Let's not fall in love

Let's not fall in love because we want to,
Let's spend time telling each other how beautiful we are together
Let's not just fall in love because we are both fading in the damp of loneliness
Let's just hold hands and sit under a tree looking at the autumn leaves fall and mince splendorlessly
Let's hold each other and feel the ecstasy we'd been craving for in the death of our nights.
Let's cry our souls to puddles of misery when walls become deaf.
Let's not fall in love
Let me become yours
Let me make you mine.

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Inferno

It's only now that I realise, Decades of mourning will cease no cries. Love and disaster sewn in one, The eternal inferno I was destined to burn. Damaged was I, maybe a little more now Revived regrets into piles, and how! Like dead petunias on the sea afloat, Like blandness of a solitary piano note, I fell apart from the world to endure, The burden of a soul, impure.

'Shree'-rendipity

Most people that I have met in life have found my name intriguing, enigmatic or colloquially what you call a 'jaw-breaker'. Therefore, much to my dissent, my name got conveniently shortened to 'Shreya' or 'Shrey'. It irked me majorly because 'Shreya' is also a different name within the Bengali culture. It felt like an imposition of a person or personality that I were not. Over a period of time overstimulation forced me to accept the fait accompli until, a friend started using the word 'Shree' to address me affectionately. Intuitively, effortlessly and organically I felt like my personality fell in perfect symphony with being called 'Shree', so much so that, subconsciously, I also had started to address myself as 'Shree' soon afterwards. Needless to say, the shift in cultural paradigm as I immigrated from India to USA was vast and diverse. Surprisingly however, it made me cling on desperately to the vestiges of my roots and identi...

The Great Fig Tree

It's only in these wee hours of the night,when the city rests. It's only when the nights are so horrifying that I can no more convince myself to persevere. I am a happy woman otherwise. It's rare that you don't find me break out into fits of laughter at mundane jokes and grope my aching belly soon after I am like that great fig tree with the vibrant aura of victory against autumn. So fresh and lively. The tree who has submitted her life to the virtue of kindness.That who apparently knows of nothing but joy. It's baffling how never ever could a living being fathom what demons she hides between layers of skin that accumulate to harden into the bark over the years of struggle between life and death. The tree that has faced all the winds slash through her soul up till this moment. But the thought of storms scare her now. She is all but happy. A plethora of melancholic clouds have drenched her to the skin over time. You say, "Too bad. Sorrow will dilapidate he...

Whispers To The Oblivion ...

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