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  • theuglyink 15w

    The writer
    Knows not
    Where the story ends
    But ultimately draws one.

    -some endings are eternal; some endings are carved out of our ongoing journey. Some endings, writers do not have a final say.


  • theuglyink 15w

    We stood by the large
    Library window
    While I clasped a tiny novel
    Consisting of words
    Heavy enough
    To crash this window
    Between us two
    You were lightly clothed
    In that vile rain
    Then I wondered
    What had happened
    That I just watched
    Your brown coat
    Soak by the fierce droplets
    And the aliquots of
    Your tears float
    Onto the glass masked
    As rain droplets
    I hoped it was the
    Quiet of the library
    And the hardness of
    Glass that stopped me
    From running outside to
    Anchor my umbrella
    To at least keep you dry
    I remember questioning
    If our argument
    Was heavier than the
    Rain that you let
    It sit on you
    So quietly
    I wish you
    Remember that day
    A sunny day
    Where I cried
    Along with you
    And shattered that
    Thick glass
    With words
    From the little novel,
    Dear dad.


  • theuglyink 16w

    Woken siblings

    From among shells and sorrow:

    Matching through the seas
    Withering with the tides
    Shells filling and breaking apart
    Sorrow overtaking broken shells
    Shells leaving with them DNA
    We mending the shells
    Becoming voyagers;
    Woken siblings
    In the sea-broken shells.


  • theuglyink 37w

    A Lucid Day

    Somewhere on Highlands Boulevard
    We brewed a subtle conversation
    Of how good or bad people are. You always remember
    Some of my bad poems and
    Urge me to write many more. Then I’d laugh it off
    Somewhere between thinking of
    Yet another bad one,
    At least that is what I thought of my squeezed letters
    On myriad fragmented lines.

    I said people were inherently good,
    You said otherwise.
    I thought being in the neuroscience stream
    allowed you think such
    And maybe your point mirrors our present world.
    Still, I thought people’s environment moulded them
    And, are to some extent, forced to become bad.
    I thought good was the original version of people,
    That it was where they felt their best self and felt more human.
    And we carried this conversation
    Along with your dark green shopping bag,
    While we crossed streets, swiped our bank cards, stood patiently by the bus
    We slowly became adults exchanging our inner thoughts
    We are nineteen on the edge of becoming real ourselves
    And that may be just why you thought this day was more lucid
    As the skies were surreal
    Like our conversation on Highland Boulevard.


  • theuglyink 43w


    There will always be
    Better sunsets
    And rain in

    But atimes you'll wish sunsets have certain hues and hit certain
    Strings in your heart. Maybe one for excruciating sadness
    On days you feel awful or even one to feel soulless
    So you can long for what you think you can't
    Feel all because you believe you need
    More and more feels right.


  • theuglyink 43w

    For a friend.


    Read More

    The sizzling

    Method of the

    Sun looms her

    Sight in redness

    And fatigue—mercilessly.


  • theuglyink 44w

    You see that woman
    Sitting with her cup
    Of coffee dressed in
    Paper bag brown and
    Perusing a section in a
    Newspaper leaflet
    She is neither old
    Nor young, she enjoys
    Company of politics
    As she gulps bitter truth
    She sometimes turns
    To the barista to request
    A sachet of sugar and a pint
    Of milk, but they all mask
    The reality outside the cafe
    She now saves the glances
    And forcefully drinks
    To her surprise the last
    Gulp of coffee has her
    Looking down at the floor
    Of the cup and coffee stains
    Now she only knows that
    They are all witnesses
    To this bitter truth.


  • theuglyink 45w

    As long as you keep
    Tugging at imaginations
    And more
    You keep your ink alive


  • theuglyink 45w

    The Wildfires

    She was caged
    Unaware of our dispositions
    And masked by viscous ash
    Nowhere to be found

    She vanished
    Leaving mourning yellow stains
    Creating golden showers here and there
    And the day fell silent
    Of the azure above

    No different from darkness
    And masked with gold
    I could feel a weeping phenomenon
    Behind my transparent curtains

    I could only pray for
    Our grounds to revitalize—
    Seedlings and oxygen fiddling
    With our atmosphere--
    So, soon, the distressed skies
    Will ride with the sun,
    Stars and moon.


  • theuglyink 46w

    Tell me why
    I always have to
    Look so intensely
    At the sun
    And then towards you
    To unearth your cold words.