Sweet Garuda

He stands tall with his neck streched out

covered with a coat of sable ,

His arms  extend as he falls without a doubt

who else could fly so stable,

He rules the sky with claws of steel

and his cry is one of pride,

His eyes so keen seeing  all he needs

in what world could his prey hide,

The branch he sits on a throne so old

times touch only makes its embrace grow,

He does not fear for time is dear

and one day even he will have to bow low.


The art of nudity

The first time I saw a naked woman
It was on the internet at the age of 12
And I was…. Confused
I’d heard so much about the female form about how beautiful it was ,                            how life changing your first glimpse was supposed to be,
How you were supposed to feel a burning wave of passion,
About how you were supposed to feel something more than clinical detachment,
But being 12 years old I put it out of my head. Who cares,
Only 5 years down the line when I first saw actual nakedness did i recognise the significance of nudity,
The way that a thigh is just any thigh until it’s a smooth plane over which my hands want to lose themselves,
A shoulder is only a shoulder until your lips want to brand a pattern onto to it,
But the thing about nudity is it doesn’t just go one way ,

seeing her without her layers, left me just as exposed as it left her, the first time I heard her say the words I love you I for a second felt naked ,                         unclothed and lost because I didn’t have anything to say in return,

the most terrifying thing about nudity is that it’s perfectly fine as long as it’s a stranger as long as a shoulder is just a shoulder and thigh is just a thigh

But when her skin is no longer her skin but a map etched with a story as old as time itself,
It’s no longer about just seeing a naked woman,
It’s about the act of worship ,
I felt like a man dragged in front of the sacrificial altar gazing up at the idol over the narthax ,
And wondering whether it was even supposed to feel like this,
About where this had been all his life
Being naked wasn’t just about taking off her clothes and mine ,
It was so much more,
I felt like I was peeling of the skin from my bones and standing there more naked then the day I was born,
I felt unclothed even though I was under 3 layers and
I felt so exposed …..
The first time she told me she loved me
She closed my eyes whispered it in my ear ,
It felt like the screaming chorus to a song we’d been singing for years before we met ,
The stories the secret, the lost moments all felt a thousand times more resonant
The first time I saw a beautiful women naked , I didn’t even have my eyes open.

A manifesto of existence

A manifesto of existence

 So first things first, I want to put forward the reasoning behind the existence of this “blog” , I like most angst filled teenagers with a lot of time on their hands , am bored and filled with rage,hatred and many other strange emotions towards the world , so this blog serves as an outlet for that , since it’s a better idea then going on a killing spree like the voices keep telling me to…. Anyway . I will mostly be putting forward half baked essays , sprawling stories that make absolutely no sense and what can be described in the loosest of terms as poetry. In advance I should mention this is officially my first attempt at this (a line that is usually followed by disaster) but anyway let’s see what comes of this crazy new adventure