I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night you showed me

There was nothing left to write but love.

I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night as your drunk words played 

Sweet inviting rhythms in my drunk ears,

You showed me there was nothing left to write but love.

I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night as we took turn on a single bottle of wine,

As my dried lips touched its edge- wet with your wine flavoured saliva,

As I hoped it was your lips instead,

You showed me there was nothing left to write but love.

I would never write a poem about love –

As I bid you goodnight,

As I wrapped you in my arms for a hug- tight,

As I pulled back from you and whispered;

            ‘may I taste your tongue tonight?’

As you leaned forward and closed your eyes,

And you opened your mouth,

As I reached for you and parted my lips too to finally open yours,

As I grabbed your waist,

And I pulled you even closer,

Our groins joined together,

As everything became nothing;

As everyone became no one,

As you became the one,

As we became one,

As our mouth found each other,

And I finally sucked your tongue soft and slow and then harder,

All at once, so tender,

As everything around us on the roof top blew like firework in the dark,

In the city wherein it’s forbidden,

You showed me that if all of these were not love then this is not,

And I still have not written a poem about love



I have been referred to 

With numerous names,

I have been spoken of,

For playing mind games.

I have been called

An opportunistic,

Who uses her womanly wiles,

To get her way,

And get away,

With people by using smiles.

If I wear bright colours,

A bungle, a bindi,

And a pair of earring,

I’m said to have 

Taken pains

To look good and dress up.

If I laugh aloud,

I have no shame,

If I don’t I’m a snob,

If I’m independent,

They think it’s due to my job.

I have had enough and now it’s time,

For me to raise my voice,

I am, a widow, I agree,

But I was never by choice.

I’m not a widow of opportunity,

Nor a tissue to be used and throw,

Neither am I a damsel in despair,

Nor a broken bow.

I do not need any shoulder

To cry and lean on,

Do not think I’m emotionally weak,

I don’t need another ‘someone’

I really pity 

The people who see

The smile on my face for their notion,

They can never see 

The pain within me,

For them my heart isn’t open.

Not that my life 

Is centered around

What people think and say. 

I live my life,

On my own terms,

I follow my own pathway.

I am still married 

To the man I love,

Even if I’m called a widow,

My heart knows

That he knows it too,

Because my soul tells me so. 




​I want to know your ice cream flavour and your favourite coffee, 
I want to know your favourite month and why.

I want you to tell me the books that changed you and the music that kept you alive.

I want to know which side of the bed you like best.

I want to know the lines of the poems that give you chills and which shade of the sky makes you feel at peace.

I want to know the people and places you call home.

I want to know if you put too much sugar in your tea…

….I want to know if you feel the same way about me…
C/O >> Vin Treyv. 



play me tonight.jpgPlay on the piano tonight for me,

I’ll lean on your shoulder

And listen to harmonious notes,

That flicker between thoughts,

and carry the soul to unfold,

between my eyes like a dream,

rise, and flicker like fireflies.


Play me tonight a soulful song,

Let us cover the stars,

Let the birds fall silent and listen,

Notes floats in the air,

Carried by a light breeze,

Echo in this silence,

Lulled to sleep by my heartbeat.


Play me tonight like never before,

Allow my fingers to touch your neck,

I want to feel the rhythm and depth,

With most ardent desire,

Let me bring the sounds in this dream,

Tonight I belong to you through notes,

From the fire, like phoenix, I rise.


For months you haven’t had a good night’s sleep.
When will baby sleep through the night?
But when she finally does get a solid 8 hours,
All you can think is, “this can’t be right.”
This is the moment you’ve been waiting for,
A chance to finally get some rest.
But you spend all night in a panic,
Staring at her chest.
Is she okay? Is she breathing?
Why won’t she just make a sound?
Welcome to motherhood,
Where the contradictions abound. 

Another moment you’ve been waiting for…baby’s first steps!
At last, at last!
Are these tears of joy or sorrow?
They grow up so fast. 
Just yesterday she was too afraid to let go,
Reaching for my hand.
Suddenly she just got up and grinned,
So proud that she could stand.
My baby is standing, I thought as I filmed.
But this moment didn’t last long.
That’s when she took off walking,
And I’m trying to be strong.

How can I feel all these emotions at once?
Being a mom is so strange.
You want them to grow up,
But you also don’t want a thing to change.
You desperately need a break,
But miss them the second you leave.
You want them to be independent,
But miss the tugging on your sleeve.
How will you feel when they begin to drive?
When they go to college or move away?
I can’t think about that right now.
I’m not letting go of today


I bleed myself into you
With no other colours
but a shade of grey and a hint of black.

I poured out every word for you,
Love & hate all the same.
They’re painted black.

I dreamed I died of bitter guilt,
The walls were high and the ground was cold.
As I awoke I breathed out a sigh,
Opened my eyes and the room was black.

I carved into my own chest to give you a gift:
I think you knew what it was.
On a plate & all for you,
But you turned your back.

As I stood with nothing to say,
I watched my heart turn black.



Women are like apples on the trees,
Swaying lovingly in the breeze,
Men look, feast, flirt and admire all to see,
For the best ones are at the top of the tree.

Most men dont want to reach for the good ones,
They used to wistle now they use cell phones,
Because they are afraid of falling and get hurt,
Instead they just get the rotten apples in the dirt.

From the ground they are not as good but easy,
Even if they have no beauty and full of acne,
So the apple at the top think something is wrong with them,
When in reality they’re amaizing because the man is the problem.

They’ve to wait for the right man to come for matrimony,
Those brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree,
She may allow you to kiss her from her head to her toe,
She may allow you to take her to her bed and asking for mo’
Then if you play your card right and are not mean,
She might ask you to kiss her all over in between. 

But remember laddies Men ae like fine wine,
They start out as grapes, some some sour, some fine,
It’s upto women to stomp the crap out of them, getting to the pith,
Untill they turn into something really accaptable to have dinner with.