THAT WHICH GOES UNSAID...

Walk bare foot In a park. Have tea. Try different types. Green, Red And of course white. Morning paper, watered plants. Sticky notes. Neatly arranged. One crooked. Hum Songs. Long showers. Movies. That make you cry. Memories. That make you smile. And be sad.. a little. Piano lessons. Someday. Own Studio. Colour all over. Diaries… some pain. Write letters. Books, Wednesday evenings. Pastry, Sunday afternoons. Solo breakfast.. Saturday morning. Rains and window stares. Transparent cups and tea leaves Floating. Slow pop. Dance alone. Love. Kiss. Love till the other loves. Love when they leave. But don’t hold on. Believe. Call over friends. Read them stories. And serve them tea. Some cookies. Write. Pack your bags, travel. Near. Far. Within. Without. Solo. With people. Love. Hate. But never show. Cigarettes when you write. Write. Write. Write.

to exist             without acknowledging what existed                           love without being loved back                                  to behave that there is no wound

our lives are but recurrences of our memories and our memories are the future of thoughts and events and touches that we refuse to let go. that we refuse to bury under a heap of dirt. And even if we do, we plant a sapling. We say we know it's not gonna live.. but we water it every day.. and we are wary of the birds that pluck at it. We are wary of strangers that might trample it... And when on a sunny morning, a yellow flower blooms we relive the pain of what was buried.

In those days when we were in the process of breaking everything that we had built together: of deconstructing each line we had carefully woven into poems, of whitewashing the walls where pictures of roads had been painted, you had given me a diary, along with your whims. What made you choose that diary I wonder. Was it that I wrote profusely and I could write anything that I wanted? Or Was it that you knew that the end was near And you wanted me to drain myself of you into those pages? I never would know what could have been, Had I held on to you as you did... Maybe our tortured souls wouldn't have made into these pages...maybe the blood of our souls that stains our hands, would have throbbed our hearts, as we grasped each other tight.

The wars have been waged. A bomb fell the other day on my rooftop. Nothing much was destroyed, except the flower pot that bore the last rose of the season, and of course the room beneath it. Why did I say nothing was destroyed?? A room, a big room was grounded to dust. As I stood in front of that half shell of a room, I saw how little I had sufficed myself with. There was a bed, few clothes, a water jar and a series of empty shelfs. Except one. Where I kept all the love letters given to me by all my past lovers. and all the letters that I could have posted to one of them. And I value both. They didn't let me take the letters."You better forget those letters and them. Run for your life." I turned to go back. Some rose petals lay scattered. The last of the season. The last you planted for me. Amidst the dust.

Let me for the first time,lay in your absence in an empty bed, trying to fully process your loss.Let me for the first time accept that i had fallen in love with you.That said,a silence falls upon my heart.'Cause i have never quite owed up to loving someone as easily as   i did about you. And never quite have been misjudged for it. i couldn't bring myself to hate you. i lay sometimes in between the areas of love and not so love.Maybe you can call it hate. And i am in a proces of deleting the hate to see how much i had loved you. i am surprised by it. Kindering an emotion so strong in my broken soul must have taken some magic. Unravelling, for me was never an easy task.   Surrendering, could have been an option but i have been hurt too many times & in too many places, hating too many people in the process. and when i remove those hatred, i see you in a different light. Naive and as keen as me to receive love. But then what went wrong? Another  world could ha

You know what is the saddest thing in the world?? The saddest thing in the world is to die alone. To not being able to say the last goodbye before you leave this world. Forever. To Someone. To not being able to say, it was such a good life. I had a broken heart once or twice... broke one or two. I had my share of winnings and mostly losses. I had my best sunny days and gloomy rainy days. It had been such a lively life. It has happened so may times that you went away from a person-- In anger, in rage. And never turned back to look into their eyes. You never know when it is the last goodbye. Always hoping- I should have gone back.. Never going back. You never know when it is the last meeting. I had this friend of mine in school--who knew all I was. I knew all she was. We shared our secrets and benches and crushes and clothes. She was a Ricky Ponting fan, and I was  Brett Lee fan And together we cheered for Australia in cricket matches. She liked pink, I liked bl