I do not write to pass my time,

I do not read to satisfy the idle mind.

It is a compulsion in my veins,

to hold the pen and let it all ink.

Slipped Away

Nostalgia bites at me.

Nibbling away like the frost

Does the tips of my toes.

Memories of the warm sun

Have frozen away to D tablets

While the grainy sand made

Way for the fleeting snow.

Four hours away

Lies the land of the future

Of the fast paced life

The countless malls

Of family left behind.

The memories not made

Taunt me. The ones I did

Haunt me. I can almost taste

The salt on my lips. The residual

Grain under my nails. It cracks me

Open like a nutshell. Rolling out

Marbles of sanity. Weighed down

by responsibility I hardly recognise

the image staring back at me.

I mourn for her, whom I have lost

Tears stream down, for it is her

I miss the most. She chokes me

Threatening to take away my breath.

Eager for me to be one with her again.

There is no going back.

Dusted away with time.

The Internet

I use internet
Almost every 2 hours
And when I use it
I feel like I have powers

Its fascinating, the sites
The large sizes and bytes
The apps and games
That bring about fame

I watch my shows
And check my feed
Watsapp and Instagram
Is all I need

The most important
Better than all
Youtube my love
Shows me all

Its incomplete
My life without these
Im so used to it
Don’t take it away please

– Eshwinder Kaur

Rum Stained Lips

Like the strain a lover provides with his needs,
The love of a mother comes with a price that brings her to her knees.
Smoked out glitter eyes glister with unshed tears.
While her lips play a smile that is stained with new found fears.

A lesson about growing up has never been so bitter.
Freedom comes with a price that is not always so clear.
When the father denies her needs he encourages her to foster her greed.
She learns to empathise with entities best remain unseen.

Dizzying, freeing, liberating, nauseating.
A cocktail too tempting to simply disappear.
Like the comforting touch of an unfeeling person.
The illusion casted is as real as the world is unclear.

Give her a potion as potent as a white snake root.
Bring her to her knees.
Dispose of her mind.
And crush her soul you may.

But her heart will remain forever unattainable.
Stained with blood, rum and cherry wine.


​There she kneels.

Shrouded by darkness.

With the weight of her misery,

Hanging her down.

Unable to look up and past the haze.

She fails to see a world beyond the present.

There she kneels.

With tears streaking down their well worn path.

The consequence of her life etched onto her palms.

Nails biting into skin in vain to change her destiny.

She gives into her fate.

There she lies.

On the tracks with rocks as her final pillow.

She makes herself comfortable.

She finally see’s the light.


Why do we shy away from pain?

Why do we erect impenetrable shields against them?

Why do we block out all those screams?

Why do we turn our back away from misery?

Can’t you see?

It is our shields they use to build the four walls,

Where they torture and burn innocence alive.

We turn deaf to those pleas, cries for help.

And let them burn away,

Out of sight, out of mind!!

Pain. Let’s bury it away.

Never to be seen again.

Why do we instinctively pull away?

Why are we so eager to burn its lingering presence away?

Let it in. Throw your shields away.

Let it touch you.

Let the flames caress your skin and slowly seep in.

Feel it melt into your bones.

Tear those four walls down to shreds.

Hear them scream and hear their voice hitch with your every breath.

Embrace the pain. Burn to ash in it.

Let it mold you once again.

Strong enough to sheild the innocence today.

Yes, misery loves company.

We could learn to trully love too.


The UN members have failed to come to a concrete decision for refugee settlement target. They praise the idea but have done nothing yet to sow the seeds. Yes, humanity should stand together, but lets decide when and how two years later. Is what they basically implied.

While they dilly dally around the issue, asylum seekers, immigrants, refugees (so many words coined for people who seek help) have been grossly mistreated and that is putting it mildly. The Nauru files paint a picture of terror. A reality fit only for a nightmare. It cannot be ignored anymore. It should not be ignored anymore.–in-australian-offshore-detention?


One of Many

You know our story.

You have read it on the news,

You have heard it on the radio on your way to work.

And you have heard it repeat a million lips over.

You know of the sequence of events that led us to your doorstep.

You may resent us for landing here or you may not particularly care.

But we do exist in the perimeter of your existence.

There is no escaping our masses.

So here I am , one of many.

With the same story, told yet again.



It is a song I have heard many times over.

Like a lullaby it haunts my night.

It is this feeling of evanescence,

A sense of foreboding that slowly snuffs out the candle light.

That light that stood against a thousand variation of darkness.

Yet the gust of the smallest wind of change was enough to blind me to it all.

My days are daunting,

Stuck in pendulum, waiting for the inevitable to finally strike.

Is it relief or is it fear.

I do not know the difference anymore.

Yet once again another sun has set,

The moon rises high and proud.

As I stare at the beyond, I know it is more than dread that runs through my veins.

It is anticipation and that realisation is all it takes to make my heart turn cold.