Knock gently on the closed doors so they can reveal pains they have burried themselves under.


Without a word

I was standing there trying and admiring those indian bangles one after another. Subtle car honks mixed with murmuring of crowd in the background. Sun, almost sinked in. Wind playing around in joy.
“Why don’t you try that white dress? I don’t like red.”
A voice took over all the other noises. I turned around in hurry and everything stopped.

White. Ofcourse. Who else would prefer his lady in white and not red. I could see my young self standing beside him. Adoring the white only because he laid his eyes on it. One atrocious breeze dusts off memories I had alomst forgotten.

His attention turned slightly towards me. I didn’t want him to look but before I could turn away, he touched; with his deep blue eyes. I felt it, yet gain.

Everything else didn’t matter anymore. It all became blur and unstaurated. All I could feel was him. We had a distance of eight years in between, but I could still feel him. All around me. All over me. I relived the four years we had together in those four seconds.

A little girl in pink standing beside him, patting his thigh, showing off her ear rings.
“Daddy daddy, look at these.”
His eyes sparkled while he picked her up. He smiled as wide as he could. I understood. Just like I did eight years ago when he left for studies. Without saying a word.

I turned around, smiling. The void I carried for a long time had been filled with peace. After a long time, I wasn’t faking it. I was actually smiling.
For we finally said the good bye I yearned for.

Romance of a Rose

He was the moonlight reflecting on her fair skin,

The sunshine playing with her golden hair.

A sweet lullaby she slept to.

And the romantic song she twirled to.

His thoughts tickled; like a strand of hair on her face.

His words whispered; like Radiance on her skin.

He was the red on her cheek.
The echo in her head.

He loved her, like poets loved the words;

With passion, with pain

And kissed her, like clouds kiss the mountains;

gently, overwhelmingly.

Song of the night

Tonight, don’t talk to the night.
Just listen to it.
Let her reveal herself to you,
Shade by shade,
Layer by layer
And she’ll sing to you; song of a man sleeping on the street.

Recite the poem of a lover waiting on the train station.

She’ll mourn about the mother who lost her child to cancer.
She’ll chant songs of the occeans and the grass.
She’ll dance to the music played by the mountains and the soil.
Then she’ll tire in your arms and sleep to the morning.
Tonight, don’t talk to the night.
Just follow her
And she’ll take you to the place where you lost yourself.