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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
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.
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.
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…
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
You know, our world has lost its music to the broken records of numb melancholy! Our hearts look like abandoned graves with dead corpses of beautiful love stories buried underneath. Those despised gravestones glow at night, and one of them grows a tiny pink flower every time it rains! Do you know how much it pains to be the only ray of life in … Read More To the one who broke my broken heart again,
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!
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…