Category: writing

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…

Hiraeth

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

clichés.

It is a fresh sunny day. You are strolling on this narrow street beside a park, listening to children giggling, riding high on their summer spirits. The grass is tender. It is like a newborn baby that just made its way out of its mother’s womb; too scared to face the world, but too pure to feel the fear. It is the peak of … Read More clichés.

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.

i have felt alone.

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.

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

Broken Cursives…

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…

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!

Cassettes and wine!

  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!

Bone china

These days, I find myself swooning over lazy afternoon naps. I may have found a strange solace in the cruel lucidity of my dreams. Well, it’s strange how sleep is my refuge in ‘our’ memories, away from the worn relics. So, this afternoon, after I was done meandering in my beautiful dreams, I woke up… I woke up to the taste of honey, dancing … Read More Bone china