Bits Of An Insomniac

composed late at night, from amongst chaos and coffee



moments in the laundry room, stay still

In the beginning, God created the sky and the earth. The beginning, Bereishit, some commentaries cite as the true First creation, as the frame for the universe as we now know it. Without time then, how would we, and Earth,... Continue Reading →


the barest bones of the experience

The barest bones of the experience is often too hefty a skeleton for paper and pen. Traveling solo puts the full weight of it all onto your shoulders, and there is nothing you can do about all the little details... Continue Reading →

Night’s unraveling, like a lover scorned

It's true, of course. The night comes gently, falling from the sky like a secret love note, folded in half and roughed at its edges from the wind. Slowly, the household folds in on itself, stack of cards, everyone surrendering... Continue Reading →

the craft of our construction

I have long since refused to acknowledge- the sky is ripped over our heads like paper- yesterday there was a thunderstorm and a crack splintered  the inky horizon in half and everything shuddered under the clapping sound and all of... Continue Reading →

the taste of books on my tongue

Some books  I read in one or two sittings, a greedy and impatient swallow, a fast forwarding of  time- books like Norwegian by Night, The Book Thief, Why Be Happy When You Can Be Normal, The Giver. Some books I let spill out... Continue Reading →

On Making Miracles

The miracle of Chanukah was a miracle of fire. A day's worth flask of oil burned for eight days straight in a disarrayed and desecrated Temple. In the aftermath of bloody battle and bittersweet victory, the light of the menorah... Continue Reading →

Because Life Is Tricky

So, instead of getting started with my term paper or sorting out the clutter under my desk, I'm going to type up a post  that, probably, no one's going to read. Instead of attempting to do some push-ups, a gruesome... Continue Reading →

on the altar, hands bound

Some things you don't write about. Not because they're too deep or too shallow, but because they are too true. Some truths are deep and yet map-able; and so you map them, you draw their terrains and the slim curves... Continue Reading →

and the wind whistles with wonder…

We swathe  the Earth in our longings and throw our secrets to the sky. Behind anonymity we are effortlessly exposed and free. But we dress our own selves up in costumes and ornaments, and write scripts that tell a story... Continue Reading →

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