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Midnights of a bruised poet...

There are some nights when i feel really helpless. Like i can't drag this burden of living any further. Hopes, surviving like bamboo sticks on a river, start dwindling . When i close my eyes, i see all blurry. Something in me asks me to leave this battleground and move to safer embraces of peace. But something else persuades me to wake up the next morning, and fight the evils back. Teach them that no matter what may come, I am a woman who was born to win.

But all mornings aren't same. Some mornings i wake up with a tear in my eyes knowing for sure I'd been dreaming of you. That breaks me. That ruins me to know the ironical truth that i have all that i wanted, in my dreams. But you know, that keeps me going too. The craving to see your tired eyes and hold them in mine, like a picture in a camera is what rows me to shores away from this whirlpool called life..


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Death Comes Closer...

When the passion in my veins
becomes the poison in my blood
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I will not shrivel in sudden fear
or dissolve into a mist of a pitiable plight
For even when I die
My words will illuminate lives with it's
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A Morning

It was in that morning.
At the crack of dawn, she rose up from bed unable to bear the inconsequential lying anymore. Sleep had barren her like rain does to a land too devoted in it's sunny rendezvous. She climbed upto the rooftop. The sun was still an infantile globoid of vermillion gracing the dark sky as if it were the parting of an Indian woman's hair. Lights still glowed on aloof distant buildings visible despite the fog. She saw a pigeon bossing around another and ravens that had risen from their slumber to the joy of hovering amidst the clouds. But no sign of human could be traced. No cool winds swept past. No coos or barks or mews were heard save for an isolated crow's melancholic rendition.
As if the world had come to a standstill around her. She stood alone, basking in the glory of the dawn for sometime. And then like nothing at all it came rushing to settle on her like stubborn dust.
In that moment, that day, propped on that makeshift sofa she had designed for …

Déjà Vu

As I look through the black and white scriptures smudged with gibberish, I want to strongly recall when have I been sitting here before smothering dusky sunlight by the window on this bed.
I know some other time too I was looking at my fingernails appearing yellow in the twilight- pale and bland like my life! I know there was another time in the past I was here, immersed in these feelings realising I was trapped in between reality and desires. When was it that this fear had originated- the one I feel simmering like a dirty brown broth, slowly pulling each of my entrails into destruction. It was a time I know, but can't remember. I wonder if it was long long ago that you had left me and this time was only a recurrence of the inevitable- past mingled into present.I wonder; my heart races through the night. I wonder and I can't stop...