Thursday, October 25, 2012

A decade of hopelessness

More than a year gone by, news of yet another year to go by.
Emailed casually, just like that. As if it was the day's lunch that was to be described because of a missed conversation. Rather, many missed conversations over the week.

The heart sank. The tears ran; And then came the cries of despair of a broken heart. It was silent all around. So quiet that the sound of the moving fan was loud enough to be considered an intrusion.

How much could the matters of the heart defeat one? How far could one be pushed? How tirelessly would one trudge on.

You know that feeling? That old sinking feeling when something hits you so suddenly you need to read and re-read it again and again and again to realize the impact. That feeling of sinking when something hits you so hard that nothing could've prepared you? That feeling of being tired? Worn out? When you just want to walk away. Breathe free, breathe deep and for once accept the writing on the wall?
No matter how much you fight and pray against destiny, and dwell in false hopes. No matter how much you justify teary, lonely days preceding over an annual or bi annual embrace. Life and its ugly truth do catch up.

This time I surrender. I am through with the game. I am tired. Very Tired.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Past Imperfect

What if we could bottle it up, take a little boat ride and throw it in the middle of the sea.
Not caring which abyss it drowned to or which shore it drifted away?

What if we could simply write it all and post it, mail it to a recipient residing nowhere,
And sigh a relief perhaps that "nobody" would read it and take it all away, far far away?

What if we could sit in a quiet corner, scream away in those momentary tears,
And then wipe it all off... what if it would just go away that way?
What if we could think it through, every little detail, painful, hurtful, tearful, scathing detail,
Promising it will be the last time that we allowed it to destroy and demolish us this way??

What if the past was just like that??
A pack of cards, lose one of it and the others would be simply left to wither away?

Tuesday, July 10, 2012


This is all that is left to it.
Google searching her death and cause every two hours.
And wondering the what if's.

What if I dint waste her precious seconds and minutes
What if she could instead read a book more, write a bit more, talk a lot more and smile...
What if she dint have to counsel me, convince me, pull me out of my misery...
What if we only laughed and smiled and giggled and spoke...
Regular stuff, mundane stuff...

What if my heartbreak and its aftermath dint poison away her little time.. her precious time...
Would she live a little longer...happier.. still as always... smiling?!?!

What if we met in more simple times...
without tears and anger and pain in the background...
Where she didn't have to be my crutch... moving me on from day to day?!?!
I guess where ever she must be.. she must be a little angry...or perhaps she might just laugh it away..
Perhaps I had no right to hog her time... own it like it as my own.
But perhaps that is why she came into my walk me through...step by step... let me live life each day with her strength...
Step by step as days pass by all I have of her are precious memories.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Nadir of Hope

Why do I not cry, Oh! why do I not try and cry,
When I run in this midst of nothingness.

No hands to hold by and walk in the night,
No warmth to embrace in the dark's emptiness.
A lie being lived every morning,
And then to get lost in the meaningless labyrinth.

This is the nadir of hope.. and this is how it feels perhaps.
Each day at a time, no hope stirred in it.
This is the nadir of hopelessness.

Monday, January 23, 2012


You do not let me walk away,
yet you do not walk a step with me.
In this moment of darkness when I wish to bleed,
You do not wipe tears off my cheeks.

You put me through a zillion pain,
how easily but for you to forget,
And when those painful chapters reopen,
Seems I'm the only one to have read.

It was our lifes story together but perhaps the pain solely mine,
when did ever the wound giver ever feel the receivers misery?
You feel only sorry for every reminder I throw,
But you hold of them no memory...