Who Am I?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Extremely long poem. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Oh, and by the way, is switching to Shakespearean English (for no particular reason) allowed?

Who Am I?

I disappoint.
That’s what I’d be
If every time I caused it
And be given a point.

To make things easier,
I’ll give you clues three;
Figuring it out on the first try
Is an easy victory.

1. “I am different colours-
Tawny or blue or hazel or brown
Holding things unearthly-
Love, sin, hate, the power to mortally wound
In one.
In that body,
Which has no end, no beginning,
Going ’round.”

I pain more than
A fatal disease,
For I’m human
Meant to,
But unable to please.

The second clue, perchance,
Is vague,
Like the answer
Of an indecisive mistress
When asked to dance.

2. “I begin with a C,
My last syllable
Is the answer you seek.
The Indians adore me,
The English, too,
So much so,
I’m consumed assuredly
When the clock strikes three.”

I don’t hate myself;
How can I,
When I’m already
Beyond the (now, laughable)
Emotion the word betrays?
I yearn for words
Describing what I feel.
But, that’s as absurd
As the idea
That I can heal.

I am knowing of the fact
They repeat willingly
To themselves
After every unkind act-
It is a big world
And you CANNOT
Please everyone.’
I am knowing,
But my sinning self
To disagree.

I give you
Clue number three.
I expect,
It should serve
The answer to thee,
Lest this facile quest
Hath been renounced by thee.

3. “The world would be
A far better place
If it’s occupants
Made it their occupation to
Cast it’s attention
To ‘we’
And not to the
Despicable word at the onset
Of nearly every stanza;
Have a look, I pray of you,
Put an end
To this pitiable
Self-deprecating extravaganza!”

Sure I am
That the answer
Has been found.
Now, I don’t desire much
Except a small favour from you.

Forget everything you learnt
About me,
For occupying space in
Your untainted brain,
I am not worthy!
Forget me and
Cast me into nothingness,
A deep ravine,
Don’t protest nor argue,
For it isn’t a
Cumbersome task.

The universe is
Roomy, accomodating, vast.
Cast me away
In the very next storm,
For, dear one,
That’s your guarantee
To rainbows and happy days
For long.

“If you can help a person to learn to love themselves, if you can contribute in any way, do not hold back. There is no greater act of kindness.”

-Kimaya Ingale.


Better Than Fiction.


There was once a time when I would happily wear one of the above t-shirts, firmly believing in the truth the words imprinted on it held.

That time was before you.

I now wonder, why was I so much in love with fictional males?

I do have the answer for that, by the way.

They were one quality, described so beautifully that they seemed impossible to have. And since when have we not wanted something we can’t have?

The authors are also talented enough to make a particular Mr. Douchebag sound appealing to the female masses through rare redemptions, often supplied with unforgettable metaphors which build up on his “broken angel” aura and make his douchebag aura seem acceptable. Swoon-worthy even. Or they’d go for a more sensitive chap, you know, the warm, tragically friend-zoned, quotes and poetry hoarding kind, with spectacular brown hair.

Yes, that was the dream, until you came bumbling along.

You were everything I never knew I needed. Sure, you don’t give the kind of replies I expect when I type something deep. You get away with a “hmmm” while I would rage at anyone else who’d use the word as generously as you do (I haven’t known a bigger conversation turn-off than that word, seriously). Your flirting skills embarrass me, sometimes. You commit cringeworthy grammatical errors and poetry has never been relevant to you.

But, you make me very happy.

You make me happy through the cheesy pick-up lines you use to counter something cute I just said. You make happy when you listen to everything I say and patiently wait, knowing there’s more. You make me happy through the fact that you care about what happened in my day. You make me happy because you stay when I ask you to leave, because you know this is going to pass. You make me happy because you believe me when I say I love you and be a perfect little tease before saying it back with full fervour.

You have made my life a perpetual carnival and I can’t remember ever being more excited to get on a ride, and live.

More than anything, however, you make me feel radiant when I see you and am reassured that you are more than a piece of fiction built up from the remains of my forlorn heart.

You are real and better than fiction; and you should know, love, that’s huge coming from a manic bibliophile like yours truly.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Dear Joy.

Dear Joy,

Hi! I guess, a “long time, no see!” is in order. You might not be visiting me in recent times, but I assure you, your company is enjoyable.

In my childhood, you were easier to obtain. I’d experience you almost every other moment. Playing with my friends, staring at nothing, reading, watching cartoons, eating what I liked, spending time with my family, drawing (which I absolutely despise now)- you came with it all.

But now, when I’m in my teenage, I’ve discovered quite a lot of things which have affected your time in my life. Now that I know that nothing is permanent, I find ‘happily ever after’ nothing more than a desperate attempt at promising a better tomorrow. What’s worse, only a few make it through to see the better tomorrow or the better day after tomorrow or the better, whenever it comes. Scary, isn’t it?

You exist a lot in my memories. You come in the form of some people I interact with on a daily basis (some of them extremely gorgeous, if you know what I mean *wink*). You come in the form of flashbacks of things that I once had. You exist in the thought of the things I will have. You exist in literature and words. You exist in human gestures. You exist in a lot of things. 

Then, you shouldn’t be difficult to find, eh? But, you are. You are like a chameleon. You blend in with the other emotions that already exist in majority. It takes a long while to pick you out. Most give up in the process. However, it’s beautiful watching those who successfully do so. It inspires other people and then BAM! You are a phenomenon that everyone wants to experience and the world slowly becomes a better place.

I don’t know whether you will be as hard to find in my adulthood as you are now. Maybe I will have experienced you enough times to know where exactly to look. I hope that is the case; for me and for everyone else.

Wow, that was Aristotle-level philosophical. Maybe, I should calm down a bit.

Maybe, I shouldn’t. I’ve gotten all worked up now, to find you. And it’s a damned better thought than all the others I’ve had lately.

Yours sincerely,


-Kimaya Ingale.

What Kind Are You Talking About?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And it’s here! The special 100. I now have 100 people who give a damn about what I write. 😀 Gee, thanks, I love you guys, it means a lot. 🙂


What kind are you talking about?

The one that cares for the ‘I‘ in it or just insidiously destroys it?


What kind are you talking about?

The ones that understand us till the second ‘E‘ or the ones that leave somewhere near the ‘O‘?


What kind are you talking about?

The one which most people pretend to experience for the sake of not offending anyone or the  one which stays long enough to keep you sane when the bad days take over?


What kind are you talking about?

The ones that stay till the ‘E N D’ or the ones that find someone else between the ‘R‘ and the ‘I‘?


What kind are you talking about?

The one that means its ‘ for eternity ‘ business or the one which sees no wrong in unexpectedly changing the ‘F O R‘ for an ‘N‘?


What kind are you talking about?

The ones that waltz unfazed with our demons or the ones that just care about showing off their wings?

I  L O V E  Y O U

What kind are you talking about?

The one which is meant for the whole package or the one which is meant only for the pretty parts?

-Kimaya Ingale.

One Breath, Two.


One Breath, Two.

After you left,

She hurt,
But she smiled.
She was tired of being used to departures.

At a peculiar angle, she curled up,
Fell asleep,
One breath, two,

And then, the flowers were
The only things alive in the room.

-Kimaya Ingale.


AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sometimes, it’s easier to lose yourself in others’ words. 

“we do it for the love we think we deserve.”

“in our quest to be understood, we forget to be a little understanding.”

“only dead fish go with the flow.”

“what is meant to be, will find its way.”

“all we are is skin and bone, trained to get along.”

“when you feel my heat, look into my eyes, it’s where my demons hide.”

“it rains when you are here, it rains when you’re gone.”

“flashback to when you said, forever and always.”

“never fall in love, always be in love, ‘cuz everything that falls, breaks.”

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

“we loved with a love that was more than love.”

“holding Eleanor’s hand felt like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.”

“you are all the colours in one, at full brightness.”

“to love is to destroy.”

“I liked it better when you were on my side.”

“you lost the love I loved the most.”

“we keep this love in a photograph, we keep these memories for ourselves.”

“where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken, time’s forever frozen and still.”

-Kimaya Ingale.