Dead Poetry.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I have no idea who painted the picture below (found it off Google), so I cannot really give credits.


Dead Poetry.

Come near, tip toe here,
But secrets, can you keep?
“Alive today, dead tomorrow.”
– My last words you’ve just heard;
Don’t tell,
But don’t fear.

-Kimaya Ingale.


Blood And Truth.

“Truth and blood, we know that they both live inside of all of us. Then why, when either of them bleed out, are we so shocked?”

“We’ve all got our own universes. Better to get lost in our own and at least stand a chance to get out, than venturing into others’ and hitting dead ends everywhere.”

“Do not ever love hard and be sorry for it.  Be proud of the fact that you gave what not everybody could.”

-Kimaya Ingale.

What Makes Famous Poems.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m actually proud of this piece, for once. 😀

What Makes Famous Poems.

Sitting on a rickety chair,
My frustration multiplied
By the constant escape of
Those fickle devils-
From my mind’s hungry lair.

‘What makes famous poems?’
I wondered,
Surely it was, for one,
A myriad of thoughts
That no one,
Except the poet,
Would care about enough
To ponder.’

It was surely
The way they’d tempt us
With bodacious fair maidens
And the same ol’
Mystical island of yore.

It was the way
They’d entice us
With comfort that
We were seeking.
Lace it in their
Sonnets and limericks and haikus,
Like they knew
What’d exactly
Stop our grieving.

It was,
Not to forget,
That they were
The First Ones
To write words,
To write beauty
With a harmonic end
On the topic they chose,
And the pictures
They had painted of
Objets d’art
Would be eternally
Their own.

The majority of inspiration
(And only that, nothing more!)
Would be frowned upon, thereafter,
As plagiarism;
Cast away, to return,
To quoth the Raven,

So, to be me
And be born in the
21st century
Is a curse.
The very best of ideas
Seem to be all taken
And lovingly fed with words.

Now, I grow desperate
(And though begrudgingly,
I admit- unreasonable),
Wary of cursing
Ms. Plath, Cummings, Poe
Ms. Dickinson, Whitman
And ‘course,

For, they were
The First Ones,
Their poems embalmed evermore.
I forget all the pleasure
They’d given me
Or twice
Or thrice,
For now,
They and some others along their line,
They are taking from me
The chances of getting
On a plane to Cambridge,
The very opposite of near.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Dear Someone I Knew Well.

Dear Someone I Knew Well,

Hey, there. Get out from under your blanket. Both, the real one and the one you use as a wall to not let anyone in. It’s going to break down anyway, when someone who “cares” comes along. I might as well be that someone. Knowing you like I do, I am positive that you won’t trust that person. But, maybe, you will trust me when I say- I’m you.

You forgot the promises you made to yourself, or should I say, us. You promised that you won’t love so hard. But, you did. You loved so much that you forgot to save some love for yourself.

You promised that you would not be one of those people who searched for ‘I hate myself quotes tumblr’. What a sad thing it is for me to know that your Google history is full of it. Shame, really.

You promised that you would not crave dying even when tides get rough. You should be craving for chocolate, right now. Don’t think I can’t hear you praying for death moments before sleep and when you wake up. 

You promised that you would live every goddamned day, and not be a bleak shadow of existence. You’ve got plenty of sun in your life to keep you going. All you need to do is crane your neck above your goddamned rain cloud. 

Darling, please, please don’t give up. I won’t tell you to stop loving others, because you do a fine job at that. All I ask of you is to not lose yourself in the process. Think of others, help them out but pay attention to yourself. Remember-

“We all have a battle waging inside us. Conquer yours first, before trying to aid someone else. Because otherwise, you just might be the flaming arrow burning them down.”

Go all out, kiddo. Win that battle. Let it’s scars be tattooed on your body. They’d look cooler than the rather hideous one you designed for yourself, anyway (you were never an artist).

If you don’t believe they don’t love you, find a reason for you to love yourself. And then it’s simple, just show them the reason. It won’t be easy, but I’m rooting for you the whole way.

I can’t wait to see you win and take the credit for myself. You wouldn’t mind that, because what was you was me, what is you is me and what you will be, will be me.

I want you to know, you aren’t a firework. You are the beginning of it. You’re just set up now and people will wait for your show. I don’t know how many will want to see the end of it and how many won’t wait, but I know those who miss out will feel it.

After all, how many times have you seen the celestial bodies being outshone? 

  Yours truly,

The One You See In The Mirror.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Breakable Diamonds.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Why did the mushroom go to the party? Because it was a fun-gi. 😂
Sorry for that, but it is one of my favourite and most told jokes ever. You can guess how funny I am by the fact that I find mushroom related humour hilarious. 😁

Breakable Diamonds.

Diamonds, so strong,
Blessed by nature.

I’m nature, too.
Why can’t I be that?
Or am I not good enough
For the seemingly impartial one?
I won’t be surprised if I am not,
For I was good enough for you
Right before we took the wrong turn.

Crystalline or not,
You’d still break me.
What match would a diamond be,
For someone who can kill
With just a few words.

-Kimaya Ingale.


AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey! Well, straight to the point, I’m attempting to write Haiku even after I failed my last two attempts at trying to write that esoteric type of poetry. Just let me know if I passed this time in the comments and I’ll change the title of the poem 😛



Need to, want to drown,

Alas! An untimely curse-

Knowing how to swim.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Cymbals and Cynics.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: “Don’t give it up, just stay grand for one more minute.” -Troye Sivan.

Cymbals and Cynics.

I love you
And it scares me;
For you,
You only hear
Three little words
And are not burnt
By the inferno
Raging within.

The cynics-
They hear it, too,
And take the stage
Every time,
Threatening to reduce
The pounding cymbals
Of my love
To an acoustic minimal.

-Kimaya Ingale.