to you. I should’ve lied; about loving you. Like you did. I miss that sound on the other side of the door I used to hear, every third hour under the love emitted by the moon. I swear, it was stronger than yours. What I’ve always wanted was to be crowned, like I was not the queen, but a queen who was really loved. I know, and so does my heart; the sound I’d never hear again still haunts me, when it used to lighten up my soul before. I see things changing, not quite fast. I wish they did. I wish they moved forward quite as fast as you moved on. Even on some nights I think about the old us, and think about how we just ended. You did not steal my heart, instead you forced your own self to love me, and feigned love. You cannot be blamed equally. And it wasn’t really stealing. It was making me realise I was nothing, not a soul which could be loved easily. No, not love. But could be loved in feigned form. I cannot explain what happened next between us, nobody does. It’s you, who’s the only evidence: if something really happened or not. I blame you for making me grow Hatred towards myself. For tearing off my hair when I used to look at my reflection and saw the worst person who’s ever been; but that’s not my real name. Some might say it’s weakness. One thing I’ll never forget, I climbed up the top, no one believed me, this was his side of the story. Her’s was yet to be written.

Late again, the pages felt blank with just a dot yearning to form into phrases, but memories restrained me from writing; which I can’t disobey even if my pen starts working next minute. //


DREAM & its Fantasists

I endure a dream every night. I discern a dream every night. Sometimes its you, sometimes it’s nothing. I feels its a dream only when I dream of you, I feel its a dream only when I’m with you. I still dream of us looking at the stars at every night’s third hour and I feel it our old selves sharing thoughts at exactly the same hour. Pointing at the stars and spotting our past selves there, but then I wake uo and realise- its only a dream. Its only a fantasy and we are its fantasists. Or maybe its just me. We were always meant to be together- that’s what my heart said, we’re not- that’s what my mind said. My heart and brain were pastly at a war, my heart saying its our Bosoms which deserve to be one. But no, its my broken soul giving a voice- ‘You’re too incapable of finding yourself some one else’. 

I believe, hearts are just meant to be broken… Hearts are meant to be buried. Burying us with itself, burying us with everything we emitted as love. Not because the one you loved is the only one responsible for abandoning, not because you wanted your story to die. Only because your story had to be contrasting. 



​And then suddenly I start thinking about a new topic for writing a Prose. Roads. These rough roads. Yes, I’m in love with these roads. The roads I’m walking on, the roads I’m traveling on. The roads I see from my car and roads I feel. With every passing movement of my bare feet and the wheels of my car, I feel another me. I look down at the road. I’m bare feet. I peep outside my car’s glass and I feel relieved. Relieved from the world. I feel the air brushing my face, brushing my body. With every passing second I feel the roughness I’m walking on. The only way to survive, to feel life. I see your beaming face, grin like a Cheshire cat. You’re beauty, you’re life. And life’s a propossessing thing, as pretty as a picture. I have a million reasons to live, and you had a zillion to leave me. My audio jack’s plugged and I don’t really care about the world giving a voice. I need not to sound wild and remind them about my existence. I’m happy, happier than I once was. Happier than I ever will be. And happier I could ever think I would be. Life’s a frisky play. Play it aptly. 

~Snigdha :v



Snigdha Rohilla/