groundhog days

here i am, getting old and living the groundhog days.

every thought has been thought of before
and ‘generic’ is the word of the days.

every moment is an extension of the one last thought
that was not welcome
and an escapade thence is simply, impossible.

hence, i wake up
forget the dream of wee hours,
eat the measly grains to power up that will end up
in someplace unpleasant later, just like me.

then i run to the White House of crushed entrepreneurship
whence clicking heels and crisp cuffs
are worth more than comfort
of a breathing space –
who cares about human capital, anyway.

the warmth is scarce
and movement, forbidden
so the dance of the sun and the shadows
makes all the difference.

i tie myself up with my colorful scarves
to keep the bleakness from leaking
because the life inside the system is still precious
and the seeds, still fructified.

yet, when I walk in the corridor of nightmares
i see similar souls creating tornados
out of the black draught named ‘coffee’
that allegedly distinguishes between life and death.
they hope it sweeps away all their bad dreams.
though i just think it is the elixir for the dead
and luxury of the undead.

but my groundhog days will come to an end.
skeptically, i say.
however, if i may, this is one lie that makes a bit of sense
for i will have learned all the lessons
and taken all the sessions
with all the fore(wo)mens.

maybe that is when i’ll really graduate
and get my rightful place
at the job market.
or maybe, it’ll be the start of another vicious circle
and there i’ll be
in my cubicle
nibbling my cuticles
googling ‘how to break free from the vicious circles?’

Photo Credit: the World Wide Web. Reddit, to narrow it down. I think. If this photo belongs to you/ is taken by you, then I hope I have your permission and put it into good use. P.S. no one can be as happy as this doggie. no one deserves him.





The Places

In the vast greens,
the winding aisles,
and eyes that looked with wonder…

I left my sense of purpose.

I am a prisoner of the past
whence I spent the numbered days
bewitched, humbled, and overwhelmed.

Since I woke up from that dream,
I’ve been living in a curse of mundane,
I’ve been breathing the air of indifference –
to everything but its memories.

I sentenced myself to this term.

My only salvation – a few mementos
Held close –
They nudge me to lose myself again,
in a new place.




i vs. me

The hardest fight is fought with self.

When there is work to be done, I am the enemy because I am lazy.

But I can’t raise a weapon against myself. What a disaster that would be.

The enemy has to be cajoled, persuaded, and won over.

Or, the enemy has to be ignored.

Why is it that the enemy is so slippery?

Why does the enemy know how to not be cajoled, persuaded, and hold her ground?

Why can’t the enemy be ignored?

We’re in a no man’s time, when we ask these questions to each other.

If it were a battle between heart and mind, it would have been easier, I presume.

But this war is raged by self against self.

Can I even win?


The muggle that gets everyone down

Ron said, “Don’t let the muggles get you down.”

What can I do when I am the muggle that gets everyone down?

Once upon a time, I believed in the good magic that might have been in me. I thought I could change the world with it.

Quickly though, the ignoble thoughts dismissed them.

“You are not innocent,” it said.

“You were never made of innocence.”

At first, I didn’t know of fighting them. I thought I couldn’t. But good people told me otherwise.

Prayers of “You CAN” echoed and I started believing in it.

Until I didn’t because I could no longer afford to do so.

It wasn’t that the roots were strong – the soil that nurtured were poisoned. The air was toxic. The water, impure.

Together, it made me.

Together, it is me.

And here I am, the muggle that gets everyone down.



The back hurts.

It’s like an unknown and invisible weight is pushing me down.

Between gravity and this unseen burden, I am crushed.

It has now spread to my arms, elbows, and slowly, to the tip of my fingers.

Eyes water, ringing in my ears, heavy breathing.

Every day as I live, living is a chore.

And the daily chores are back-breaking.


Is it even Dashain if…

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Activities that inspire nostalgia.

Homonyms make me suffer

There are some words that we hear often and think that we know what it means.

A time comes when your work will revolve around your knowledge and understanding of that word.

But to your dismay, you’ll realize that what you thought you knew of that word is not even close to what it means.

It has been like this for me for the past few months.

I think I know what it means and try to save my time not looking the word up in the dictionary. That costs me more time and sanity.

This is where I can’t help but curse the makers (or the users) of these words – I understand that their meaning can be manipulated, can come to mean so many things – but really, why would you do that?

One word can mean so many things. One word that can multitask and touch so many fields, minds, and capture their understanding.

These homonyms make me suffer. But they make me humble.

For this lesson on humility, I begrudgingly thank them.