Noctis Verses

“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.” ― Saul Bellow


June 2018


Often the noise in my head becomes louder than the one blaring through the speakers

In those instances we reach out, for someone something not there and slump back against the wall and stare at our tear stained palms — sweating blue. The fact that you realise that at the end of the day it’s each man for himself dawns on us, the fact that you too are alone scares you, even your solitude seeking self don’t want this — perhaps at the end of day we all want someone we can lean on to.

Perhaps, even in our weakness we want this one person who would show us all that we are, all that we can be, all that we possibly can be. We want them to show us the light we think we don’t have, hold our shaking hands and calm them; tell us they are here and we are loved.

When we lean on them, we don’t do it out of weakness but from strength we choose to be vulnerable with them because of who are, because we hand them ourselves and trust them to not crush us into into pieces and scatter them for a dime a piece under the streetlight.

Often, at our lowest we look for a north star we can lean on, we look for a footing in the otherwise falling pieces of us — someone to anchor us when it gets rough, someone to say ‘Don’t worry I am here, it’s going to be over soon’

Someone to lower the volume in the speakers, and inside our head.

Embrace us when we reach out,
calm our storms when we can’t,
be there when no one else is.


Hold them

It’s been a while

Well, depression and the fear that whatever you’re going to pen isn’t worth a dime isn’t all that of a combination. You know when people say ‘sadness reeks creativity‘ they often forget to mention that the people who write as a result of this so called sadness are also the clinically depressed ones, the ones we need to look out for, the ones we should check up on and not brush them off, not value them for their words or the sentences they form.

“Its so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself. That’s above and beyond everything else, and it’s not a mental complaint-it’s a physical thing, like it’s physically hard to open your mouth and make the words come out. They don’t come out smooth and in conjunction with your brain the way normal people’s words do; they come out in chunks as if from a crushed-ice dispenser; you stumble on them as they gather behind your lower lip. So you just keep quiet.

Ned Vizzini, It’s Kind of a Funny Story”

So, when you see a person whose clinically depressed and sad — and tells you sadness reeks creativity, don’t believe them. Hold them close and console their soul that’s it’s all going to be alright, that you’re there, that they are loved. They might not believe you, but that’s what they need hear — to be told told they matter, to be told not everything their head tells them is to be believed, to be told out there in the storm they aren’t alone.

Stay and love them for the mess they are, love them for what they are, not their words and sentences but for the person they are. Stay, while they build themselves — it’s not easy.

Perhaps, she’s the one?

“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect—you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break—her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.” 

― Bob Marley


I had to put on my shades!

His wickedness was rather bright, and had a gentle warmth — perhaps, Van Gogh was looking for this pleasant happiness when he gulped the yellow all those years ago

The winds were warmer than usual, perhaps it was the weather romanticising with the blush — or would it be that the boy had walked in through the doors just as the sun rose and lit the room in an affable orange!

Oh my, I could hear my heart pulse faster by the hour — his gentle wickedness was almost addictive, yet that was all I was yearning for lately.

Doomed, wasn’t I?


“And I’m suppose to sit by while you date boys and fall in love with someone else, get married…?” His voice tightened. “And meanwhile, I’ll die a little bit more every day, watching.”

― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

Dear diary,

It’s past midnight again — and I can’t not think about him. The gentle warmth of his wickedness, oh my even the sun couldn’t hold a candle to him.

Often, I’d wonder how lucky I got when the sun walked in. There was this charm about him, this homely air to his wickedness — it made you feel like you’d just had a pot full of yellow!

Diary, you know lately coffee seems to have lost its charm, without him around it doesn’t seem right, perhaps I could say his company made it all the much better? And now with him not there the brew wasn’t the same!

Sad. My coffee intake seems to have taken a hit too — ouch! This boy, oh dear me.

Perhaps, I should try to catch up with sleep, haven’t seen her in a while! We’ll get to this later, eh?



“Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. And it was only when I began to feel actual, physical pain every time you left the room that it finally dawned on me: I was in love, for the first time in my life. I knew it was hopeless, but that didn’t matter to me. And it’s not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you. Tell me what to do. Show me how to behave. I’ll do anything you say.”

– Choderlos de Laclos

China call

It’s been ringing since day break —
Pick it up, will you?

He tenderly reached —
A call on the China, for him?!

It scared him —
Was it the one he’d been praying for?

There’s a warm gentleness about it —
It was the wicked smile, wasn’t it?!

Oh, his beaming smile —
It’s radiating on the lines, you know?

I need this(like my vitamin tablets, too)—
If only he’d realise his importance?!

Thank you —
Meet already, please?


“You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

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