Bookworm. Poet. Story-teller.
When things are about to change, it comes like the rains. First it thunders. Then starts to drizzle. Slowly, the showers catch up, and then it pours heartfuls. Once the cloudy pockets are emptied, it’s all calm and quiet. Sure there’s wheels splashing muddy waters. Of course, there’s muck and damp for some time. But…
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This morning, I forget to shut the window. I realize it when I’m sitting in the cab grinding my teeth to the traffic. I must look menacing cause the traffic starts to clear out. I don’t come home that night. The next morning I’m invited in my own house like a guest. There’s an unannounced,…
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I look over my shoulders. One, twice, and then again. This ritual never ends. Me, chasing darkness for that sliver of light. And light evading me, elusive as ever. I couldn’t have been more desperate, more wanting of that one little ray of hope. I wake up. The morning is chilly. There’s a slight nip…
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Can you love someone if you don’t know them yet? Can you unlove someone after you get to know them? Is it possible to shed those feelings after people change? And once you’ve harbored a certain kind of affection for someone, how do you go on living like before, after learning that a meaningless affection…
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The more I think about it, the more it feels that the book I am working on is one that the ones who know me would hate me for. Why would I want to bring something like that to life? Let alone for the world to read. Little do they know that there aren’t a…
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August arrived in a frenzy but disappeared unnoticed. Just like the whole of 2020 mostly will. More on 2020 later though. It isn’t always I’m derailed from routine. But at times, it isn’t even under my own control. And no matter how natural that is, it is unnerving. Mostly because, there’s always so much to…
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[III] I think about you. At times, I am thinking all day. Between talks, between breaths, between blinks. Guess that happens when you’re daydreaming, about fantasies, about impossibilities, endlessly. With me, though, there are prolonged spells when it is hard to tell if I really want them or if I just love the idea of…
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The light’s a dim yellow. Just the way you liked. I leave it that way. Each night. For seven hundred and thirty one nights. Exactly two years. I stare at the ceiling, and then some at the walls. They stare back. Blank. They’re lost too. At times, they move. The window panes on the ceiling,…
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Nights and mornings, all feel the same. I can’t tell one from the other. And yet, when I look at the walls around me, everything’s changed. When and how, is what I’m left with. Feels like an age has passed in the blink of an eye. Some I wish to see, are far far away.…
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no storms were bold enough no waves as wild as this hundred-year old heart and this five-year old mind How do you like my new micropoetry format? Like it? No? Do share your thoughts below. Follow @themusingquill on Instagram for more poetry. I await you there. 🙂 ~~~~~ Asha Seth
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चलते चलते कदम नहीं थकते ठहर जाने से थकते हैं यह सोचकर परेशान नहीं दिल की कल की सुबह आज सी नहीं होगी पर इस सोच में डूबा रेहता है की आज की शाम कल सी हुई तोह क्या डर इस बात का नहीं की कल अपने मुँह मोड़ लें फिक्र इस बात की होती…
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when I returned lost and beaten through the woods to reach where I belong no one was there to welcome me except the scorching trail and the ruins beyond ~~~~~ Asha Seth
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Time wasn’t on our side. Today, when it is too late, I convince myself thus. Maybe I wasn’t the right age to understand. Maybe you were too harsh that I suffered in vain. Maybe I comprehended you wrong. Maybe you misunderstood me much. I believed you knew what you were doing. Unleashing a world of…
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December with all its damp left me happier than January with all the sun could Follow @badbookthief on Instagram for more micropoetry. Happy writing till we meet next. Until then, carpe diem! 🙂 ~~~~~ © Asha Seth Stay in touch. Subscribe Now: Youtube| Twitter| Instagram| Facebook| Tumblr
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He looked into my face, turned away, and stared again. I wondered what it was he was searching. Whether he found it. Whether not. I tried to make out from the way his eyes scanned the lines of my face. How did I look to stranger eyes? His gaze rested on my lips. Maybe the…
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What can be hoped after your last chance is snatched away? What can you say when a debris of words clogs your throat, gnaws at your brain? What remains when your heart’s tired of being numb? What can be done, when that ‘one last time’ never comes? ~~~~~ Asha Seth
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it doesn’t matter whether days fuse into nights or seas dissolve into the skies you carry on breathing the same air eating the same dust as the day you were born like the day after you die ~~~~~ Asha Seth
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जब मिले हम उस पतझड़ से कुछ इस कदर डूबे उसकी ख़ूबसूरती में की यह पूछना भूल गए वह आएंगे भी या बस उनकी यादें साथ लाये हो उसकी बाहों में सिमट यह बोलना भूल गए इंतज़ार हमें वो करवाते हैं पर हमारी तन्हाई को सीने से तुम लगा लेते हो ~~~~~ आशा सेठ
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Asha Seth 