My Poetry, Personal Experience

Another Chance

Unworthy this world may seem
to have you make it green…
But give us another chance just to apologise and lay at your feet
Before to paradise, where you belong, you retreat…


This Year’s Love Better Last

Here’s a cover of the song ‘This year’s love‘ by David Gray which I sang with my lovely MUM.
Hope you Enjoy it. Please Comment.

Watch on YouTube: This Year’s Love – David Gray | Ma – Son Covers by Estrella Mathur & Pranav Mathur

My second cover with my Mom. She simply loves singing and is just warming up to the YouTube concept. You’ll see how awesome she is.

We simply take the most loved songs and love it even more, albeit in our own way.

LIKE and SHARE if you want others to Sway to some Classics.
SUBSCRIBE if you want to keep Swaying.

Take it light. Cheers!

Song Name – This Year’s Love
Artist Name – David Gray

Song Name – This Year’s Love
Vocals – Estrella Mathur/ Pranav Mathur
Guitar – Pranav Mathur

Watch Previous Cover on YouTube: Hallelujah – Leonard Cohen | Ma – Son Covers by Estrella Mathur & Pranav Mathur

My Poetry, Personal Experience




Lost at a cost so cheap, Link in the queue of ants,
Following the fool ahead, No difference in him and me….

Amidst his misty glee, The recluse will slyly flee.
Breaking the phoney chain, Now he has a rein…

This one will keep me shelled, He will lead me to hell,
Should I stay on my path, Or flee to face God’s wrath…

Now is he even there, Is he ever fair.
Is he ever lost… Unlike me… Has he ever fought?

My Poetry, Personal Experience

As I Lay Down…

First love. These two words probably bring the bitterest and the sweetest memories of life back to us. For me, it’s been eight years but still…

As I Lay Down


As I lay down wondering about us in the past,
about those dark deep eyes which stared in mine last,
about the things I felt within me even without your touch,
about how losing everything for you wouldn’t have mattered much…

As I lay down wondering about the smell of your hair,
about the winds blowing through them and the way you didn’t really care,
about how you knew, you set me in a trance,
about those two tears between us knowing it was our last dance…

As I lay down wondering about those dreamy last moments,
I cannot recollect a single host inviting this omen,
how, by us, our love was forever stolen.
Slaughtering and slashing our kin to no mend,
it was only us, to those wounds, who could tend.
But we didn’t ’cause that time we had to let go.
You are now all alone, hand in hand, we are no more.

I remember the day we chose polar paths.
Every step was too hard, every breath pierced our hearts.
I remember your cries, crystal clear, I could hear.
Still oblivious I had to be so as to not draw you near.
I remember the hurt, the gory red dirt,
the bleeding unseen wounds feeding the tender tunes.

This pain unchained has lingered a million months.
Maybe more, this heart still sore from the hole in it you bore.
Is your soul still scarred or is it dancing with glee?
Do you not even remember, how close were we?

As I lay down in the fields staring at the weary sky,
your images etched in my memory make me want to cry.
A grip over myself, to get, I try.
Still out of the corner of my eye, I see a tear passing by…

My Poetry, Personal Experience

Getting OLD, Feeling OLDER : A Young Man’s Ode

Uncle, do you have five bucks change?” asked the girl sitting at the desk of the courier office. At this juncture, I didn’t even want to correct her. This signifies the amount of time I have spent being fed up of hearing people addressing me as an elderly. And besides, why wouldn’t they call me uncle? I am 24 years OLD.

An Ode To Age

Age is a unique number
Insignificantly significant
No matter how dumb you are
You are smart if you are old

If you do what you are supposed to
You are clichéd, the boss
If you do what you are not supposed to
You are innovative, the employee

Age is that joint you roll
But don’t want to smoke
It is that thing you swallow
But on it deny to choke

So what if I look like that
Look all loose, look that fat
For the last time, I’m no old woman
This is just my man-rack

Yes, I am an overgrown child
I snap at things, crap on strings
I know it all but still ask questions
I guess I need you, may be just for answers

So, tens are to whine and cry
Twenties are to do or die
Thirties are to kill and chill
Forties are to worry and shrill
Fifties are to propagate faith
Sixties are to deprave self-swathe
Seventies are to peeve all minds
Eighties are to reweave mankind



When you can’t write what you need to write, you write what you can. I want to write about…

That new Dove ad is absurdly symbolic. Women in five cities around the world are made to choose one of two doors in order to enter a space. The entries are labelled ‘Beautiful’ or ‘Average’. There seems to be no other way to gain access to the building. Your physical appearance is your only admission. Choose beautiful Dove says. F**K that.

My sister looked radiant tonight. I don’t know if I have ever seen her glow like this. When she made her entrance into the hall, mischief captured her and she threw her hennaed hands up in the air, her intricately brown laced hands swirling through the air as she danced. Little dried flecks sprinkled off her hands like black confetti. Later my father, handsome in his turquoise blue sherwani interrupted…

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