Monthly Archives: June 2014




Here I am, soaking my quill in an ink pot and scribbling over this piece of parchment, once again. I am a slave of my words. Somehow, they seem to be utterly devoted to you, as is my soul. But whenever I write, I tend to find myself amidst this chaos that seems to engulf me like the flames of a burning house. I possess the perturbed soul of a fool struck by the arrow of that sonofabitch cupid.

I have tried to save myself the pain, I truly have. I have tried to break free from my anarchist heart. But what can I do when this very heart happens to be the center, the reason of my life? Although it is my heart but it seems to obey anyone but me! Oh that little red-fleshed rebel! How many times have I told it not to indulge in such atrocities? But being the obstinate, stuck-up fucker that this ruddy heart is, the infatuation is inevitable.

Oh my dearest, I am falling into this black hole of infinity that claims your existence. As we stood by each other’s side, drenched in rain and as the clouds rumbled on, I was blown away. Not by the furious gusts of wind, but by you. How your graceful elegance, amidst the tempest, inculcated serenity in me. In the split moment of a skipped heartbeat, I felt a frozen nothing and a dynamic everything, at all once…

Verily, my dearest… I am falling into this infinite infinity and I wish not to be saved. I desire to drown myself in the depths of your soul. I crave the deepest, darkest as well as fascinatingly brilliant miracles of your mind. I devour the passions and emotions that beat with each heartbeat of yours. So it shall be, as it is meant to be and I assure you, it is nothing less that awe-invoking magnificence.

With eternal love,




“I’ll never walk away”
The etched words say
On the fresh paper sheets
You sent the other day

But your footprints betray
On the dusty floor
At the end of May
Beyond the open door

Angel of Death


Infect me with your sadness
Inject my veins with melancholy
Tear my ribs apart and
Hold that ruthlessly beating
Battered life pump
Hold it in your palms
Hold it and trace the vessels with your finger tips
Caress the red walls of throbbing silk
As the warm sea oozes all over you
As your fingernails slash into the fine satin walls of my heart
So tell me love, can you feel it?
Through my screams and through your laughs

Imprisoned By Choice



I apologize in advance to indulge in yet another irksome trifle. It does not mean I am sorry, no. I shall still perturb you with yet another letter. What else am I to do? Where else am I to go? Just because you’re in a state of denial does not at all mean that you’re not my refuge anymore. So, even if you shall en-flame this piece of paper with my pen’s blood scraped and scratched all over it’s surface, the ashes of my words, ablaze, shall still set your Goddamn soul on fire.

Do you remember the dream we dreamt together? I can still close my eyes and find myself gazing at numerous unpainted paintings and untouched tapestries. My heart still dances to those violin strings’ mellifluous tunes and your footsteps. So much said, so much heard from that point onward. We were fearless weren’t we, love? Letting out all the lepers dwelling in the dingy corners of our collective conscience.

Then remember what happened? The clock struck twelve and reality struck you long before it crept behind my ear and whispered those curses. The dream should have went on but dreams don’t work that way. They are a discontinued series of incomplete events with loose ends and loop holes.

I am not afraid of these shackles that cling on to my heart as they waltz around my choking throat. The suffocation reminds me of how vital it was to breathe, to live, to survive. And in that moment I realized, how finite and limited I am. I am the unfortunate bastard who sings songs of freedom while peeping from the dungeon cell you’ve trapped me in. We are free to make our choices but the slaves of the consequences. And I chose you. I still choose you.


A Freckle on the Face of the Sky



We all want to believe that the universe, or maybe a portion of a fraction of the universe, is within our sweaty palms. Because we fear our insignificance. It scares the living daylight out of us that we aren’t special. So we spend our limited mortality trying to prove the contrary. Well buck up, kid! You’re in for a surprise; the one you won’t appreciate (like growing up).

The planet earth comprises of 7 billion homo sapiens, approximately. Other than that, there are several billions (google the specifics, dammit!) of other living organisms with a diversity scattered all over the world. Then there are also those beings who cease to exist now due to their fortunately unfortunate extinction. So adding this all up, what makes you so special? How are you, by any means, better than a T-Rex? How will you defend your existence when compared to a Panda? Pandas are the representative of ethno-racial harmony, you know. They are the amalgamation of black and white (old school FTW!) and they’re essentially found in China. Herro!

What about you? You chuckle about a racist joke you made up in your head that most probably no one else will find funny. Your best friend will laugh at it because that’s a part of the Friendship Contract that they’ve signed. Article 3, Chapter 37, page 5, column 2 (with latest amendment) states that even and/or when you know your friend is being lame, it is essential that you make a vague attempt to conceal the awkwardness that followed the execution of a lame act in order to neutralize the situation. Although, skipping 4 pages, on page 9 it is stated in column 4 that being a friend you may or may not laugh at your friend’s lameness keeping in view the probable reaction. Exceptional conditions include gender status. If the friend is a female, column 4 must be neglected in all situations because let’s admit it, these rules and laws usually just don’t apply to women. Hell, ain’t nobody gonna treat us like their pets, eh! *snaps her fingers* One glass of radical feminism, on the rocks. *plays Destiny’s Child’s Independent Woman*

There, there. This is just a single example of stereotypical social contracts that humans tend to sign. God Forbid, 13 volumes of the Amorous Relationship Contract are a nightmare! So, you spend your whole life abiding by these socio-culturally typical norms and values on how to spend your life. I would again put forth the question, what makes you special? The fact that you have perfectly manipulated your (average) 40-70 years of life on replicating the demonstration of a life standard just like several thousand others does not make you unique. It makes you a fucking coward. Once upon a time, someone’s great grandpa’s nana had the balls to stand up and pave the path that has now become just another job in the market now.

Birth, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, middle age, old age; eating, walking, talking, schooling, college-ing, working, marrying, reproducing, nurturing, retiring, dying… Is that just how it is to be till the world collides into some Godforsaken black hole? Maybe. Maybe not. Right now, I’m too busy deciding what cookies I want to buy.