I walk in with my briefcase,
It’s past ten o’clock
smothering myself with about a hundred mugs of coffee,
I snigger at my sloppy self to stay up

I don in my best suit,
mismanaging my little briefcase
I pull over a knot atop my head
A hair bun, as it suggests and shabby as it looks,

My fingers tremble,
drumming them over my briefcase,
I tune in—
a sound of nervousness,
I pass on a haste smile,
Maybe just to look a little less coy

My eyes dilate to every minute the hand moves,
I move along with trepidation,
taming every bone in my body

The clock strikes eleven,
I hear my name being called up
“Next, you’re up”

These are the little things,
Little things like this,
In that hour, I grow up.

-Shweta Kher



Leaves rustled,
followed by the mighty gusts of the wind,
There was a man walking along the sidewalk

Nature bereaved for him,
silent in its speech—
it paid reverence

He stood with his hands affixed to the pockets of his oversized coat,
It was a cold afternoon;

Loss consumed him in its entirety,
attacking his predicament,
He was an old man—
of a young lost son

Pepper salted hair and his scruffy beard suggested a week’s desolation,
or perhaps more

Such untold calling of misery clouded over him,
The man grew older as the streets neared to his home

In this planet that we live,
bearing our lives to meat and bones that eventually decay and soil underground

Where the seasons change;
leaving no trace of remains
unknown, unseen, unheard
are tragedies of those that prevail.

-Shweta Kher


A voice stirred behind me, listlessly, and filled with languid air I turned to see A face so wan, crafted of such emotion particularly that of pathos, A heart that has been scarred, bent and broken, both— Grave eyes, that dug in so deep into…


You left me in a thousand broken pieces, that are nowhere to be found I wailed searching for those eyes that once met mine, I waited for you to knock at my door and soothe away this pain Agony held me into its arms, the…



Crystal blue eyes,
Wearied their way down to a mount full of hopes and dreams

In his leather brown jacket he stood afar,
Gaping at the rooftops,
His gaze lifted above

And his hair dangled over his face with the winds that came

Fly, I want to fly

Spreading his arms across the winds,
They brought him respite from the emotions and things that once tethered him to a pile of regretful events

‘Be unbound’, it murmured

Carrying him into an alternate universe
He flew,
Like a bird

Soaring high,
Reaching amidst those bountiful skies and the winds that danced above,
Into the distinct lands afar,
That were once unknown
He sought another world to be in
Collide into me,
Be unbound

He moved farther away and above,
To hold onto his mount full of hopes and dreams,
Adhering to the promises that were once made

The world looked nothing like it seemed,
He clasped tight onto this safe haven
Never letting it go

Be unbound
You are free now

Warm and soulful,
Filling up every void within,
To answer to his every unattended question

The world is limitless,
Collide into me,
Be unbound

And, that there would be no worried tomorrow
No yesterday that fills you in with remorse
He landed onto this safe haven

Be unbound
You are free now

-Shweta Kher



A bruised knee,
The first cry
A warm hug

The first laugh;
A broken heart
Growing up
Nothing but a long lost memory

Drive away,
From the city to the lost road

Are we there yet?
Back to those tender years,
That are reminiscent of the dear loved ones

Featuring a movie of your own,
But you’re just no longer twelve

Flashbacks walk you down to your little self
And the cadence of dear ones calling you
Bring you back to home.

Are we there yet?
Back to those tender years,
That lead you to nothing but a long lost memory.

-Shweta Kher



A scotch – like morning,
Sozzled and heavily drenched,
Into those brown buttoned eyes
The sun rays beamed with glee
There she was

In her orange – hued sun dress
Summer as ever,
She complemented the season
She was a sheer joy, indeed.

Besides me, she stood
Flimsy as her hair,
Warm as whisky,
Her laugh wafted in the air
Parting those lips,
Painted red,
She took in a melodious sigh
Oh, what a marvelous thing she was!

She had the most artistic hands,
Meticulously made,
She drew them close to me

Our little tale,
Not so little anymore

We stood on the edge of our future,
I succumbed to every bit of her
And, so did she

You ask, she’s beautiful?
Oh, well. She’s just more to it
She’s the very soul to my body.

-Shweta Kher