16 Dec 2017
16 Nov 2017
the pleasure-fiends grappling your insides;
"she spoke too freely but said very little" -
"she always woke up with a start, and never slept soundly"
"oh look there she comes, emotions up her sleeves
unkempt hair and loose clothes,
how do you let her walk free?"
a spring in her steps she strutted by;
"she did not even look, that self-conceited bitch;
you are right my friend she indeed is a witch. "
the harp flew a 100 yards,
struck her on her spine
she fell on the spot, covered in her blood
the winds picked up her song.
she was a dreamer dreaming of a lullaby;
19 Jul 2017
28 May 2017
10 Apr 2017
Hello there, you seem new here. Have not seen you around before. Are you revisiting?
Make yourself comfortable. Viki is asleep right now.
I am an asexual, non-entity. Her ‘point’ if you may. Her emotional center of gravity.
Sometimes functioning as the Narad muni between her analytical skills and her emotional standing. Sometimes am the light bearer and other times her confidence beater. I am deep seated inside her. Sometimes in her gut, her fatigued bowel turning round and about die to her anxieties.
It is not easy; melancholia has claimed lives of many good times, every big day clouded by a dark grey cloud bearing doubt. Mistakes are pointed out and noted while the applause goes out of focus. Well in all these years the applause has died down and she has let go. Friends have reduced from a trickle to none at all. I don’t blame them you know. She was never a keeper, always brooding, pointing out mistakes and then losing interest midway leaving herself in the lurch without even realising it.
It is rude to talk about yourself but I guess when no one is listening it does not really matter.
6 Jan 2017
He had a volcano inside him, waiting to erupt...his blemishes - the heat waves that escaped. She ran a finger over his blemished skin; it was not unknown territory.
They have both been there before. Sharing a bed, memories; more was unsaid than said. More in-satiation than bliss. He was tired of caring too much for her. She needed him more than she ever had before.
His skin didn't twitch anymore on her touch. He had gotten used to her, a little too much maybe.
She ran a finger on his blemished skin, claiming him almost. If not for real, maybe for that night. Or maybe even for that tiny bit of a second when her finger left a faint impression on his skin. Each impression on his skin turned into a tear in her eyes. She was comforting him, his eyes reluctantly heavy with sleep that had been eluding him; she was in turn comforting herself with those tiny victories.
Time was not to wait anymore. He had moved on, not needing her by his side. Used to the fact that she was going home to someone else. A little too used to maybe. She never had time for him before, now she made that time; sadly time was not theirs.
Strangely enough, one can fake for a day or two at max. The hurt and insecurities; the aching need to go out and lay claim on that person does not go. Like the sea returns everything you throw in it; the hurt and the pain is returned back with more fervor than ever before.
28 Sep 2016
गर तुझे ये लगे के तू ज़िंदा है, तो तू है ज़िंदा।
गर ये तेरा सवाल है, तो तू है नही।
मुझसे न पूछ तू तेरी तलाश में कहाँ भटके।
तेरे मंज़िल का रास्ता तेरी परिस्थिति के बाध्य नहीं।
तू ढूँढ उस आवाज़ को, जो कहे तुझे है अब चलना।
इन पहाड़ों में नहीं, तुझे अपने अन्तः मन में है उसे खोजना।
तू निकल अब वहाँ जहाँ जाने की किसी को इजाज़त नहीं।
तू लौट के आ वहां से जिसके बगैर तेरी कोई पहचान नहीं।