I held on to the bygone reality as the blood gushing through – softly froze in my veins.
The profanity of the moment slew the sanctity of my emotions’ withered remains.

A strangulated cry emanated from inside, having ridden over the fragments of my pride.
Even as I see two pairs of footprints on the sand being swept away by a blindfolded tide.

Thoughts hysterically flooded from within as my life startlingly walks me to an interlude,
But pearls of redemption falling off my eyes say words of wisdom, once and for good.

I walk into the sea longing to hug the orange horizon, wanting to evade these pains alone,
Not realising that walking to the Sun will burn my soul and benumb my heart to a cold stone.

Treacherous tides and weeping clouds held me back where I was, not permitting me to reach.
By staying quiet, in their own upright ways, these listeners found a million ways to teach.

As these voiceless listeners comfort my soul and soothingly kiss its bleeding scars.
With peace and solace, I lie down on the cold sand counting a zillion twinkling stars.

Whispers of the wind and the blues of the heart.

It was a stormy night. But wasn't like the usual storms. It was a cold wintry night. I could feel the chills inside my blanket. It was uncomfortable, the cold. I got up and walked up to the fire place and stood in front of it. He had gone to the forest and gathered some wood the day before, because he had wanted to spend a nice, cozy, romantic weekend with me. Just the two us. Two warm droplets of tears trickling down my cheeks shook me and brought me back to where I was. A loud, stormy night.

I lit the fire and sat in the settee near it. A deep, hypnotising voice buzzed in my ears and an electrifying touch held me from behind. It was him. I didn't even need my senses to feel his touch. I was aware of and acquainted with every inch of his body. He was beautiful. He was mine. He held me from behind, shifted my hair to the other side and kissed me on my neck. It was still magical, his touch. I opened my eyes with a start to a loud thundering sound. My tired, afraid eyes searched for him but he was no where to be seen. It was just that room - dark, and deserted; except for the fire that was caught up by then.

I looked at the fire. Its brightness was numbing my eyes, just like the reality. I walked up to the table and poured myself a glass full of Merlot. I drank it at once and let the night crawl up on me. He would always say I looked a little more beautiful when drunk, the inebriation would glow through my eyes. I walked up to the mirror, looked at myself in the eyes. There was pain, there was fear, and there was agony. There was no glow. Liar. My heart called out to him. Tears began streaming down my face uncontrollably as I haplessly started to shout his name. He was gone, was the answer; but this intoxicated mind didn't want to listen to it. The rain had stopped and so had the stormed outside; but the one within was far from seeking its solace.

I walk back to our room. Our room. That place was testimony to our love and those walls had seen some of our deepest secrets unfold. Tonight, they all stare at me in disbelief and in empathy, wanting to shelter me, wanting to blanket me with some comfort. And the wind blows through the window, struggling its way through the curtains that you had chosen for us; it touches me all over and quietly whispers into my ear, you're happy in whichever world you are.

I had a pair of beautiful keys to a room when I was a small kid,

Somehow, nobody saw that mystical place, quite like I did. 

You, a traveler, stumbling upon that sublimely deserted place,

seek to take a walk through the lanes of its tarrying trace.

With your dreamy eyes,

look into that colourful eclipse one more time,

there's life ringing in it, like a peacefully echoing chime.  

The phenomenal chase.

In these woods, as a pack of wolves howls tonight,
I seek solace amidst the gray shadows of my fright.

The shrieks of spooky witches hovering around my mind,
slowly stabbing me with the evils I left behind.

Driving through the pangs of this resilient silence, 
fighting through the vices of my smooth conscience,
I realize that,
the deadliest weapons don't always belong to the one who laughs last.
Sometimes, they only encompass jinxed words and condemned memories from the past.

The painfully suffocated screams of spirits buried in mud.
When i look at my hands, they reek of innocent blood.

Sinful and sorry, I join my hands in shame,
crying to myself, seeking for an end to this game.

But if only could digging graves bring them all back to life,
I would burrow them out and retract my acts, put an end to my strife.

My resignation.

When, one day, you'd be sitting alone by a beautiful lake,
think of me as I'd be long gone by then, and cry a little if that'd ache.

Think of the stories we shared and the memories we engraved-
laugh at the laughter whose faint echo now stands saved.

Think of my poems and songs, stories of everything I loved and lost.
Watch the stars overhead and calculate how much those bygone times cost.

Think of me, how I hid my face in your chest and shed the bitterest tears,
clench your fist when you can't stop my voice from reverberating in your ears.


Think of my resignation as you see the sky change its color to a darker blue,
take a walk down the memory lane as you start, one more time, to get mad at me.

Think of everything that was right and how it went all wrong.
Shout at the moon and the stars - because that'd be where I'd then belong.