This town

When the day collapses into a million broken glasses just to reflect the last remaining sun, this empty town calls its strangers to the streets and fills them with noises and shuddering delights. For this place is lonely. The calm wind has left it a long time ago. The memory has now given way to … Continue reading This town

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Dancing in the dark

(Painting 'Incomplete Dance' by Medha Pandey)   Why should I see you? When in my eyes, you didn't find yourself. I was your mirror, still, in me, you seemed like someone else. I walk in darkness now, for your light left me blind. Thorns do kiss my feet, but the pain never finds it. Why should … Continue reading Dancing in the dark

Poem Recitation (The promise)

  Cold winter breeze over a sleepy oak forest. The promise of a kiss, a ritual before the long sleep. Her cold breath, whispering, warm melodies of her world. His jaded eyes waiting, for the silence; in memories of her words. The leaves now yellow, the sky turned gray and still. For his love will soon … Continue reading Poem Recitation (The promise)

The black butterfly

As the sun finally gasps before settling in the orange bay; the darkness creeps in stealing all the colors of the day. With timid eyes rise the creatures of the night; silently fluttering, makes its way 'the black butterfly'.   The world, surreal to her cast under the blanket of sorrow; dazzled with darkness, she looks … Continue reading The black butterfly

A different kind of God

"Isn't it atrocious? The world falling apart, morning newspaper filled with the news of crumbling lives and people with power dancing over others, plainly justifying their actions. I suppose, for some, God has stopped listening.Where do you think our prayers are going?" she asked while looking out of the window."Probably where we always wanted them to reach, … Continue reading A different kind of God

Our own prisoners

We cling to the ideas that we accumulate in order to give meaning to our existence. These ideas or beliefs either reflect our hidden insecurity towards certain aspects of life or portrays the course that we consider to be safe for our survival. Certainly, these beliefs are the fruits grown from the seeds that we had sown … Continue reading Our own prisoners

Still morning bliss

I ran away. I am still running. I may not reach to you, because there is no end to this running. I saw broken souls, I met people with broken smiles. I heard them giggle, when I saw their empty eyes. I listened to others’ heart, my own is out of voice. Still, I called … Continue reading Still morning bliss