When asked about
The meaning of life
My mind flashes
With continuous illustrations
Mayfly finding its mate
Sea turtles first taste of ocean
A mother holding her baby
The first glimpse
Of the universe
A man taking his last breath
In the reflection of a mountain
I do not have an answer
I'd like to say
Is unique to us all
But I'm still searching
Afterlife through words and memories is the afterlife we believe in, fortunately or unfortunately.
I fell in love with the air for once, the same air that suffocated me, the same air I choked on at times.
And in the instant I realised I'd fallen in love with it, a bird too beatific from across the splendiferous horizon, from the expanses of the aesthetically pleasing skies and from the clouds that were painted in all the colors from the infinite spectrum, the clouds that rained emotions and thoughts; it came flying with letter glued to it's claws ferociously.
A letter that read:
"Been waiting for you since the day we united. And now that you're here, let me confess it to you. I love you from this hollowness in which your heartbeats resonate and talk to me."
The sender was someone I recog...
The confusion of intensity of life and the ferocious volatility of time often is followed by scrutinizing pain, eventually revealing the ludicrousness of life.
The complexity of the sinosuidal waves of time and life, as the two overlap each other with perpetuity has an unrecognisable familiarity with the waves of the sea that are comprised of saline drops, much like the composition of tears which are not just often, but rather always filled with unexpressed and crypt emotions. The stark contrast to the calm sea which even in stagnation can cause tsunamis to submerge a hideous soul in itself with the tiniest speck of a collision, unseen, unfelt by anyone taking place miles beneath the calm wav...
Separated by a void, the deepest and most sense one, that comprised of plain hollowness, miles apart; a body was devoid of breaths. The salient loneliness accompanied the darkness into a strange whirlpool of fate and circumstances that not just drenched, but drowned in it, the helpless bodies that were breathing the most toxic life of all, already dead from inside.
The dark waters I once loathed in, resenting them all this while though, now look aesthetically pleasing somehow. I suffocate and choke with every endless breath I inhale, one that seems to last till eternity. The mere contemplation of oblivion dawning upon me one fine day doesn't flurry me at all now, as it did once when your ga...
WRITING TOPIC | WIG OUT WEDNESDAY
Write about your stressful experiences, times when you felt like "wigging out!" (Think two days before your exam)
- The Head Lettrist
You don't feel like home, maybe because I don't really know what home feels like.
But you feel comfy, and warm and soothing, maybe that's what home feels like.
The night is almost going off to sleep. The dawn is almost about to arrive, the brightness of the sun and the day is about to deviate the nocturnal souls from their active world of thoughts, slowly putting them off to sleep, playing the memories as a lullaby. The stars fade away into the horizon, deep into the vast and empty sky. The clouds hover above me, moulding themselves into shapes, too vague and bizzare at times. Clouds that are all shades of red, yellow and orange, and all the shades of the spectrum combined as they fade out to unite into a colorless shade that has all the colors residing inside it. White.
The car that I'm seated in whizzes past the rocketing high pine trees that ev...
"Unspoken : A short Story"
Silence gripped us. Not because we fought, but because we didn't. It was difficult to express our emotions with words. Neither I nor she had spoken that day.
But it seemed our body wasn't ready to be so numb ! Our eyes were playing hide and seek, where one was looking at other, not at the same time. We knew if our eyes met, that would be it.
Our fingers moving up and down with anxiety, as if it was desperate to hold those fingers which made them complete. We knew if we hold it, that'll be it.
Lips were open, just in case. Legs folded towards each other like they want to take a step forward. We both thought ...
I sit in the backyard as the terrestrial bodies, unimaginable though finite distance away from me illuminate the dull and dark sky pretending of partying and being sloshed on memories. The moon has travelled miles, southwards in a couple of days. Away from the West where I could see it without having to turn my face and stress my aching and tired muscles. As if trying to distance itself from the strong attractive pull of the lit mountains that speak of failed attempts of drenching themselves in the soothing light of the wrinkled and scarred body.
I don't really think they're just craters or rather wrinkles or even scars on it's pretty skin as we'd call them. They're wounds. Burns. Bruises. ...
All of us are fighting a war everyday. Surviving the battle. With the wounds and the bruises residing on our tired and decaying skins. The scars on the dead skins, like the memories, reminding us of all of it.
And still, you're the one person I would want to see when I've lost the war, lived the battle. My last memory of the last breath be your gaze struck against mine.
Insomnia shook hands with me. The bruised, pale, old hands. The hands of agony. It lead the way to the balcony as it held my hand and a cup of black coffee rested in the other.
Under the moonlit sky, it just left me, until I realised I had a shadow in the dark as well! That shadow was insomnia. Staring right back at me, piercing through the skin that covered me, into a hollow body and talking to my soul. The sound reverberated and shook the delicate tissues of my heart to make me anxious. I was just a mannequin, a muppet.
My hazel eyes were blithering now as the stars and the might moon tried finding a way through the dilated pupils to lighten up my soul. Unfortunately, they failed. But I h...
Love and memories are like stories. Short stories. Every word, a part of an aesthetic poem that pierces through the thin layer of wounded skin, covering the nutshell you've built around your very own self.
Stories that are monotonous, that reside inside you, every word of the poem you know by heart, as if it's a tattoo inscribed by the ink of love in the delicate tissues of your heart but still love it so much that keep you reading it over and over again. A perpetual cycle that has edges which bleed but you still can't break.
Stuck in the labyrinth of complexities, we usually tend to miss the roots or rather forget them altogether. Just like heartbreak makes you forget what love feels like. ...
Your memory looks so like you.
Your memory is a world in itself, a world of unrequited love. A world of incomplete stories. Of shattered hearts and dreams.
A world that requires no breaths, no skies but just a visit to elate you.
Where the birds happily flap their wings to kiss the moon, even when it hides behind an eclipse, distancing itself from love.
Your words feel so like you. The soft touches of those words on my heart.
I long to lose myself in this world where the drought hit skins are flooded with my tears. A world where I still send you messages, just by a wandering pigeon this time. Every word that's saved from being burnt by the scorching heat of the sun but still kissing the clo...
He walked through the silent, empty corridors, scared to even see his own shadows, for he had led a life of emptiness with loneliness greeting him and hugging him tight every moment. He wasn't just lonely, he was alone too!
The sun was setting and he felt relieved, the blood finally rushing into his veins. His heart, created chaos in a soul trapped in his skin. The sound of the heartbeats that were unfelt was still audible in his ears that hadn't heard a word, a melody, since seasons. Since ages. For he could never garner enough words to do justice with all the thoughts that drenched his empty mind and isolated heart.
A life of isolation was what he was acquainted to, abandoned by the brok...
I wrung out my heart,
To push you out of it.
The blood of love
Tasted like your chapped lips.
The soft touch,
The redness in the color.
Your fragrance surrounded me,
The blood smelled of you.
As it flew, and carved it's path
To find a way, and achieve solace in you.
I kneaded out my heart
As it screamed in torment,
The faint voices
Searched for words.
To reside in hearts,
That would be broken before scrunched.
A heart mangled again,
A million pieces lay crumpled.
The sight of which,
Unseen, unfelt, unheard.
In the silent sobs,
The translucent tears,
Disappearing as they ran
Through red cheeks,
And wrinkled skins.
Red, they say, is the color of love,
Red, I saw, was the color of pain, an...
I look up at the empty, dark sky filled with nothingness in an attempt to stargaze as my sight fell at a tiny star and for a moment the curvature of the huge yet tiny planet that I inhibited, ceased to exist. The radiance of the star that stared at me and looked right through me was surreal. For a moment, the distance didn't matter, for a moment, everything around just vanished. And for an eternal moment it was just the two of us. The star and me. Under a moonlit sky. Sharing our silene, communicating in silence.
Science says when two people stare at each other right in the eye, their heartbeats get synchronised. And well that's exactly what happened when my heratbeats matched their foots...
We were two people.
Walking on the same path.
But heading towards two different destinations.
Ways couldn't be parted and I reached my destination.
Little did I know, you were my eternal point.
Not ready to provide me with a safe haven.
He was an optimist,
And turned into an introvert.
He was a realist,
He never showed he was hurt.
They said ‘Life is a straight road’
But his life took many sharp turns.
He recalled the moments,
And his heart used to burn.
He was shattered,
Broken into pieces,
It was all that mattered,
And when it was gone,
His life seized…
He swam in the ocean of worries,
He was torn,
When he hurried.
He had a void inside,
Craving to be filled,
His feelings he used to hide,
The feeling of introvism was instilled.
No-one accompanied him when he smiled,
No-one consoled him when he cried.
No-one hugged him when he was tense,
He thought his past was better
Than his present…
He lived in the dark,
Light of hope wa...
"Let me write : Poetry"
Let me write you
With an ink of Love
Let me fire up
Your desires underneath
For you are now impassive
A book never scribbled
Let me scrawl it
With full of zest
Let me love you
Like the valleyed sun
Let the ray shred the cloud
Pinning down your emotions
For you are the ocean, having
millions of sumptuous thoughts
Where the vehemence exists
Let it defeat your nemesis
Let me traverse every page
Every inch of it
Let me adorn the corners
And appraise the beauty of it
Once you are written
The readers will be perplex...