I wish I had a way of telling you how much I miss you right now…
I wish I had a way to communicate the feeling that lulling you to sleep did to soothe my nerves…
I wish I had a way of feeling your arms around my neck, eliminating from me these bouts of loneliness,
I wish I could spill to you the enamoured heart and protect you from any emotion that leaks a teardrop from your eye,

I wish I could have you lying beside me hearing my relentless sobs as I bare the demons residing deep in me and still not judge me,

I wish I could caress you in my lap feeling your weight subsiding the one of my lonesomeness,
I wish I could hold your hand and dance the way out of this trance of disappointments,
I wish I had you to bequeath me of my powerlessness,
But wishes don’t come true from hundreds of miles away…
But I still wish I had you to have me bewildered rescuing me from this pool of teardrops!


The Whining

Grazing past my ears, the sounds of wind whisper the whinings of a dark lore, of the voices that have echoed inside of me over the years, making me wither and shiver in pain that now seems familiar. Living a life that might be a dream to many, the pretentious has its own set of struggles. Behind the mask lies the loneliness that few know and even lesser have suffered. Behind this camouflage lies the bare skin of a being, that still lives the nightmares of desolation. Having barely two souls to count on, who will hold me through the storm carrying me away, I feel as accustomed as aggrieved by this state of mine. With having no one to voice these thoughts of mine, all I have is this palette to bleed my words on, words that hardly have any meaning and are as good unwritten as they are when typed. With the security that hardly anyone who should be reading this will get to read this (or maybe a regret; it’s hard to tell), I can bleed raw without staining the clean sheets of a mood of the people I have given my all for.

The wind that’s singing an eerie tune makes me uncomfortable, as if someone is trying to talk to me out of my desolation, but having being accustomed to these unsung emotions, it feels strange, strange to even trust an uncanny emotion that my imagination provides to the winds, uncomfortable to ever open up to someone, talk about the daunting experience that my life has become when a single soul goes to sleep, leaving me alone to my world of loneliness. The words are as good as my tears now, they both have abandoned me as have the humans that were close to me. No reason to believe that I haven’t been at fault, and I being ready to apologize for all of it, provided I get the people I had back in my life, just in exchange for an answer – an answer explaining the part where I faltered. I am no superhuman, I do falter, but leaving me alone isn’t the best solution. Being punished for faults that didn’t even remotely involve me, breaks me down. And it being over six years when this first happened and I happened to loose the  first important set of people to me, I still haven’t come to terms to myself. Maybe change has always been the order of the day, and I lack it’s acceptance, or maybe at times my strength needs to falter to plug the holes in the wall around me. And that’s what I exactly am afraid of, building a wall so high that I, myself am unable to climb out of it and on a little introspection, this phenomenon does explain a lot about my behavior.

Friendship needs trust. New relations need sharing. I having lost enough people already am not ready to lose my guard to trust someone, to share parts of me. Or maybe am too afraid to be judged, which won’t directly affect me but I can’t suffer anymore alienation.


The Palette of Love.

Commencing from the merger of the two hearts, were a diaspora of emotions,

Emotions unfelt, emotions unfathomable and the emotions, that would be his solace in his era of darkness.

Ascending from their friendship, was a bond that’s stronger than all the others that exist anywhere in the universe or the multitude of them, that will last longer than time itself.

Arising from the amalgamation of souls, was a strength, a strength that would keep him riding the infinities of love for the centuries to come.

A description that’s apt to do justice to the relationship we have shared, is a possibility as faint as the sun rising from the west, but to try won’t be an injustice. An open letter to the person to whom I owe, every last breath that I take, to whom I owe the cure that I got to the paralysis of my emotions and to whom I owe, everything I am today. Dates may be be different as will be the words to describe all that I have for you, but trust me none would be suffice the feelings.

Lying in this pool of loneliness that arises without you beside me, is an impatient heart racing towards the time when I will be able to keep you in my arms for a time longer than any either of us have known. A long lasting wait, that I have grown accustomed to is a mind that misses the best part of it, which is seated deep inside you. An emotion as intense as the strength of a supernova, taking over me to leave it all out here and reach out to you and take you in my arms and pause the time at that very moment, so that it’s just the way I like it – Infinite, as is my love for you. Wiser people have said  that eternity and infinity are all but mere deceptions of mind, but they haven’t had you either. You are mine, and occupy all of my mind, you evil little angel.

I love you. Three words that changed my world forever, for the better or the worse I am too careless to judge, but three words that made me yours were also the ones that took my as far away from reality as could be, but who cares? I do, ’cause I miss you and this real world sucks, without you near me whispering into my ears the magic spells to Stupefy and Disarm the harshness of time and the world around me. You’re the patronus, that protects me from the cold and evil death-eaters that dwell in this lonely place, giving chills and taking away all the happiness from me and I wish I could whisper these words into your ears rather than typing it down on this page.

As is this post, a lonely beauty among the dark and grey emotions, so is your love for me, a diamond shining bright among all the darkness that eludes within. You’re the unicorn that gave me the Exilir to continue breathing, while I was dying, I wish I could do enough to thank you, but I have enough time for that.

You’re mine. Forever.

-The Illusionist

The Purples of Loneliness

Swept away in the conundrum of  memories crafted and handpicked to be stored in the pockets of emotions, over the years, dawning over me is a wave of nostalgia. A wave unlike any other that makes me believe that unlike now, I used to have friends. Friends whom I wanted to talk to, who I knew would be the there when I need them the most, but at this moment, all I can say I have is Turmoil. The confusion that the mind makes you believe you face, when you are in the clearest state of your mind – clear enough to show that you are all alone in this world, and all you have with you is a bucketful of memories that will eat you on the inside.

Living in a land that’s as distant from friends as I am close to a collapse, I am killed by the demons of hope. Hope that I might discover a new beginning at the time when we all actually face the end, or as optimistic ones choose to say  – A New Beginning. I used to be optimistic to say the least, but in a place where you are as alone as you can feel with the bustle of the people around you, you are bound to go into this turmoil and give yourself a false spark which is then magically transformed into a true slap on the face of hope, by the people whom I thought were my all, whom I thought would be with me till the end. It’s not that they are unaware, or maybe they choose to be. At a time, when people try to make memories, all I am doing is trying to find one, trying to find one chance to be memorable.

Maybe, I should have realized, that I was a fool, trying to find fragments of the lost relations; simply because there hardly are any left, they were all washed away in the tide of time where MY PEOPLE, the very same set of people I used to measure infinities with, found newer sets of souls maybe, the one’s better than me, the one’s who might not be in a state as miserable as me, might not be as alone as me? Am I right people? Addressed to the very same set of people who I thought would stay.

Enough of this serious shit, lets talk about the funny side of it! I wasn’t involved in any split up in that happened among these people who were like a dream come true for me. Well, on the face I am termed as the best of friends, maybe I did try to be one or maybe I tried a little to much, ’cause in that moment, I lost it all.. lost all the relations  and here I am, while you people enjoy your new set of friends, here I am amidst strange faces, entangled in stranger bonds, weak, feeble, broken and torn – All of the things that don’t define me.  Spoken, I might have about this strange new paranoia of mine, but yeah I am afraid, afraid to be friendly to anyone, afraid to be real, afraid to trust – because I never know when I might have to loose it all, when I might become the worst foe from the best friend.

Friendless – One word to sum up my state for the past few months; No one to talk to, no one to travel with, no one to go out with, no one to share with, no one to see the real me, and now is a seemingly a good time to wave off to each of you, a simple wave off to hope, maybe I might be blamed for trying a little too less, but as of now I wish I could have had friends that I had a couple of years ago, the one’s who actually felt me (or did you?).

Glaucophobia: The Fear of Gray

Amidst the nightmares of shambolic times, do I unlearn the art of loving,
Amidst the darkness of unheard tears, do I bleed my untold lores,
Amidst the madness of a frantic chase, do I loose the reigns of sobering hopes,
Amidst the noise of silent emotions, am I paralyzed by the demons of sober souls.

A blank verse, with a meaning as vague as the meaning of life to me in the current moment; In these moments do I feel the order in the chaos, an indistinct muttering of lonely souls. A soul, that is characterized by the laughter and smiles on its facade and an unending cave of agony lying beneath the false cover. The human that stopped being, the human who just was. Broken into fragments as fine as the grains of sand, do I breathe on the incense of the moments that’s vestige of  the storehouse of memories.

Culminating from deep within, withering with the passage of time, the facade seems to loose its sheen, with the pressure on the inside growing by leaps and bounds every moment that etches its existence in the timeline of this universe. I feel like a star, a star that’s battling the end, beginning to collapse on its own self, consuming all it could find of itself just to burn a little longer, and then collapses enough to blow it all apart, into the most splendid explosion that the universe witnesses.

Its not just the explosion that’s splendid, the most splendid moments appear of the blow-off, with whats left of the star, collecting material together, collapsing on itself again trying to sustain something out of nothing and then is the commencement of a journey that gives rise to the heavens or the monsters, thats where my wondrous mysticism takes me to, it’s where I fear being, the moments after the explosion. Every star explodes but some give rise to stupendous nebulae, while the others withdraw themselves from their surroundings so bad that they live off by feeding on the light and anything that comes their way, the black tormentors of the universe, the black hole.

I am not afraid to end, I am just unsure, unsure as to what will become of the face beneath the mask after loosing its original facade. The bigger the ending, the deadlier the new facade. But do I have a choice? And what if I did have a choice to choose what becomes of me?

Nebula or Black Hole?

Life Giver or Light Eater?

Beauty or Power?

The easier the words, the harder to choose. To many, the choice might be easy, the obvious positive, but when it comes down to beauty or power, I doubt many will remain fixated to their actual choice!

The Struggles with the Black.

Desolate, desperate, broken!

The words that sum up all that’s common to be felt, when expectations deride reality. Hopes battered into corners of desolation, tears are what light the joyride to doom or that’s what all of us want. The wise say not to expect, but expectations are what provide rails to the train of your dreams. Failures are one thing, but when your life sways every night to the tune of the voices in your head, all you can do it moan in agony. Darkness around me is a pale reflection of what I am inside. All but a laptop screen in this chilly room are dark, mocking the hope that light carries.

There are moments, when all you want is a teardrop to trickle down your eyelids, relieving you of the heat that churns up when your emotions battle each other. Sitting in nothing but a tee and a lower, the chills down my spine are triggered more by the broken promises of those Saged Voices, than by an 8 degree Celsius weather. The world seems out of place, as is my life. The emotions have stopped responding to the calls, as have the tears. With a pale skin and even paler set of thoughts, the numbness is all that seems to grow on me, like a parasite, sweeping in it the expectations. The world is all but walls closing on me and all I want is this bleak dream to end. The desperation to end this all and run away from everything is the thought that dominates it all but to the fighter that I like to project myself as, it would be an act of cowardice, a cowardice that I am too coward a being to inflict on myself.

The reasons that trigger these thoughts may not matter, but the fire ablaze in my chest, making it all the more uncomfortable to be seated, and not surrender to the heart-wrenching desire to end this once and for all put an end to all speculations, do. I even doubt, if anyone would notice my absence in this world. These raw words,  are the first thoughts that greet me in the thoughts of turbulence, but being alive and alone, passing the course of these thoughts seems to me a victory in itself.

But am I strong enough  to make it through? Always? Can I trust the spirit that reminds of the people who have been by me always (and those only includes the couple who own me, quite literally -my parents and not a single soul apart from that.)? Can I always trust the strength to persevere and not succumb to it, given my fondness of inflicting my anger on myself? Maybe this line would come as a surprise to those who think they have faced too much, the wrath of their incumbent misfortunes, the wrath of my anger, you’ve only seen been struck by the tip of the iceberg, the base of which crashes on my skin.

Though I’m not the one to be moved by people’s opinions, but they say, “Every cloud has a silver lining” and “Also the night is darkest before the dawn”, but what if there aren’t any clouds, no night and day, but an emptiness, a black space beyond the atmosphere of normalcy? Would there be a dawn or any silver and golden linings too? Or would it be like its been 13.6 Billion years? Cold, dark and unoccupied by anything apart from gigantic meteorites that come now and then in an attempt to hit you.



A Place Among The Stars

Mystical place it is – the night sky, a gigantic canvas painted in the shades of our imagination, a sight that triggers an unfathomable range of emotions to an onlooker – a home for the homeless, a creator’s paradise for a poet, an workplace for an astronomer and a visual treat for the traveler. With its myriad shades, it occurs to me as the reflection of my inner self, with the stars as the various fragments of my personality – as innumerable as they get, the emotions that twirl and twirk with every passing second twinkling as the stars, that appear in the sky at a time of the year and disappear the very next quarter. The hazy milky way dividing the sky into two, is no more different than the contrasting embodiment of thoughts that exists within me at a constant war with my conscience. The very fact that each of the stars is millions of light years away and has a gargantuan size, still playing no more a role than a tiny twinkling dot that an emotion appears to your persona.

Looming deep within the dark are the aphotic secrets, preserved from seeing the light of world, fearing the unknown, termed as dark matter and dark energy for astrophysics but demons in terms of our soul. Everyone has a fear, and that’s where their weakness is obscured. Weakness is a relative term, similar to darkness, indicating of the absence of strength, the strength to dominate your fears. I have my own set of demons, killing a part of me on the inside. It’s the manner in which we face our demons, that decides who we become, a crazyhead born to surpass the limits of normalcy defying the demons inside us; the CROWD that’s afraid of their demons, walking a common path,  sharing the same belief; or the devil itself – a manifestation of its inner demons.

A truly breathtaking view to observe, the night sky is the beauty that we fail to observe in the brightness of day. Flip the coin and the nights translate into the gloomy, hard halves of our lives that all of us at the best try to avoid, anxiously waiting for the bright sunny stretches of daylight in their life. Imagination is what drives beauty, the dark and sullen nights with a billion bright dots, await to be converted into patterns bold and vivid; It all depends on how we treat the fall from grace – a dismay or an opportunity, an opportunity to make things right, an opportunity to rise from the ashes, an opportunity to ignite the fire within us and achieve the unachieved, because no matter what, day will follow the night, light will always fill the darkness creeping in from the narrowest crevices. The routine follows, either be a part of it or be the bright supernova that appears once in centuries and outshines the sun itself because,

Life is but an illusion, and we are the illusionists!