Of midnight apparition and coffee dregs.

Behind your silent, unperturbed eyes
i'm aware of the currents, love
thrashing against the walls of this
make believe void as i watch you looking across the window
with a big broken glass.

Maybe we are nothing but a drunk writer's imagination,
diabolically giving us dreams
of pretty laughs
and dreamy nights
of callous truths
and inaudible cries

and maybe I've waited too long
for dust to settle down,

but i don't want to shut these eyes.
It is a trick..
shh, the moment will pass
and in the unwelcomed strangeness,

       i'll be lost again

with the big broken glass
of that haunting window
and the biting cold that creeps through
and your tar black mug
and unfinished coffee dregs.
______

Picture Source

Elaichi Wali Chaai =)

A whisper of velvety wind is secretly curling up around me as I watch the newly bloomed roses in my veranda. It gives so much pleasure, those bright magenta flowers seem to look right at me with a novel smile. I remember how in summers, I feared seeing my plants wither away in sweltering heat. Every morning I would step out with a hope to see them blossoming and return with a dismal sigh. Gradually, it turned into a sad monotonous routine, like my life.

But today, while I take a sip of elaichi wali chaai, I watch my little babies soaking up the Autumn's love with open arms. Like it's washing away the mountainous sadness which lingered over the leaves for a long time and telling them to breathe again. I listen closely. I keep the cup, my favorite black and yellow cup on the table adjacent to my bed and I listen with rapture, a familiar sound wafting by the wind. I smile! It's calling out my name in a soft voice. I step out in the light drizzle, marooning the coveted thoughts and my lukewarm cup of tea behind. Bare feet, bare mind. It is addictive. This love, this sweet sweet love!

I cave in, yet again.

_________

P.S: I don't remember since when it has become a ritual but to enjoy the rains without holding close a cup of hot cardamom tea, is nearly impossible.  =)

Picture Source

The Alien In Me.

Like a fatalistic pit, I see a hole forming in the heart. There are fragments of ugliness and of scarred words. Is the hole black? No! Sadly, it projects no colour, no hue. It is impassive and stoic. It doesn't respond to emotions, to love and gladness, to aggression and pain. It lacks each one of them. And in the process of recovering from the jolt of revelation, the mind doodles various patterns of the ever most random questions and doubts. I am absolutely horrified the way it is engulfing me in a lethal trap of mistakes, wrong decisions, and dominant anger. And the worst part, I cannot pull myself out of it. Out of the unwanted part which I am afraid, might swallow all of me.

Because I have this strong feeling pertaining to ignorance. Because I don’t know how the alien incepted. And I am blinded because I did not witness the incessant growth of the hole.

Tell me that it is a hoax. That it doesn't own perpetuity.

Because perhaps it intricately concatenates the girl I thought I am and the girl I actually am. Or perhaps the drawbridge is weakening as the impassiveness hikes. The beliefs I proudly caressed are being shadowed, like they never belonged to me. And I am scared. I am scared of what I am turning into.

I have never felt this vulnerable. The road was always clear and unambiguous. There was no blurry or misty vision which could divert me from knowing myself, from introspection. I knew what my heart had to say. The morals it had on which every block of decision was kept were distinct in my mind. Every little belief was due to the awareness of who I am and what I seek.

Have I depreciated? Maybe. This ignorant girl doesn’t have an answer. There is a lot of sadness which I could have resisted. I know. It’s just that I could have however I did not. I could have not acted or behaved the way I did. I could have been more considerate. I know I could have however I did not.

And what it seems now is that yes, this is a gradual process of depreciating. That it is but the time and the situation mirroring the real image I never knew I owned. The efforts, I fear, are going in vain. I fear seeing myself within the walls concocted of repentance, of undying regret, and of sabotaging hatred for not being able to lift myself to the level of righteousness. I fear the fatalistic pit. I fear this novel part of me, the alien, which is emerging. And yes, this time, I do...I do fear me.
____________

Picture source: deviantart

Absence.

What if I go?

Leave the rain

Leave that walk in the night

Leave my favourite song behind

Would you remember my idiosyncrasies.

What if I go?

Would you catechize the crumbles of beguiling bond,

Cry or just sit in my favourite corner

And have a talk with the zephyr.

It is not too dreamy, is it?

Then maybe you could just make a promise

To show me a comely reflection

Beneath the countenance of present

That would be my life.

In your hands, when I am gone.

What if I indeed go?

I need you to buy me few breaths

To accompany me on the voyage

Of pretty life and prettier death.

____________________

Now make an effort and hear this. Something which could just touch the deepest cord of the heart. An extremely beautiful composition!

Picture Source: weheartit

For Life's Simplicity.

Sometimes when the only thing I admire or look up to loses its grace, I turn to you to rummage a world that might welcome me with open arms and embrace me with a kind and an affectionate touch. And that world is nothing but an embellishment of your comforting words.

You can call me susceptible, baby. But that does not worry me at all, as long as I have you. And let me be very honest here. Let me brace it up with truth. I have left my mind at the threshold. I do not require it, anymore. And I suggest you to do the same.

Staring at its countenance would lead you into nowhere.

Make an effort. Open the jammed door, silly.

And try to understand how I show the audacity and impudence (take it in a positive way) to stretch my limbs beyond conventions. To say that I am too stubborn to fall along the lines is misleading. It projects a wrong picture. The truth is, I just live every moment of being free. Call it a perverse set of thoughts. I don’t care. I live and do not impede others to live. My idea of survival might differ from theirs' but let me not indulge in a diabolic disapproval of others' lives. With different ideas, it would be pretty wise and judicious to display an even more beautiful and sound place. So let us try to express the magic of carving unusual pictures, just how I enjoy it. Simple up to the brim.

But before that, answer me. Do I make sense?

________________

Let Us Carve a Perfect Day With Our Little Imperfections.

Would you to get me some melted chocolate, just as I love it? Because we have to break the stones of sourness and put the chocolate all over it. I love the smell of dark. I like dark. And so do you, I know.

We have the sparks of your eyes to lighten up the little dream which is being mutually dreamt. And after encumbering the hole where hope is lost, we shall build a castle. You would drape it immaculately with the joyous present and a knot of future and I would watch you with a cherubic smile and tie my hair in a bun. You'd draw circles all around the cloud-cuckoo land while I'd wait for you to step in and tell me stories of the untold mysteries that you know. You'd mould anger, frustration, sadness, and despair and submerge all of it in a pond of rainbow and I would dive into the mesmerizing piece of art that you are crafting. 

And with this, the final curtains of trust and belief would be drawn to cover our little shell and uncover the secrets hidden from the rest. It shall be transparent for us. Always and forever! It might not be as good as paradise but it would resemble a flawless chime of dream and reality. It might end soon but it would be etched in the deepest part of our memory. It is not in its most perfect form, I know. But the beauty of being imperfect yet together is what makes it perfect. Makes us perfect!

******

Picture Source : weheartit

And I just can't get enough of this song : Close to you by Carpenters

A Struggle between True and False.

I count the twinkling stars above my head. One...two...five...eight. The music is good. It’s trance. I have developed a strong passion for it because it is beautiful in every sense. We are having white wine. It smells perfect and also the air above the sea. The sea breeze. It’s a little chilly here may be because it is night time. Eleven...twelve...thirteen. You say something in my ears...something light-hearted because it made me smile and blush.

I close my eyes and feel the tranquility of the breeze kissing my cheeks. My hair is not so long but it is long enough to dance to the tunes of the natural music played by the waves and the soft zephyr together, in a harmony. I hear you counting. Twenty...twenty four.

It’s getting colder now. The music has stopped. My left nostril is all blocked and my eyes are still closed as I don’t want to break the peaceful facade. I call out your name. Twice! But in vain. So I open my eyes. The chilly breeze blurs my vision. I clear it and look around. It seems to be a different place. It is white. All white or rather snowy. There is no one till the farthest end. You are nowhere to be seen. It is like you never even existed. No sign! No clue! And the worst thing is that my companion is silence. My only fear! You remember. Don’t you?

It is oblivious to my presence. It can’t see. But it can feel me and so it stalks! I run to my left to find something or someone for help. But all I have to face is stillness...sheer stillness. And it locks me up like I would never be able to escape. May be it is just in my imagination, may be you would wake me up with a kiss and hold me tight in the warmth of your arms or maybe this nightmare would never come to an end. You said that my fear would make me reach the acme of insanity. Is it that madness hovering in my head or is it happening for real? Are you really gone or am I just too blinded with these unresolved questions?

Fiercely

Screams

Dreary fears

In the muteness.

Pours out and surrounds me.

This is silence! Austerely attaches to my life.

With weapons to drown me within and rupture the veins, it plays hard.

This is silence. A sad reminder of the lost voice, the chord untouched but distorted. It is piercing, pinching and hurting.

It chases me. Like a poignant reminder of the chasing dream I had.

The one which made me run for life.

But this is bloody silence.

My only trepidation

Catches creepily

Chokes

Kills!

Thirty one...thirty four...thirty five. And your voice echoes in my little head as I come to terms with reality.

____________________

P.S : Thanks a lot Crystal and Fiona for being an inspiration to write a Fibonacci sonnet.  :*  ^_^

Picture credits : deviantart

Have You Played Your Cards?

Penetrating the wall.

Dishevelling the structure.

Caressing it and fondling it.

An enticing touch reached the core.

With words, a game embarked on.

Did you blind me and switch sides?

Or was I only an immature?

The dreams, the aspirations, the beginnings and the endings,

I could not fathom.

Sleeping with the arms around.

Coiling a mirage of bliss.

Curling up more, deeper this time.

Little did I know that I choked.

______________________________

Picture source : deviantart

Paroxysm of Terror.

Smithereens of mourning souls

Fell numb on coarsened crimson coal.
No bird chirped.
Breeze did not blow.
People panicked.
The smile on her face no more glowed.
Her head was bleeding.
Deep wounds!


With burnt skin and broken glasses,
In a pool of blood, she lied there.
I feared the look I saw in her eyes,
It said, “Paroxysm of terror.”
Smithereens of mourning souls
Fell numb on coarsened crimson coal.

Havoc had broken under the blue shade turned grey.
Ugly, it seemed. “Yes, Death stinks!”
The air was venomous.
Toxic tears trickled.
Forget the bliss.
Those eyes did not even blink.
Smithereens of mourning souls
Fell numb on coarsened crimson coal.

********

It was very heart-wrenching to know about the serial blasts in Mumbai, yesterday. Like always, the common man suffered. I don't know how many people died, may be 20 or so but the result of those few deaths is magnification of fear all over the nation. Such incidents have happened in the past and will continue to take place in the future too. All we can do is just hope that we do not suffer next.

Rest in peace Mumbai blast victims.

Rebirth.

(Image Source)

Brushing against my face, the wind is forceful and rough

With every touch, it burns the skin. Oh! You know it hurts.

"Bottomless ditch awaits me,
 Catch me dear, if I fall.
Give me wings and let me fly
Because I no more want to crawl"

Your unkept promise still rings in my ears

It fools me through a facade of bliss

Drowns me deeper and deeper into nowhere

“I will never let you fall, I promise.”

Weak, I stand and sore feet bleed

Eyes are shut, the soul is freed.

To build my strength, I cradle a hope

To outshine the evil, I cradle it again

I smile at the death of this fiery wind

Laugh at the canvas which was once blue

Take pride in the rise of my sun, my world

And celebrate the birth of me without you!

An Empty Bench.

“The only problem is that you would never understand me. 

*sigh*

You never did. Maybe one day, when you do understand what I felt for you or how much I cared for you, then you might realise my worth. But till then, all of it seems useless and I know it’s not your fault. It’s just that I am too sensitive for you.”

She remained silent with her head bowed. Her loose black hair fell over her shoulder covering half of her right cheek. Her thoughts were hopping in her mind. They were playing around. And they were not sanguine. Each thought had a tinge of sourness filled by his words and was wrecked by his fiery looks. It was aching. But she remained silent.

He continued saying something and something and something. He kept throwing ashes of their burnt love right on her face. She did not respond or rather her heart did not respond. But her senses did. An evil drop, corroding the love she had for him, stepped out and she quickly ran a finger, wiping it out through her kohl-ed eyes. No, he did not notice. Why would he, anyway? Or why wouldn’t he? There was no answer.

Feeling helpless and dejected, she carried her bruised yet numbed heart in her hands and started walking. She wanted to say a lot of things but did not. Going a little farther, she gathered pieces of hope and faith and turned around. She turned around to have a last look of their carvings together but amiss this she forgot a little thing....that life always comes with a 'don’t-expect-anything' tag. Huh...a silly girl, she was.

The bench behind was empty, mirroring all the answers, she once hunted and echoing all the untold truths, she once repelled to hear!

A Tainted Soul.

She breathed. She tried hard to cross the fences of gravelled words. Every time she reached there, thorns blocked her soul to escape. Her cuffed hands bled. Tired and dejected. She gathered strength. Shaky legs, weak shoulders and bleeding hands, with these three weapons she battled again. The will to live enthused to her not to fall under the cloud of despair. But the will did not last long. It died. It died the moment she heard him say,

“You deserve it. You deserve every bit of this excruciation, baby. You deserve it because I cared for you, I lusted for you and I loved you with all my heart but what I forgot was that you are different and these priceless feelings are not made for a girl like you. This pain, which is ripping you apart right now, defines you. Survive with it, baby. A tainted soul is what you have carved with my love. Goodbye.”

Beauty Lies Within! :)

"Urgghhh...it's going to be a bad day", I thought to myself as I woke up today at around 12:30 in the morning (I mean 'afternoon'). Yeah I know I'm a late riser and my parents are always after my life because of the same. But what do I do cause I can't really help it. This is like my weakness. I so love to sleep and have made many records of waking up late. :P :D


Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I had already presumed that it's not going to be a good day. And this feeling was accrued to my bad health and my friends going out without me. I was just recovering from my one week long Viral fever that yesterday, I ended up falling sick again. This time it's some kind of rashes all over my skin and I so so so damn hate them. Huh!! :/ :(
Kajal called up in the morning and asked me if I was in a position to go out with her and Bhumika. I badly wanted to go but this sickness spoiled everything and compelled me to say a "No".


So in a nutshell, I was frustrated. I had no idea what I would do sitting all alone on a Sunday. "Wait...did I say Sunday??? Oh my god, it's a Sunday...yay!!!" And soon I rejoiced over this thought and I'll tell you why.


Every Sunday brings me a piece of quintessential form of quietude. It brings me an insight of my city people and their lives. It brings me a taste of others’ tough situations and how they subdue it. All in all it brings me Soul Curry. The readers of The Times of India must have seen or read this column in the Times Life edition of Sunday Times.

So I was quite elated when I realized that today I would get to read my favorite column. And as I’d thought, the story of Padmini Rao (the writer of today’s edition) did help me in making my day better. How amazingly she described the meaning of beauty. That it’s not just colorful flowers, waterfalls, and lush forests etc. It is something more than that. Something, which lies in a child’s innocence or in chirping of birds. Her portrayal of a small potted plant as a symbol of dauntlessness, resilience and hope amidst the callous surroundings made me think that one is the pilot of one’s own life.

One can always make his own life better. It is not necessary to have positivity all around. What is important is how one, with a sanguine soul, makes the surroundings worth-living. Beauty, not only lies in a pretty landscape or in the magnificence of nature. It also lies in the marvels of a little ant making its way through all the impediments to carry food and in the effort made by Salmon fish to travel back to the fresh water (which is very harmful for its skin and ultimately results in its death) to lay eggs. Beauty cannot be derived from our environment. Our environment is beautiful only when we feel beautiful from within.

And like Rao wrote in her article that beauty, ugliness, heaven and hell are all our creations!!