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I’m sitting alone inside my head and wondering best how to utilise the free time that I have. A voice at the farthest corner keeps whispering that I’m doing it all wrong. I hear the dying whispers and ignore it. I know it speaks the truth and the truth is what I fear. As little as an hour ago I read a little something on my Facebook page. I’m certain that it’s just a parable that’s going around…

My will to push myBoundry is slowly dying.I only desire to lie backAnd be one more additive,A catalyst, to anEquation I no longerUnderstand. My arms are heavy withThe load I’ve drawn andLifted. My muscles are taut andThick,But without intent.My gaze, Intelligent,But without hope. A loaded dice rolledA Thirty something whileI argued about myChildhood’s faults. When the LordDecided to…

From morning freshnessTo the sleepy nights,From the angsty teenTo the old and wise. It took its timeTo reach the end,It went through Knells and bogs and glades and glens. From naughty and young asThe lovers lived,From the seriousPains that the ages built. All to the end the wearyTravellers rests,At last at Home withTheir beloved best. The tears brought joyWhile the smiles hid pain,The moon…

Gasping for breath,I Thrash aroundTo stay afloat. Within this dilemmaOf broken thoughtsAnd bent wills, My dying body is theDichotomy of nature’sReason to kill andTo breed. My flailing arms, myBubbled breathing andMy aching joints are witness To the need of theGoddess of wilderness toFeed its hungry souls. The strength of myArms, the extent of myLungs to draw breathAnd the will of…

I took a walk to clear my head. I told myself that I needed airTo make me think straight. It took me a quarter of anHour to walk the circuitThat enclosed my regularArea of work. I walked around the smallMilk bar (where I write thisFrom), a mosque (which I’ve neverPatronised), the sole stationery Store in the area (which was weird, asThere were 2 schools and a collegeAt a 10 minute’s walk) and…

I beg to be released, To be let out; The shackles hold me close, And they hold me dear.

I need assistance to Escape the hell I’ve Woven for my boredom.

But the thick blanket Of self-deprecating Humour Prevents help from Reaching on time.

And the cycle resets Itself asd runs the agony Of my solitude again.

Magnifying the  Faults, The drawbacks And my incessant Whinings.

I tell all of those Who…

Scratch.

Cancel.

Change.

For every word there is, A better one is hidden.

A feeling as  potent as pure; To attempt a coup Is inviting farce.

The nib scratches out A word, Then cancels the Entire line, Giving up.

Tears well up, Then run dry. What once was loved, Now lies unused.

My pen scrambles away Again; Escaping my frustration are the Little words that don’t Really say what I mean.

But that’s…

I list items down, and then manually Alphabetise them.

Not convinced, I filter them again.

This time based On length.

I sigh.

Content with what I achieved as I Sat and laboured through

14 items; 3 starting  with an S And 2 with W’s.

My therapist asked me to  ‘Count my achievements And to bask in it’s Glory’.

One step at a time, She said.

I pick up my phone And decide whom to Share this happiness…

I hate conversations; If I’m expected To be an active Participant.

Conversations in Elevators. Especially elevators.

Enclosed within The confines, the Claustrophobia, The weak smiles, The soft salaams, The awkwardness.

I fake phone calls If I reach the Elevator and see Someone else Waiting for it.

I have even learnt By rote, the number And the length of pauses To make it seem Genuine.

Not only…

Go on…

I begin with a promise To myself, And to you in turn. I will not pace myself With fiction. I would not lie to you, And would not distance Myself from your Disdain and Distrust. My pen flows freely, Without spurts and Without breaking My prose’s stride. It’s easy, for my prose Lacks character. It breaks down at the First sign Of interrogation. It refuses tests based On truth or lies, Tangential or…

Rehan, It did take an inordinate time to reach me. I’m writing this as soon as I have received the letter and am hoping to catch the second clearing today itself. Divya is doing well. The past few weeks have been lighter on our hearts and I can see subtle changes that bode well for her and her daughter. Jr. and Jia have almost resumed their daily ramblings in the nearby parks and are lost in…

Read the first Part here. I sat for a long time on that bench and chewed a bit of tobacco to simply stop myself doing something more drastic and obvious. Like, maybe, something that would kill me quicker. I shouldn’t’ve been afraid though. That bumbling idiot, Khurshid had always taken care of his end of the business and there was absolutely no one on the platform. Not that physical presence was…

So…

So… The past two weeks have proven to be something of a throwback to my school days. It says something about the experience because I Hate, yes, the caps are intentional, using the word “throwback”; just like I hate using words like “scrumptious” or hearing words like “the-script-demanded-it”. Anyway, I spent the week before last writing assignments for my Master degree and I was pleasantly…

Ayesha, I know you didn’t sign up for this. No one did. It really is unfair to you, and I know it. I know you deserve better. I wish I could take all the loose strands of my life and tie them all together into a merry journey. I can’t. I am aware of the pain and disillusionment that you’re going through now; living with knowledge that arrives two weeks too late will always gnaw upon a person. If…

Tears marked the trail Upon which we walked. Your every slip, Your every skip; Learnt by rote And washed in salt. They slipped around Bends, And scampered under Boughs; They tripped over  brambles And swept away your Treads. And, yet, keeping Them afresh In the very swirl And swoon of the  Waves. For waves and torrents Are now a measure Of loss and repentance. A smaller measure can Never hold…

Interview with a Writer – Part Two

*** Continued from Part One*** The first interview post was regarding Cheryl’s blog and how she manages to keep up the tempo with her writing and sketching. This one, here, is closer to my heart because in this one I am more of a fellow writer and less of a fan boy. In the last post, I touched upon her multi-universes and how I go gaga over it. In this one here I have tried delving a little…

Interview with a Writer – Part One

I have been at this for a long long time. I owe Cheryl an apology for sitting on this. I sat on this for so long that I’m sure she began doubting if I’ll ever get to the day when I actually post this. A little more than a year ago I contacted her on her Facebook to ask he if she would be willing to share her skills and ways-and-means of her writing capabilities. And to my surprise, she agreed.…