Monday, November 4, 2013


I write this for everyone whose lives have been touched by Cancer. I write this for my Daadi and my Manjley Abbu. I write this for a beautiful woman I know. I write this for the people, for the lovers, for the families, for the children,  for the young girl who smiles at the world from above, for the days, hours and moments that have changed our lives, for youth, for old age. And most of all, for courage and strength to get by.


You come in creeping,
Like a thief stealing
The most valuable possession
Flesh and bone, mind and soul

You play hide and seek
Like rays of golden hope
And streaks of red strength
At the brink of dawn.
And sometimes,

On weakness you feed
When the mind is numb
And the body meek
Clouds of endless black
Reveal an eternal dusk.

And in the midst of yearning,
Tears, pain and struggling
Clenched hands and prayers
And everything that is left unsaid

We become who we are
We leave behind what we would become
A dazzling star, a spotless sun
And in this becoming,
There is beauty, there is love.
There is peace.
I am not terrified
I am not hastening
For time, for its impermanence
I am fighting. I am living.
I am fighting to live.

- Namal

Friday, May 31, 2013

When our house burns.

Lofty wobbly dreams
A storm stirs, our house burns
You and I are exploding within our seams.
Full with passion and feeling
Complete with logic and planning
Young and free, we often agree to disagree.
Tiring laborious days and
Exhausting long nights together,
Darling, how will we do forever?
So when this house burns
We will kill the fumes
I will put the pieces together
You will hold it all together
I will find soft spots to your rationale
You will give reason to my emotion
When our house burns, we will pull it together.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013


Of late, I have been reading different poets and listening to amazing instrumentals. All this poetry and music has caused a stirring of words in my head. The kind of stirring that leads to making some sort of concoction that may please your taste buds, or leave a flavor to your disposition that you're not quite sure about.

Okay long story cut short. Here's something I wrote recently. (Thanks to Karen for putting it together as below :))

And my reference to the poetry and music I have been listening to lately:

I cannot stop reading the works of a poet I came across recently when a friend shared his poem. Michael Faudet is a mysterious poet, who may or may not exist. Read his work and you will know what I mean. He writes short poems that usually play with one single emotion, or moment in time. Follow him here:  

La Musica:

Cesare Picco - Piano Calling

Los Romeros - Noche En M√°laga

Ludovico Einaudi - Behind the Window

Thanks for stopping by! x

Saturday, May 4, 2013

Pardon me, My Lady.

Pardon me, as this may be too much
For you, cringe worthy or too cliché
Call it all things as such

Lately I feel good, comforted by subliminal pain
The doctor claims, he’s found
High levels of intoxication through my veins

I am a drunk without drinking, a glass of wine
I am a poet without learning, the letter
I am a painter without touching, the brush
I am a lover without knowing, my beloved

Because my lady, as I see you loom
From the furthest corner of this room
Eyebrows are arched upward,
Filling your swollen forehead

With a look of disdain
Your arrogance belittles me, your status humbles me
Your ignorance and secret wonderment, excites me
You are a silly requirement, I would accept with fain

Thank you is all I can say to you
For I have learnt to love the soul, the world
The drunk, the artist, the writer
As the mysteries of the Greater love, unfurl
Your ignorance has led me to prospects, brighter.

- Namal Siddiqui

Monday, April 29, 2013


I often find myself -


In the thought of you,


With the touch of you,


By the sight of you,


In time with you,

I often find myself -


And in love with you,

I often find myself -


Through the days of our lives

In you.

- Namal Siddiqui

Saturday, April 13, 2013

The Wayward Daughter

ONE evening, she walked out of her house with the intention of never coming back. She walked and walked until she finally reached the outskirts of the city, gleaming with street lights, house lights, and other lights under the darkening sky.  She saw an expansive space of sand and only sand that made up the desert. The sky above this land seemed to accommodate many more stars as compared to the city, twinkling away as the hours of the night gave way to dusk. As she took forward steps, she could feel the city watching her from behind. She felt it calling her, ‘Come back you must! Come get busy in this life I have created for you.’ But she didn’t dare look back for there was more to unfold ahead ...

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Like a school girl.

You write like a little school girl, said the familiar strangers voice. The rasp in his voice contrasted severely to the comparison he made of me. I tried to defend myself and the style I wrote in, but as I spoke and found less and less reasons to speak momentarily I realized he was right. I was subtle and precautious when I spoke and wrote. I cared too much of society, people, culture and their thoughts and tolerance. He said I was limiting myself and not reaching my furthest potential. I had to be cruder and truthful, less polite.  School girl he said. I write like a little school girl.