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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…
Water flows through creeks and crevices of withered mountains when it rains over their pride ridden heads. Heads, as they say, are meant to be held high; necks, as we have seen, break under the curse of ego sometimes. In the end, if you don’t step over this grandeur and pay courtesy to love, a weak neck will make you fall into it someday. … Read More Hiraeth
Often, in life, you spend your lazy Sunday afternoons staring at the ceiling and missing… Someone. Something. Everything. These are the times when you can’t help but fall down an abyss of old and dusted picture albums. The pages turn so fast that this show seems like an unending retro movie titled, “All the times you failed to live a smile”. Scenes are hazy, … Read More i have felt alone.
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.
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
Have you ever lost your heart in the hems of broken cursives? It’s a mystic realm that draws you in… like a black hole is known to snatch the world away. To the people of stones and metal, it may seem like forbidden magic when a poet holds your hand and walks you through the dark. They chant to the silent tunes of truths … Read More Broken Cursives…
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!
You were that lazy sip of wine under the beaming silver of falling stars. You would swirl on my skin, tingle my tongue and tease my throat till my lips would break into a dimming smile and my eyes would spill love.My fingers traced… they traced the chiseled edges of your jaw just like they run over the cracked hem of my wine … Read More Cassettes and wine!
We live in a lost world. We are wanderers, miserable vagabonds! We feed on anger and breathe out fires, then cry at the sight of burnt cities and homeless hearts. We gulp tears and our eyes bleed, then we frown at the sight of spilled gore. We smoke ashes, bathe in swamps, wear mere shreds of envy and then flaunt our prides. Such is … Read More Dear ‘home’
Have you ever stared down the demonic depths of a dingy abyss? Or Have you ever felt that sudden urge to resign…when those dark eyes of lucid heights call you? If not… then allow my words, To take you, Through the tranquilizing horror, And the anxiety-ridden silence, Of that moment. That moment when life knocks you down, You hit your head on the cold … Read More Abyss
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
“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…