The Silence of My Voice

You tan my heart, as the sky flushes I licked the rain when your tears wouldn't feel wet anymore, Do you yearn only when you reach rock bottom, Or you remember that crookedness only for the way the light at dusk bounced off of it? You mislaid to sweep the debris of who you were, left on my bed last night, And, I stopped writing your story, not because I ended it, but because it was time, And, as you kept falling, it was quicker to imagine my life without you in ten minutes,  Than to wholly live them, The ratification for all that you feel, Your deprivation of compassion when the twigs let you go, Between the bosque, and the groves, The shrubbery, and the firewood, I hewed you out of my words, I blotted your skin with my ink, Give me something to scribble, give me something to scatter, I wore your moods, and I lugged your hopes, I dwelt on your dreams, and I walked atop your thorns, You hoped for love, knowing death still lurked, For you found this life every twilight, much les...

Hello. For people who've been together for eons, I think the I-love-yous are just a stimulation. I don't think a lot of that has to do anything with the need to be loved. It's more to be cocksure that love still exists, as if there'll always, at least, be hope. There will always be some reserve fuel. Which makes me ponder, albeit different for everyone, what is that particular junction when people stop themselves from falling in love, and rather be in love. The point at which their self-esteem doesn't take a hit, at falling weak in front of them. The junction through which they resolve to compartmentalize their affections, and caching the residual. The junction when they build a mental barrier to make themselves, and the other person, that belonged together only in a certain period in the relationship, a souvenir. The verge of doom, after which they can never possibly fall back in love, or change the past.  The cusp when reached, they tell themselves, "Don...

"Everything about you separates you from the people in my life" You said it'll be gnarly, you said it'll be chaotic, But it'll be a ride, You said there'll be longings, you said there'll be greed, But that we'll make it a party, You said I need to give, you said I need to deplete, But it'll be all in good taste, You said you need to lament, you said you need to bruise, But only because monsters need the most spooning, You said you're warped, you said I was abundant, But it all was not unreal, You said it's not all games, you said I'll do the hurting, But no one really had a conspicuous plan, "Only because I've chosen you to hurt me" You said "I'm His Girl", you said you'll serenade me, But there wasn't even an orthodox departure, You said there'll be gestures, you said there'd be plants, But all I felt was belittling, You said there'll be time, you sai...

Hello. I'm quite tightfisted with my will to verbalize how I really feel about someone. To a degree, I'm covetous about all things intangible. I've barely met a handful of people who understand this about me without the utterance of that first word. I've often wondered if this would ever be an issue for my accession as a person, and as a part of any relationship. I've been fearful of becoming immune to feeling at all because of my lack of exposition on the matter. I have been aggravated, and cross with people. However brawny these emotions are, they're conjectural, and have minutely anything to do with the person concerned itself. This has more to do with susceptibility.  Someone asked me a long time ago if I'd ever been in love. The only sally I could offer, was that I don't really know what it means for me. At that time, it was partly true, and partly a fib. The latter wouldn't be something I would fathom until much, much later, to be grossly...

Conflicting identities attract. All the time. We don't recognise this until we crave the same badge, we found irksome initially, by someone who wears it all the time. And unintentionally, you end up making each other's life just slightly more beautiful. Sometimes you find the indescribable valour to be a person you're needed to be for someone else, but never found the strength to do it for your own good.  One of the most innate quirks about people I find unendingly admirable is their skill to achieve and stay in the shadows. Some come out freely and prefer to shine under the spotlight, and there's nothing wrong with that either. But the propensity to be centred, and move from a thought to the next, one milestone to next while unassumingly to do better of yourself is exquisite. There'll always be a tonne of conversations we have with people where we know the same things, we speak on the same things, but rarely when you talk just to be able to listen to what the oth...

My fluttering pages knew, for each time, You walked through a rue singing its song, for, Each time, you dived into afflictions, Bloating your palate, with, Walking the grievous, yet ravishing the sublime, You inked me with all the times, you, Crystallised yourself with the silhouette of others, Just how a barista demands for the milk, To dance its way into the coffee's life, You inked me with all the times, you, Morphed beautifully when autumns touched you, And flushed everyone in all the tinges that shaped you, You inked me with all the times, you, You were a rain-laden, lone, dark cloud, Efflorescing a flower in me, each time you poured, I came to you with folded edges, and bleeding covers, With blankness in pages, you coloured me up, With the simple, and the difficult, With the together, and the alone, With the Van Gogh, and the Hemingway, With the stories, and the slags, all the same, I came to you with haemorrhaging lines, And you wrote to me, wrote in ...

Drib by drib, all the water ambitiously flowed, Over its head to climactically reach where the world began, Each time the water surges over it, only the rock knew, What seemed like pelting to the world, Were a thankful million different kisses and marks, The Creek left over each minute, To keep the pebbles from echoing its name, And halting its journey, Seldom do people realise the lull sung, Of the gushing water, Is the Creek's love bleeding out on its land, For it knows it's soon to depart to a world untouched, Even better when it rains, for there's, Nothing better than being loved your lover, and, Being haunted by them at the same time, With the constant love, the constant contact, It felt like the Creek's touch yet time and again, Was just another echo of how much it adored the gravel, That helped him with such grace at, Every turn, the mountains were malevolent of their semblance, And while the world saw the fervour of the ...

Hello, everybody! And it's Blogmas Day Five! I had a very quiet day, as it happens. I had a goodly amount of sleep, and spent the entire day with my father, frolicking and laughing - and it was the best day ever! After we returned home, I have also been editing and customising my WordPress blog which I'd started but, sadly, abandoned it for a very long time, as I had this one, as well. My yesterday's conversation wasn't much of one since I quoted the lyrics to some of my all time favourite Gulzar and some other tracks. Since I stopped at wants and needs, and I was in a mood for a bit of fiction. There you go. She peeked from the canyon the inconsistent heights of the books created, and saw him. She adjusted her glasses and yet again, there was a befitting tilt too his amber eyes as he looked for a book. She wondered if he'd pry the tattoos around her ribs in an agnate fashion. He heightened his prying, and her mouth watered from the temptation to taster ...

Hello, everybody! And it's BlogMas Day Four! I had quite the conventional day today, driving around like a taxi-man getting work done. Then, I proceeded onto my friends' flat near the college, to make the site model for our Urban Design - which let me tell you broke my bloody back. You can check on Twitter, I reckon I tweeted a picture of the incomplete state of the model. So, you can check it out there, in case curiosity gets the better of you. It's still incomplete, mind you. My yesterday's conversation was about emotional barter with oneself, and ended about smiling.  For today, I'm going to keep it absolutely simple, and point out some lyrics of my all time favourite songs to you. At night Twisted in a melting fall and sleeping with the scratching claws And your words Let me know you're feeling me and seeing all the things I see दिल की बात न पूछो, दिल तो आता रहेगा, दिल  बहकाता रहा है, दिल बहकाता रहेगा, दिल को तुमने कुछ समझाया होता, ख़ा...

Hello, everybody! And, it's BlogMas Day Three! I had a great, and a slightly eventful day, as it happens. I went to college today to, finally, submit my copies of dissertation. That was the final step, and it' done! It felt good, felt like a load came off. Honestly, having my copies hard bounded and holding them in my hands still felt heavy at some level. But today, they were gone, and it felt like the last insignificantly tiny step to finish all of the dissertation journey happened. Well, I'm glad. My yesterday's conversation ended on about simple things. I'm sure all of us at some point has heard, "Those were simpler, happier times." We really don't let ourselves be a part of our own lives, do we? It's easy to give up, and not love enough or smile enough, or just simply make enough effort. For anything. And it's bloody annoying that I'm stating this again, but, who the hell are we trying to pique? And at what bloody cost? Okay, ...

The goosebumps on his nape had signalled me that he was familiar of my ubiquity in there. I'd witnessed him residing under the same lamp, on the same bulbous and stout pieced wood for years. He had yet another Dan Brown in his hands; his beguiling fingers flirting with the pages still sent spasms through me. It pushed me back to the time when I disintegrated, every vein holding my being liquefying into his. I reeked more of him than me; he reeked more of me than himself.  Trickle by trace, my incandescent breaths over his dank torso, obfuscating my beginning and his end into one. His hands ducking at every curve I curve through, turning me into a corpse of molten flambeau. Never a time when we settled for the two of us being the two. Letting countless mistakes happen, fingers exploring out the closeness of the two being one. Fiery water, boiling ice, spending all of ourselves onto one another. He eyes that pretty across the table. Digging back in his book, resorting to the ...

Twelve flavours Twelve lovers Twelve dates Twelve places  Twelve kisses Twelve beds Twelve breakfasts Twelve flowers Twelve coffees Twelve teas Twelve omelettes Twelve sunny side ups Twelve walks Twelve restaurants Twelve pasts Twelve presents Twelve futures Twelve projects Twelve jobs Twelve cities Twelve foods Twelve eyes Twelve voices Twelve poems Twelve stories Twelve songs Twelve genres Twelve exes Twelve, more to come Twelve t-shirts Twelve shirts Twelve sweaters Twelve bras Twelve blankets Twelve days Twelve nights Twelve weeks Twelve months The past year And the next to come. Therapy. Happier this time,  Ak.

The hard muscled shoulders were broad in keeping with his height, but it was more the overall virility of the man was so disturbing. And attractive. And definitely scary.  She tried to concentrate, she really did, but she was acutely aware of a hard male thigh against hers, the 5 o'clock stubble on his chin, which accentuated his brand of aggressive masculinity tenfold, and, not least, the bigness of him.  And she was startled back to reality as the conductor shouted out the next stop. Luck, it seemed, had never befriended her. *** It wasn't love that brought his entire brood rushing to his bedside. When his estranged wife, three sons - two legitimate, one bastard - and, yes, even his former daughter-in-law dropped everything at his beck and call, it was not out of devotion but rather sheer disbelief that the man who had launched a financial empire and sculpted their own lives might turn out to be a mere mortal like the rest of them. Time, was no more a friend of his....

"You inspire me, Akanksha. Your willpower is your greatest strength." "You always have the choice to make your call. Tolerate all this or walk away." "Babe, there's always a winner and a loser. You know, there's always a pit in which we want to see someone, and then it's you who gets trapped in the pit ultimately. AND, it's you who'll know the way out. So you'll always have to find a way to figure. Don't every be ashamed of falling in love with the wrong person. People aren't ever bad, they're just different." "I'm here. Always. And I'm not going to let you be miserable for anything. It's important for people to understand that you can need them more than they do." "Don't try too hard. It's not always necessary. It'll pass. Everything does." "Don't ever pity yourself. Smile, Pick up your baggage and keep walk...

Overly sweet coffee, and the underestimated bland tea, Broken spines of a book, and fallen leaves of the gingery tree, Boisterous silences, and the straining piano notes, Broken phone networks, and prudently hearted notes, Loquacious senses, and sardonic tongues, Unknown ignorances, and methodical glances, Stolen truths, and concealing lies, Surreptitious smiles, and reluctant cries, Starry nights, and tacitly retired drives, Solitary overhauls, and conjoined cautions, Supervised footsteps, and the agreeable wind chimes, Blistering softness, and the disquieting light, Fleeting sheets, and dented bolsters, Desiccated  throats, and clammily sultry bodies, Unkempt love, and the copious confessions, The incessant denials, and the fate's laughter in your face.  Oh, the inevitability of things. Reminiscent, Ak.  

How different were the two? Like the darkness of a liquor chocolate, Against the dewy cinnamon bagels? Or the roaring of the sea, Against the hidden hushes of an avalanche, How different were their voices? Like the inconsistency of your consistent black coffee, Against the bitter carnality of that cabernet? Or, the squelchy parcel from the rains, Against the velvety pats of snow against your face? How different were their eyes when they looked at you? Like the ones which gleam simply in desire, Against the one screaming out to you in need? Or the way a child clings to his toy, Against a weeping bride holding onto her father's shoulders? How different were their hands? Like the robust hand from the heist of a ravenous man, Against the hands that devour you under the sheets? Or the ones whose touch make you whinge, Against the ones which make you close your eyes in conviction? How different were their seasons? Like the sun's fervour fluxing your cream...

Trying to make sense of it all, How really were eternities in a moment, Walking down the freezing night, Smelling December in the wind,  The fallen leaves ask, The dimming moon doubts, With everything around questionable, Yet unanswered, Fighting the cold,  Stuffing your hands in the years old jacket, Lathered in dust,  And that's how you've liked it, just because, You feel a crunch, You hold on tight to it, And tighter to your heart, Maybe, just maybe, you know what it is, You hope for it, You've been looking for it ever since, again just because, You take it out, glare at it, turn it around, And feel the familiarity of the words warming through you, And you crunch it along the same folds, And put it back, You know now, where your survival trick lies, You know now, felt it again, Eternities in a moment. By Tom French Blues, Ak.