Songs..

Sad songs hurt a bit more when I’m looking at you.

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Photo Credit: Wally.

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Papers..

She suffocated.
Her cheeks were a dreary waterfall.
She sat there on the floor,
looking blankly at the dark,
crawling per the window.
She was drowning in the sea of her crumpling reveries.
Aback, her eyes glared;
she stopped,
her chest heaving.
And it hit her,
right then;
papers were never a good listener.

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Photo Credit: Wally.

It Will Have Been Too Late..

He got there. He could still remember the house. Chairs were put outside for men to sit by the tent.

He rushed inside.

Everyone stared at him.

And how could they not stare at him. He was a mess. A confused, excruciated, distraught mess.

He hurriedly got in, looking for her sister. And, after wandering for a moment, he spotted her sitting somewhere, alone, dumbstruck, looking into the void, her baby in her arms, but it was as though she couldn’t afford to carry him. She looked up at him; she was awaiting his coming. They locked eyes, and his were swollen; he was almost unrecognizable. But then, everyone was.

He rose his hand, as though leaning on a wall. Then he looked around, then back at her. He was crying now. “Where is–where is she”. It was a muffled whisper; he was sobbing, but she wondered whether he really wanted to see her–whether he could see her.

She waited.

“Please… just… ” His eyes were pleading. And he spoke in bits. But, somehow, he was frantic; he looked frail–so, so frail.

“I want to see her,” he finally affirmed.

She slowly got up, tears running down her cheeks. And she led the way. Stumbling up, they got to the room. She opened the door, let him in and left. He was bent, and he sought support in the door handle for a moment, then entered.

Her body lay right there, on a mattress, put in the middle of the room. The room was empty; everything echoed.

Her skin was pale, so pale she looked ember. She was covered in white. Her eyes were shut, and they tied her chin with a cloth to keep her mouth closed.

He looked up, and the view of her struck him. He clumsily advanced the body and knelt down.

He cried and cried till he could no longer breathe. He kept looking at her, and, then, squeezing his eyes shut, bit his fist to deaden his loud, uncontainable sobs; they rang like knives through his heart.

He reached out but could not touch her, as if she were carrying an ailment. His hands kept wavering above her face.

“Why,” he said, gasping for air.

“Why…”.

I smiled as my pillows dampened underneath my cheek. I put down the phone beside me and turned around. I closed my eyes, staring at my own darkness to sleep.

“It would have been too late,” I whispered to it.

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Photo Cred: Wally

Love Letter..

Love letters to the beloved

Unleashed, untold, unspoken, befolded

Love letters haunt

Love letters, they may feel

One day, they shall heal

***
Love letters to the dear

To the heart, they are near

Love letters heave

Love letters–to the walls

Never will they be false

***
Love letters to the eye

With every breath, will it try

Love letters hole

Love letters, they would dye

Always for the soul they shall vie.

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Photo Credit: Wally.

The Dam..

As a child, I’d always been fascinated by the dam.. and the river.. and how the water flowed. “How many doors are open now?”, I would ask. And my cousins would go on describing how the water once reached the houses when more than three doors were open, and how scary the dam was when it was full. Water avalanche! The trees disappeared.. and so did the family clusters who’d scatter here and there.. the children running around, cackling and shit. All gone. I’d always pictured us playing ball there and then disappearing slowly, going faint till we vanish, just like in movies. Then I’d think of the fishermen and feel relieved they’re not killing the poor fish for fun anymore.

Now, I always imagine the giant dam walls collapsing. The water destroying the whole village to the tune of Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2. Like, and you can only hear that. Movies always make things easier to imagine, don’t they? Ground splitting in two.. or ten.. or more.. buildings caving in.. everything being washed out.. and people screaming. Sometimes it’s even fun to watch. So I laugh. We all laugh. But then I imagine all that happening in real life. I mean, it certainly will; I just hope I won’t be there to witness it.

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Photo Credit: Anthony Da Cruz