Tag Archives: writings

I’m not worthy of you, I’m not

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Swooning with the stranger in you

You find so many things on the way. The withering leaves, shrivelling tree bark, gaily faces, drooling ones, tender leaf blade that just saw an inch of land, a sand grain holding a bead of sweat, a surgical knife with blood that many are living for, two ignorant eyes with false hopes, a harassed soul, a soul with a bunch of hard earned notes.. and many different strangers ..

Out of all these, we are all a stranger to ourselves, few interesting lost pieces, trying to find ourselves in others. Every day, every moment, we try to find the self. A beautiful stranger indeed. There are more to these tiny, imperfect things that we find on our way. To find the mysterious, creative stranger in you, look more into things, in an enrapturing way. There’s a different meaning to what you see in others. They’re broken because of something, they’re not greedy since their birth, there’s beauty behind their ignorance, there’s a flow of lines behind every broken heart. Go, find it- you’ll find yourself. A new stranger.

When I see a broken heart, I’m just a stranger helping it fix. I find a fallen leaf and I’m a stranger who’s admiring its imperfections. I’ll be swooning, with my first hard earned award in my hand and I’m that stranger who blushes looking at her love.
Just, a stranger, trying to mend your soul. By a smile or by whatever it takes.

Learning to swoon with the stranger in me, you helped me find it. If I’m a ruptured soul, dear stranger, will you help me mend it?

50 word story: Unsung chapters

One hundred and twenty three more- chapters that remained unsung, in the room’s muggy corner. I cringed under the sheets as I liked the coherence with my indefinite pain. Better than ascertaining that it will remain untouched, unsung always.

He adored her desolation more, tearing apart those many luring pages.

if i’m let

over the crumbled glass
veiled on the sidewalk
striding
my constrained steps i count within
narrow time frame
under cotton-like
golden threaded shreds
wanting to be concealed amidst fragile beauty
untouched
to find the self elsewhere
blooming, cringing
clasped above mediocre
if i’m let-
to be lost, misled
to step on the glass
and lose a drop of blood

 

Featured Image Location: Bombay (now known as Mumbai)
 Photographed by my friend.

 

 

From the life of an amputee

It was that hour. Asphyxiating her hopes, wishes and choking the dreams till their limits, she was preparing, having no choice.

She was all set to give away a part of her flesh to the hungry land, cloaking the torment with a soft smile. The operation theatre felt smaller than it was, the world felt tinier yet she won over her psychologist’s will power. She felt as if she was being crammed in a box of stinging incidents, bestowed, specially upon her. The dilapidated flesh, suffused with gangrene was anaesthetized to be operated upon. When the surgical equipments pierced her flesh and cut her bones, she learnt to detach from every illusion that kept her stagnant. She wore her smile on throughout, even after she was detached from the limb, not a tear drop yet.

That was the moment when her perspective of beauty, wishes, hopes, activeness were redefined. Encountering death so close couldn’t have polished this gem better.

Now she knows how to rise above the dust, shattering any obstacle. It is for the rarest of the lot who get to live two lives. Sometimes it is as if the whole world is breaking down in front of her, barring her from exploring. It was hard, giving away the control of her body to the hydraulic system; needing a machine’s approval to walk.

Breaking down was a choice in life, but was never in her’s.

A feather fallen from a bird’s wing cannot hamper its flight, can it? The flesh that was ripped off carried away the happiness of many, in turn teaching how to live without complaints. One day, she asked me, “Is that why the society calls us specially-abled?”

two roses

the cockatiel
 doomed and nestled
in corner of the grey metal cage, saw
 the responsible
lady for, this falling ambience
failed to cover
 anguish— her black ball gown
satin, as her
he cannot do worse to her heart

fearing him
and a situation
of past
walking down the cellar
she befriended darkness
riotous thoughts gushed
that eerie dusk
when two roses were extended
confessing his love
it itched her abandoned
soul

to her—
it felt new
bewitching to bear
for love was outlandish
as death is
 to us