To the one who is yet to bloom, Sketch Credit: Gauri Walecha I see you...You have waited! You stood your ground when the Earth began to shake, you swam through the roughest of waters, you held your home when a storm took everything away… you waited through all yet never yelled a single curse! I …
When silence dawned over…
It’s not very oftenyet just enough,when my tongue glideselegantly so,To put ballet to shame; Its rhythm sings poemsrich with lore, lure, and lies. Lies have only proven kind to the truth, until they are silenced;No sword killshalf as goryas the one forgedbehind the veil of secrets. It’s not very oftenyet just enough,when hearts don’t waltz in lovejust like …
You will love…
Four walls, a number of bricks, and here you sit in the middle of this room finding solace in your own flesh and love in the mirrors. Mirrors, though, seldom lie. They may lie about a few harsh truths, though ‘lack of love’ stands high on the list. You stand in front of this silvered …
You will heal…
Glass boxes don't sing lore to the warriors of freedom when the skies fall and the waters rise. But, skies don't fall and waters don't rise in vain; they sob in vile. There are a number of things that may conjure disdain into this world, but no other blade yearns to be struck with thunder …
Hiraeth
Water flows through creeks and crevices of withered mountains when it rains over their pride ridden heads. Heads, as they say, are meant to be held high; necks, as we have seen, break under the curse of ego sometimes. In the end, if you don't step over this grandeur and pay courtesy to love, a …
clichés.
It is a fresh sunny day. You are strolling on this narrow street beside a park, listening to children giggling, riding high on their summer spirits. The grass is tender. It is like a newborn baby that just made its way out of its mother's womb; too scared to face the world, but too pure …
my childhood speaks in these scars.
Trigger Warning: Child Abuse A few days ago, My lover had my hands in his; I loved the way his eyes sparkled And his lips curved into a stunning smile, As he brushed his fingers At the back of my palm There we were, Living the blissful moments of Our once-in-a-lifetime romance; But then, All …
Cages…
Our history has known cages; Of all kinds and characters. The one with bars of gold And the others with floors of dirt. The ones which held the innocent And the others which freed the ghouls. But not very often, When you walk through the pages Of your own history, You land up Imprisoned. Imprisoned …
i have felt alone.
Often, in life, you spend your lazy Sunday afternoons staring at the ceiling and missing… Someone. Something. Everything. These are the times when you can't help but fall down an abyss of old and dusted picture albums. The pages turn so fast that this show seems like an unending retro movie titled, "All the times …
pause.
Your song is a choir of rushed strokes of black hollow paint on a white anxious canvas dangling free. Free. From a lone nail on a brick wall standing old behind the house of your dreams. You bury the dead behind it. They rise up as demons on starry nights and throw an embrace around …
From The Quill 