To those unfinished dreams.

To dream is a feel,  

But some Unfinished,  Unhappened

Dreams put us down

Pats us low ,

Breaks our crown 

In the course of time we still never

Stop dreaming,  

We just stop believing in them. 

(Have you felt like it too?  )


(Image Courtesy : My beautiful friend,  Manisha.)

I intimidate people with my silence, 

Infuriate them with my insecurities 

Swear them off my care, 

Nauseate them with my fears .

I fold and crush like a tissue ,

But yearn to be refined without any excuse. 

I grow under layers of grimace ,

But hold on to memories for days

I crib,  I cry .

I hurt,  I try .

I  approve some punches to make things right. 

I fail , I’m extreme .

I choke, I scream.

I hate sitting on a floor so dry,

But I swear,  I’d be worth a try. 

To hold my mess together ,

Cause it’s better late than never. 

Thank you for reading  🙂 @quiescentlistener 

Can’t wait. 

A seventy year old me , would pain in not putting in effort for the things I want 
Would try to peep in their hearts than their social media accounts 

Would love to sleep in a dark night wrapped along a blanket of stars 

Would still wait for a love letter

Would not be as fragile to worthless situations

Would not be scared to be lonely. 

A seventy year old me would be the outcome of managing persistent worse situations, on bearing utter patience and moderation. If that it’s going to be. 

Believe me,  I can’t wait to grow old.


A while in a not so far away place was the struggle of a human ( as per how you relate ) living up among the absurdities of situations, winding in repulsive grimace, hiding under the layers of how many times he has been given up by every inch of everyone who could possibly would have been everything to offer, striving between those mediocre mornings to serene nights and with feelings so ineffable questioning how possibly  everything turned upside down. You know what’s their biggest loss?  

Thinking that it was all their fault

If you are making the same mistake, 


Simple as that.

It’s always as simple as spreading the jam over your bread 

As passing down a joke to your mate 

As cursing your fate 

As running behind a kite

And losing it’s sight. 

As simple as trembling with immense fear and insecurities and writing or well maybe,  reading this cause it’s never too late. 

Simple ? 

Maybe,  Not. 

Writer or Type(Writer) ?

We are all in this because we love to write and we love to throw emotions verbally. Very cautiously we are also aware about the rapidness of evolving technology.

I can’t explain if it was a random thought that striked my mind or a reality taking time to digest. 

How many of us are Writing or Just ‘Type’ Writing. 

I think I’m doing bit of both. 

Do share your views.  🙂

What ?

I’ve mastered darkness like a cozy evening,

While the night and dawn conflate.

Of what keeps on deceiving , 

Weaving blossoms and storms of the world’s weight. 

I’ve mastered darkness like a cozy evening my friend,  

What do you think I’m afraid of ? 

Appreciate your behind the scene.

The one who cooked your food,  instead of the one who ate with you. 

The one who wrote a song for you more than the one who sung it. 

The one who helped you find your perfect outfit more than the one who just liked it. 

The one who corrected you more than the one who appreciates your perfection. 

The one who helped you build your empire more than the one who came to see it. 

Appreciate everything but your behind the scene,  a little more. 

Also,  appreciating everyone who made an effort to read this. 

I thank your patience.

Believe this. 

You know a random stranger could turn out to be of great help , friends who say they care for you could be digging a pit waiting for you to fall , the guy who claims to love you could be flirting with five of your own friends under your nose , the neighbour you ignore may turn out to be the greatest witness in saving you from a wreck,  the teacher you hate is actually shaping you for life and the words you believe in could be shaded by the actions you see. Despite of whatever anyone tells you,  it’s about how they make you feel. Actions,  that matter . ACTIONS. 

A muse to a story

I’m not judging,  only pushing myself to understand. 

I am not detached to your pain nor attached to your benefits & glory 

If only I was the muse to a story ~