Part 1: A different kind of “Nausea”

What I feel right now is nausea, mainly hurt and a little guilty… Guilty for reminding people that I do shit for them too. I must have sounded something like “G han ehsaan kya tha uss waqt meney bhi!” Translation “I did you a favor (be thankful))”. But I didn’t mean it. Maybe I wanted…


I tell you what.. I was strangely overwhelmed. Taken aback. Moved. But sweetheart you can’t keep a fish out of water, or expect the bird to forget the ecstasies of the azure above and sing you sweet songs forever. Birds belong up there not in your cage. To tell you the truth my body can…


You can’t just throw a pebble in the river and not expect the ripples.. -the gypsy


Sweetly they tell you to drink the poison and when you react to it they tell you you’re crazy. -the gypsy

Shit-Poetry 1

Like you The whisperer asked me too I could be happy forever If I let him lock me up in his harem of torturers He promised I’d never be sad again Held an umbrella over my head in the cold rain I said no thanks and regretted it too For the whisperer was kinder than…

The problem is I either want all of it or none of it! I never did like balance. But then nothing ever was balanced in my life.. -the gypsy

Everyone had reasons of their own to hurt me… so I let them.. I still do.. -the gypsy

It hurts knowing that you want to live but people don’t want you to live…. -the gypsy

As a child my biggest fear was to lose a parent. Or grow up in a broken family. I was always conscious of what may happen. The sixth sense. The dreams. Of being despised. Of growing up like this. And then it happened. I used to fancy angry conversations and angry reactions if God were…

There.. I said it.

I’m not bitter or cold or ugly deep down. Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m still human. If you think it is me then you’re wrong. It’s you. I’ll reciprocate whatever you give me or throw at me. Respect me I’ll respect you. Throw shit at me I’ll throw shit at you. Sometimes it’s not about…


Love is more or less about the impact. You walk around with the  stars in your eyes. Forever in a dreamlike state, floating around, conceiving fruitless yet vivid dreams. And then you wonder what is wrong with you. Then you deny. And in a state of denial you do it on repeat..daydream and lie to…

How do I write a book?

I want to write books. But I’m afraid. Because I’m so dishevelled a person, so disorganized up in my head that it scares me I wont be able to.. that I can’t! I’ll probably end up lost in a swarm of words, not making sense. -the gypsy