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Falling in and out

You are the ray of my day
The moon of my nights
The bamboo of my flute
The minutes of my time
You are the flowers in my spring
The leaves in my autumn
The snow in my winter
Well… Errrmmm.. You are also my sweat in the summers
The ads between my shows
The fog when I drive
And yes! The owls when I sleep
The landslide when I trek
That cluster of dirt on the shores
Clobber along the waves and reach my toes
You are the violinist when Rome burns
My speed breaker at every turn
The mold in my only piece of bread
What would you be thinking about me?
I know you won’t care might still remember me
The memories we made
The struggles we wade
The nights of unrest
Of passion, of lust,
Then of tears with regret
Also in absence, of hate
But haven’t we been there
Or have we not?
Has it faded, or
Has it deluded?
Have you fluttered away
From the abode of my kind?
Or are you trickling down
Slowly melting away
Like the flakes of white snow
On a sunny winter morning?
I feel you fluttering in
In and out of the cracked skull
I can just keep seeing you
Your deep brown eyes
Hair curled up encircling your long neck
Earrings dangling in the air
As you nod your head vigourously
And laugh at my every joke.
It is a crisp, sunny morning after all
I see you watching me close
And smiling to yourself
As my fingers accidentally brush your cheek
Or not so accidentally..
I smile slyly
As my emotions gyrate unto you
Unto the memories we create
The struggles we might wade
I feel you might be the ray of my day
And the moon of my nights…


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                                                                    Image: Internet
If you had missed the previous chapters of the story: Click here Chapter 1Chapter 2


It was the fall again, they had gone for a stroll outside the university campus into the beautiful park where snowy trees surrounded the white spread and there were very few passers-by due to the freezing chill.
The two of them hovered around enjoying the beauty carpeted around them. Maureen had already gone down, working her gloved hands into the snowy layers. She started rolling a huge ice ball with a grin on her pink face. Steve looked at her dazed by the tinkle of her eyes and the jingle that her laughter spread in his heart.  The moist wind ruffled her blond hair, some of which fell onto her face like a wave onto the shores.
Steve just stood there with his hands folded, his lips curved into a mesmerizing smile and his eyebrows were arched in sheer amazement of what was happening to him that moment.   He felt…

Being humane

Every dawn dooms with wail

I never opine but in my daze,

For I am human, humane.

Image courtesy: Internet

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012

What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…