Confessions from a poet's heart

How convenient it is that you try to hold onto the belongings of the person in the name of love when you couldn't hold onto the person themselves.

Mehtab: Urdu //splendor of the full moon//

Sillage: French // the scent that lingers in air, the impression made in space after someone has gone, the trace of someone's perfume. //

This one's a dedication to all the old souls out there, trapped in a 20-something-year-old's body. You exist as one among few :)

I spent all seven days of the week searching for my utopia in various places in and around me. Tune in to find out where, at last, it was.

What would you do if you could do anything? Would that give you access to power or bind you in a spiral of self-questioning?

Endless adjectives, metaphors, colors and expressions have been used when we talk about someone we love, but what comes to mind when someone asks us to describe the way we love ourselves?

Love, such a weirdly beautiful feeling, right? It changes all your definitions of happiness and takes all you have to offer. But that last sunset is a witness, that togetherness can be everything, but never enough. But in this process, love lives, and when I say it lives, I don't mean it as the opposite of leaving. Tune in, to know why!