The Pastels of my World

White is for purity, happiness and bliss,

White is that blur that you can’t possibly miss.

Yellow, like us, is a flower swayed by its sun,

Controlled and angry; in need to run.

Orange is the tip of a flame,

The fire of passion– the pain that got the blame.

Red is the colour of my heart,

The colour with whom I wished to part.

Pink is the colour of my teenage years,

A time I’ll never grow out of, I realised with tears.

Purple was that Cheshire Cat,

The one whose smile, like mine, seemed a bit mad.

Blue is the colour of a mid-summer’s Sky,

The lost remnant of hope as I sat to cry.

Green is the taste of the youth that went away,

The times where we didn’t pause to enjoy our play.

Brown is the colour of muddy grounds,

The colour that got splattered with my many pounds.

Grey is a colour said to make you sad,

But it’s my colour and it’s not half bad.

Black is the origin of them all,

A colour that devoured my life whole.

Heya Readers! Hope you’ve liked this little piece there, and if you did or have any criticism to give; then fire away! Please give me your thoughts below  🙂

(PS. The blog has hit its 20th post! Never thought I’d be that talkative!) 

–Midnight Ranter


Which is it? 

If you were a red and I was a blue-grey, will you set it on fire and let this passion burn away?

Will I rain down droplets of hope or will it be despair?

Is your fire a flaming torch or is it a dying flame?

Is it an ember in the ashes or a lost cry, flail?

Am I the tear hesitating to drop down and away?

Is this too cliche?

It is, yeah.

Do I care?

I do; I always do.

And that is the problem.


Ps. It doesn’t rhyme, I know; but it has hidden meanings, I guess. 


Midnight Ranter

Love is a drug, no?

‘Love is a drug, no? It drugs you down to oblivion and then leaves you there to relish on your pain; because why not? You needed to feel something anyway; you needed to feel the thrill and whatever high there was to it, so love gave it to you; only that like any drug, you drown in it and eventually, your air runs out, so you seek more and drown more, left withered away and stuck with your withdrawal symptoms.’


What did I do? I let go of feelings. I let them float off and stop being such heavy burdens. And in return, that made me almost weightless- almost like a stranded soul afloat amidst the dark corners of the earth. But here’s the funny thing: The Earth is round and has no corners, and yet, all I could ever feel back when I did feel was nothing but pain- a pain that jabbed at me because of all the corners I had stumbled into. A pain that haunted me when I was surrounded between four corners when the earth was round and had no edges. So I gave it up- the pain, that is- and accompanied the one friend that gave me more pleasure than bittersweet, momentary happiness: I acquainted myself with drugs. And I don’t think I’d regret it. Therefore, I’m not feeling.

And tell you what, not feeling feels so bloody good. I’m not willing to go back to the frail, helpless girl controlled by her emotions and feelings. I’m not going to go back to smiling when I had no reason to; to hide my tears underneath the slaps of the rain instead of letting them flow; to say those hateful words everyone always wants to hear- the “I’m fine”. I won’t go back- not when death is such a companionable thought.

And not even when my past decides to knock on my door and let him in.


Heya lovely readers!

Above was a snippet from–more like a vague introduction to– my written story. I’m still working on it and it needs so much more to be put into it but I wanted to hear your thoughts on it for a start. So please tell me what you think of it! Any good? Give me your thoughts below! 

–Midnight Ranter

Survivor of War

We’ve known one another since over 2 years now. And I have, for the longest while, feared you. Feared your mere presence, really; as though it was a haunting shadow lurking behind my every step.
This year, though, I had to face you. For one whole month, it was a ceaseless battle of survival, instinct and intellect. I have fought war against you, and you didn’t spare me a second glance. Whether or not I’m a winner in this feud, I don’t know; not yet at least.
But I do know that I survived.
I do know that I’ve fought.
And now it’s finally summer.
I bid my farewell to you, and hope that not many fall victims to your ploys; for it is quite the challenge to remain alive.
And with that said, goodbye IGCSEs, and hello Summer 2016!
A very exhausted teenage student (aka an IGCSE survivor).

{The Return of Midnight Ranter}

Side note: As you can see, my very dear readers, I’ve been gone for a long while (had exams) and now I’m back. And although I don’t even have that many followers, I thank you for not giving up on me :’)  *curtsies* 

Within my grasp

The story behind what you may read (please do actually have a look): 

My best friend in the world was somehow taken away from me. She had to leave the country where the two of us resided and go back to her hometown, and she never told me about any of it– not before she was already at the airport, leaving forever. As she left me that last message, though, she wrote me a few verses of what she had felt hiding the possibility of her leaving from me. How she’d felt when we’d all (in the class) talked about doing activities later or at some other time while she knew that she may not become a part of it. What she wrote, as a poem, touched me to tears, and I responded to it with one not half as good but brimmed up with feelings nonetheless. So I thought I’d share it here too, just to let anyone out there know that friendship is a value humans are too lucky to be able to fathom. 


“I stay to write a reply,
For she is one I’ll deeply miss,
And I seriously know that I’ll cry.
True we didn’t start out right,
But what’s friendship without ups and downs?
Her place in my heart is deep,
And I want to have it there as a safe-keep,
Not longing for her as a friend is just too bad,
That I’m afraid I’ll find her even in my sleep.

Sleepless nights will be my usual routine,
And I know that a day with light without her is just too shallow,
Simply because I know that my words would be nothing but hollow.
I thought I was really social and outgoing,
But seriously? Is life so fine that it’ll give me a chance to say a ‘hello’?
Afraid it might leave a scar I say,
Kindly, please don’t take her away!
She’s a friend I really trust,
Without her, my smile might just rust.

Able to make me laugh in my gloomiest moments,
Reads my mind without speech,
Always in sync with my every thought.
Yep, that’s her, a friend I cherish deeply and whom I once sought.
Without her, life won’t be as it ought.
But I really like that friend of mine, and wish for time to stop passing by,
Because I want those good times to be right back,
Tightly bound for me to clasp,
Right within my grasp.”

–Midnight Ranter

Say hello to New

My dearest readers,

Another moment of silence for this one trending thing in 2016, the year for all sorts of changes and discoveries.

Wondering what that thing is?

It’s ‘outgrowing’. How many of us just woke up and realised that something felt wrong? (and no, not because we slept in inhuman positions; I’m being metaphorical here). How many times did things just not ring true to our ears and we let it pass because we’re ‘used’ to it being so?

‘Outgrowing’ something or someone doesn’t have to mean letting go of them/it. It simply implies that the mindset becomes different; it’s altered; and you can’t blame neither parties involved for that. I repeat my words, ‘We humans are, by nature, contradicting’, often somewhat volatile, and greatly differing.

Sometimes, I like to think of us as jigsaw pieces in a great puzzle, or LEGO blocks; we only fit right in the place where we believe we belong. However, sometimes, the pieces seem to fit together and yet don’t make any sense. So just because you think that they’re compatible, doesn’t mean they necessarily are, and the vice Versa applies. Similarly, don’t blame yourself or others for outgrowing them, it’s not your fault that you’re different or changing. We have that capacity; the capacity to change. You know, we humans are so different from one another that I think the only thing we have in common is being different.

Makes any sense? No? Welcome to my life ✌🏻️

Midnight Ranter

The Book Thief– Book Review

Hullo Readers! 

I present to you another quick (not so much so) book review because I’ll be having my exams soon, and being a newbie, I just wanted to build a base here. So without further ado, let’s get reviewing.

*fake cough*

I would like to say that the book has been a great one; and I enjoyed it greatly and all of that wonderful stuff that we readers say…

But no. No. No. No.

I am NOT going to just say so and put a full stop. The book deserves more.


How can a book tear your heart apart (as it always do); squeeze tears out of your eyes; and punch the sobs out of you?


By being “the book thief”.

A devastatingly beautiful book with dark humour fed into the most realistic of tragedies. I’m not a German girl in the 1930’s and ’40’s. But I can tell you with great confidence that I was there. I literally lived each part of that wonderful piece. I blocked out my reality for minutes and stayed inside a mute bubble of words. Words and emotions.

I’m not going to summarise the book because entering this world of sensations surrounded by oblivion is the best way to read the book. But I will tell you what it is about.

Our book here is narrated by Death. Yes; Death. Death takes us through Nazi Germany during World War II; but only a very small section of it. One that I guarantee to you would break your heart into 17 pieces— if not more.

It talks about words. Oh, the words. The power they yield; the greatness within them; the sound a word could utter and generally how much it could change the world.

“I have hated words,

And I have loved them,

And I hope I have made them right.”

To put it simply; I know that this review is not my best; and perhaps it isn’t good at all; but I really did try to summon up the right descriptions for this book. And I couldn’t find any. No piece was so well-written and amazingly paced as this one. No piece had literature woven and punctured in the right places such as this one.

Not a single novel has ever made me hold my breath as much as I did with this novel. I was afraid of finishing off a page; wary and conscious of every written word. I feared turning a paper to another chapter; and I just really went through the wildest of journeys in this book.

I cried. I laughed. I cried some more and I have bidden my farewell.

But I tell you this:

In my opinion, no book ever really ends. These words and pages will always breathe within us; and as long as we respire; then they, too, shall never expire.

So I hope that this book grows old and creaky within me.



Midnight Ranter