Category: ordeal

You will love…

Four walls, a number of bricks, and here you sit in the middle of this room finding solace in your own flesh and love in the mirrors. Mirrors, though, seldom lie. They may lie about a few harsh truths, though ‘lack of love’ stands high on the list. You stand in front of this silvered piece of carefully cut glass, staring at every part … Read More You will love…

You will heal…

Glass boxes don’t sing lore to the warriors of freedom when the skies fall and the waters rise. But, skies don’t fall and waters don’t rise in vain; they sob in vile. There are a number of things that may conjure disdain into this world, but no other blade yearns to be struck with thunder as much as the one sitting on the hilt … Read More You will heal…

my childhood speaks in these scars.

Trigger Warning: Child Abuse A few days ago, My lover had my hands in his; I loved the way his eyes sparkled And his lips curved into a stunning smile, As he brushed his fingers At the back of my palm There we were, Living the blissful moments of Our once-in-a-lifetime romance; But then, All my metaphors came down crashing Falling into a white … Read More my childhood speaks in these scars.

Cages…

Our history has known cages; Of all kinds and characters. The one with bars of gold And the others with floors of dirt. The ones which held the innocent And the others which freed the ghouls. But not very often, When you walk through the pages Of your own history, You land up Imprisoned. Imprisoned behind the walls of Some doomed silvered glasses. Imprisoned … Read More Cages…

pause.

Your song is a choir of rushed strokes of black hollow paint on a white anxious canvas dangling free. Free. From a lone nail on a brick wall standing old behind the house of your dreams. You bury the dead behind it. They rise up as demons on starry nights and throw an embrace around your weary tense bruised neck. You love them. They … Read More pause.

Dear Anxiety,

I am drowning. There is a fire in my head and it’s stinging at the back of my throat. My feet weigh a hundred pounds and I am scared to take another step. My heart is dancing to its own rhythm, but, the beats are heavy metal now; I killed the symphony for a few cheap tears.  Air feels like poisoned water and the … Read More Dear Anxiety,

Burns and Ashes

Black and burnt hearts fall down to ashes when you aim at them with the cupid’s arrow. If that doesn’t scare you enough against love stories gone rogue, then you may want to grab a glimpse of the poison spat rose pressed in the old and worn pages of a happy love story. Heartbreaks are like untimely deaths, and the tears that follow are … Read More Burns and Ashes

When Jasmines begin to smell like Lavenders!

Love stories! They are like broken glass beads thrown ashore to the dead sea! You, as a lone bystander, may happen to step upon the sharp ones every other fortnight! Then, you may bleed a little and your lips may sin to mumble a soft curse at their beauty. When that happens… don’t fret away from taking another step! In every love story, there … Read More When Jasmines begin to smell like Lavenders!

Dawn

The night smothered you, With the smoke that rose above, The burnt remains Of your tender heart. Now… Now, your lungs ache, Your guts lie, Tied in knots, Churning, Wringing your life out of you. Coiled like a foetus, Drenched in tears, Is that you? Who carved these scars Deep… in the tenders of your skin. Is that a memoir To your unworthy sin? … Read More Dawn

Ghosts…

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Yeah… They live in my closet, And yours too, Don’t they?   There are nights, when I wake up, Lying in this pool of sweat, Or… is that blood? I never chose to know…   Those eerie nights, I hear then growl, Or… is that, their kind of a scream? I never chose to know..   They must stare … Read More Ghosts…

Masquerade

Studded with gems, crafted with gold. A lustre so bright… the moon held an intent to conspire the world against it. A smile so kind… the ink stopped bleeding praises for a mother’s heart. Eyes so deep… no man could quieten his curiosity to explore the mystic realm behind. No sculptor’s hands would have dreamt of carving a nose so sharp. The brow screamed … Read More Masquerade

That book…

That rugged and withered wooden door…it stood in front of me as it greeted my somber mask… A mask, my soul wore with pride. My hand reached out for the door knob and rested at it for a while. I stared at my hand….with eyes hollow enough to engulf the world around me. Paying my due respects to the time I wasted for this … Read More That book…