A story of illumination, metals, and wet asphalt.

Ever walked on wet asphalt in the dead of night?

Did it make you feel eerily alive? Where were you walking from? Where to? Did you just escape from a party that bored the shit out of you? Was it a temporary farewell to a tryst? Or was it, God bless your poor rotten soul, from work?

The lights shone beautifully in the rain. A car driving away such late at night made you wonder if it’s party to a late night adventure or an early morning shift to work. A forgiving soul wished it’s the former while you couldn’t wait to feel the soft pillow against your eyebrow as you dreamt of burying yourself in the comfort of memory foam.

You got home, turned the keys to the left, climbed up the stairs, and you checked if the bottle of water is full. ‘Just one cigarette, and then I’ll be off to bed,’ you said to yourself, silently scared of sleep abandoning you irritated by the foul smelling smoke. You were really careful about letting in this fear silently. But somebody must’ve heard you. As you plunged into your bed and felt the soft pillow that you dreamed of a while ago, staying still for a minute or two, you realized you’re fucked. You open one eye to take a peek at the rectangular screen that’s been your friend and your foe. The digital clock yelled, ‘Four Fucking AM.’

‘Welcome back,’ patted last night’s unfinished cycle of sleep, ‘now, let’s begin again.’

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; Ghosts from the past

I woke up two hours later than
I should have.
A heavy blanket of dissatisfaction and
Disgust wrapped around me,
I realized I was late for school, again.
I have been sleeping too much.
Mornings are the worst.
Now that I think about it,
So are the evenings and
The sleepless nights.
As the day went by,
As dusk rolled in,
Crawling through graves of hope
And perennial blooms of uncertainty,
I reached the edge of the cliff.
“Should it feel like a leap of faith”, I wondered!

I jerked awake.

Ghosts from a distant past keep visiting me;
Only to reassure, nothing can be worse than
The certainty of an end.

End, therefore,
Was stalled mid-flight.

Barely yours

There’s something
About a story of desire; one that
Invokes pleasure,
Invites guilt,
Leaves the soul bare, and masked
At the same time.

It was one such story
That stole my breath.
Skeptical, I longed to take a step back,
As my heart decided to skip a beat.

Incorrect rhythms and awkward moves

As it rains,
The overcast sky and
The humid air
Add to the love
We’ve never shared.

I can’t possibly tell you
How beautiful you look
In my arms, your head
Hung in submission,
As we dance to immortal beauty;
As you waltz to my
Incorrect rhythms and
Awkward moves.

My precious composition
Tears apart, losing
All meaning, and then some,
As you patiently listen,
Never seeing, it was you
Who I dreamt of.

The Sound of Death

What is the sound of
A breakdown like?
Is it like the deafening roar of thunder,
Or is it like a canonball on fire?

If you asked me,
I would say, it is exactly like
Silence, and painfully so.
A silence so prolonged,
You cease to believe you exist,
Or the world around you.

The silence is implosive,
The most cruel form of damage ever.
There is nothing more pathetic
Than something killing you
From the inside.

However, it gets worse
When that something is your own self.
No one dares say, ‘keep safe distance from yourself’.
If one could, that would be the end of the path,
And all these words would scream, rather
‘Beg’ for mercy.

And I hate begging.