Sweet Nothing

I cannot claim to see storms. But I’ve been taking slow poisons. I was the girl who would be in the gallows for an extra minute or two just to see how strong I was to withstand the pain. I was the girl who would laugh at funerals, I was too naive to see the dark side of pain, I always wanted to be friends with pain, and pain did not accept me. It was too scared to let me near itself as I did not know what sin tasted like. I saw good in everything, like my name, I used to think I could ignite anyone’s world, some part of me still does.

I hide myself behind curtains of my ego and achievements, how I am always under control and doing well in life. Only glass I broke that night and woke over it knows the real me. My mind is in a constant battle to lose my sanity and being the best. I have been telling myself that I need nobody so many times that I somehow believe in it, I have never let a single soul embraced my soul completely, not even my ex lover, maybe that’s why I still feel things. I feel undiscovered. I don’t want to be. Because humans, they don’t stick to you.


The Ghost

The clock ticks away and a reflection is seen in the shadows of a silver mirror glittering with the cold blue rays of the moon in the death deep of the night. Its amber shadow behind cascades over the cracked wall depicting a deep over hunted flesh. As the whitewash flakes away, the shadow scratches away in infuriating and screaming voice. A gust of wind blows, trying to bandage the excruciating inferno. “I told you about  the holocaust, why thee came in a world so graceless?”, The grave breaks the smothering silence. The ghost whispers, “If I had a chance to be alive again, I’d choose my life to be taken away a million times for never had I pleasured a more solacing spasm.” It started raining and needled cold drops began pricking the soft leaves of the oak tree in the abandoned meadow of forgone light. There was no reflection in the mirror as the moon had hidden behind the dusty clouds, nor was there any shadow left. But the cracked paint crippled and flaked down with the moist of the rain mustered in the putrescent walls. It helped the ghost borrow some tears from the wall to cry for it had no matter in it left. Nothing is saddening but the pain of not having to die again. For not having a chance to kill your damaged self and reincarnate yourself.  Ghosts don’t cry over living once, they mourn over the agony of getting to die once. Die a thousand times and come out alive by thousand-and-one, until you become one of them.

Her Love Was (not) True

I see her tears as drops of water trickling down a cup of a pale shade. I see her hands tied up with grief like they are chained with expectations of the impossible. She wasn’t hard to love, all she wanted was a rope of empathy. I couldn’t see what hell she went through just to be mine. I couldn’t see the thirst she had of making me happy. I couldn’t see how persistently she coped up with my flaws, my anger, my inconsistency, my vulnerability to get stray. I couldn’t tell her I am not ready to catch her when she falls. I was driven by society. I didn’t make her my friend because she was just an element of  a relation for me. I didn’t regret at my weaknesses because I was complacent. She expected me to go out of the flow but I was happier in following the threads of society. Once for a moment I did not think about her strength. I stretched her like a rubber band expecting it to go as further as I wanted to take it, and she stretched limitlessly. I stretched  whispering her not to worry, you have to go as far as you can. You are made for me. But I can’t do anything about myself, nor I can regret at my flaws. Because it’s me. Its the society. Its the pleasure. Its the way. I cannot swallow the bitter tablet of loving you. I cannot go out of the way because I deserve the ease and you must swallow it only as you have to.


I’ll love you from a distance. I don’t want pleasure from you. I’ll let you consume me, fill myself up with all the fume you give me and perish to nothing. With every lie, with every secret, I’ll let you win. I became addicted as soon my lips met yours, I’d burn myself as you glow with full guard of youth coated with fallacy. Your fair recrimination and pretty accusation give me the true pleasure of pain. I’ll love getting wasted like the ashes;  the smoke filling your soul with my intense love. A love so intense that would cease all your pain and give you an ecstasy of a lifetime.


Roses spread in deep bed of thorns

Of shimmering light in full galore.

Honey drops and apple crisps;

All their sweetness was failing to win.

Sounds of glee and rhapsody fall into demise;

 When all my memories of the distant align.

The cheers, the smiles, the heart you won;

The tears, the hurt, the grief you become.

The sanctuary, the blessing I thought I had to be alive;

A mayhem, a dismay it was in disguise.

You left this World in a blink of an eye;

Without giving me a chance to say Goodbye.

Story: 7 Nights In Cradle

“A beautiful baby he is, congratulations on a new addition to your family!”, said a jocular looking, fat lady nurse of 46 to my mother. And life started for me when I was cut off from the band of support and nurture of my mother’s body while everyone in the ward room 492 could hear me crying. I was welcomed with warm bath of rose water with essential oils of all kinds: Coconut, shea butter, argan, lavender and what not? With sheets of pure wool and cotton stitched to perfection and mittens made of sheer warm affection of Grandma. I was, undoubtedly, got played like a melodious song that showers nothing but high hopes, happiness and prosperity for all; Nothing but the whitest shade of ivory; The kerosene for the oil lamp. After weeks and weeks of peak celebrations accompanied by dancing and singing and colours, all people bid farewell and left with cordial messages for me about how excited they were to see me grown into a young sparking man with magic in his eyes and the power to unlock all the hidden secrets the world has – just as they’d put a sapling in mud pot, water it and then wait for the progress.

And then, one night I was put in a customized cradle to sleep, on the onset I could hear the soothing voice of my mother singing lullabies for me. I could hear the occasional sound of the mosquito buzz swinging between my two ears and the slow rhythmic oscillation of a ceiling fan. Eventually everything seems to get faint and vague just like mist on a window. I got half hypnotized and my eyes gradually demurred, diving into a world of darkness so invincible an intense beam of laser wouldn’t trespass it.

A night passed, nothing happened. I began worrying amidst the wickedness of the black fathom. I begin reminiscing the bright days of my welcome, when everything was nothing but sunny, a punch of all flavour some fruits. My mother could see me smiling in my sleep now and she must had thought of the pretty fairies who would be dancing and making merry in my dreams. A whole episode of sweet nostalgia passed but I couldn’t break the morse code of the Dark Queen playing with me.

Another day passed and I began to feel the mountain of burden and pressure I came to this world with. I thought of how high expectations would be built up with me soon as I grow up: New skills, A grades, a shield in sports, successful engineer, caring son, responsible father and a loving husband with tons of cash and an insurance for the whole family with a funny nature and an empathic mind. Future thoughts enveloped me like a tornado and left my mind with nothing but a barren land of weeds.

Two days passed with a pattern of series able to be juxtaposed against each other. Solemn, downright, and thorough anxiety and depression. Though seeming to be too exaggerated for a baby boy but human beings are emotionally all mutual. Now my mother could see me making horrid faces with signals of crying and sudden unrest in my body, scratching and limb articulating. She lifted me up in no time, swung me slightly in her arms but I was far gone in a mind perplexing maze. One night I felt panic and the other, distress. All I was focused on were the bad things that were and could happen to me in that demonic state of soot all around my eyes.

The fifth day was the giving up time. I was on low self love and didn’t think I’d be able to combat with the obstacles of life; and why not would I be hopeless? I wasn’t even able to search for a single photon of light for five nights. My mother could see me turn pale and cold. Sweat drops appearing on my forehead and little palms just like dew on rose. My mother started worrying and started calling for help, kissed my head, sprinkled water on me and sobbed.

It was all happening that the sixth night came and all of a sudden I was totally normal _ more numb than normal to be accurate. This was the hardest point, for my mother couldn’t see any visible signs of disruption but I was dead inside. My heart cracked and cracked till I stopped breathing waiting for another day to quit from this carnival of illusions. When the sun set the next day I thought it was my last. All I could hear and see was painful screaming of silence and burning rays of blackness. I was ready for the end.

I was seconds away from getting away from all this mayhem that a piercing wave of scorching light cut straight through my eyes burning them and entering into my heart. I couldn’t recognize the exact feeling but it saved me through the eye of the needle. It was brighter than light, for light couldn’t be this bright and I couldn’t find any source of it. I came to remember the gift God gave me before coming to this world. This light and that gift held a peculiar similarity, a similarity quite impossible to demarcate.

With the light I finally opened my eyes, only to the dumb realization that it was a single night and I had been traveling through the phases of losing faith and finding it back again. Yes I’m going to get lost and get beaten by life and by my own mind as well but this gift will make me through it. With this, I start a new day, waking myself to see me holding the index finger of my mother tightly clenched into my fist

Earning Love

  • My eyes are stained with my own tears and my skin is bruised with my own nails. The fire in me has scarred my waters and the waters in me have extinguished my spark.
  •   “Why I must be feeling weak and strong at the same time.”
  •   “To love true, you must be blind in one eye.”
  •  “What will I see with the other eye?”
  •  “Your beloved”

And that’s how I realized I have to earn true love.