The Silence of My Voice

"The world awed at her glory. Admired her for being who she was. Worshipped her for the deeds she did. Funny how all of this would have sounded to be an absurd joke only a few years ago. Because she was the one always standing out of the line, breaking the norms, embracing the unseen. So what if she was alone? So what if her gifted visions were the reason of her melancholia? For what she saw for the truthful was truth, for the sinful was sin. Each time she envisioned something, it would keep taking a piece of her. One little bite of cheese each time. But that little girl, she took the biggest part of them all. She cut her into half - half enough, to never be completed again by anyone. And she still stood there, with her eyes transfixed, each time searching for her, because it was only her she saw among everyone else, because if it weren't for her, she never had been here. Casting her own spells, she waved away the world. 'Cause God knew, she wasn't a mystery made to ...

"Through all the adversities, I saw the light, Blinding me with truth, Dancing around my eyes, Like a paradigm broadway, Because sometimes, Only sometimes, you witness, Something so surreal, Yet feeling utterly real. Corroborating its existence,  Every night, Was the only excuse to be together with them, Finding refuge in its silence, I lay atop my car, Each night, Glaring at the enormous luminaries.  I'll remember the next time, To get that bottle of wine, Which bequeaths me with the same inebriation, That my fondness for you does.  Again a part of  Kanika 's  Astonishing August . Later, peeps.  Unfeeling, Ak. 

"Everyone is a prisoner of their own mystery. Mysteries that absorb them, like a summer day's sun. Mysteries they can't conclude. Mysteries that run in a loop of oddity. Mysteries that'll consume your every chance to set free. Mysteries that rise over your back, upon your shoulders and matures like a kid - a kid who snubs to fly away. Your mysteries that tickle my fantasy. Mysteries I feed off of. Mysteries that pry me to continue looking for new mysteries everyday. Mysteries I use to fill the void. Mysteries that left a mark. Mysteries that draw the map to my daily undetermined life. You made me a prisoner to your mysteries.  Everyone is a prisoner of their own mystery. Mysteries that absorb them, like a summer day's sun." Part of  Kanika 's  Astonishing August , again. So college finally decides to upon a reopening date. Wednesday. No extra week. Right. Be back sooner.  Finally resting, Ak.

"Revelling in the resonance of gushing wind through his ears, he stood at the city's brow, yet again, second time in a decade. As the effusion gradually numbed his mind, his ear still hammered from the noises of yesterday, "Magic, is only your imagination. But what you choose to do with that imagination is up to you." He sometimes wished his imagination had a lot more power than he could muster out of it. Uncoiling his brains, sorting each memory into their worthy cabinets, he plucked his favourite one which had grown completely ripe, protected in the heat of his helixes. His sister smiling at him as she lit the very first candles of the refugee camp. He remembered her being very, very positive. Sometimes he felt that the light in her eyes provided for the hope missing in the people. Leading him to believe in the whites, she taught him the appreciation of the obscurity, as well.  He opened his eyes, holding in his hand the power of his imagination, looking to...