Anuish

The thing about journaling is you can never really be completely honest about what you're writing. You're always scared someone is lurking around your pages. You're too afraid of people knowing your secrets even when you don't have any. Everything you write is what you feel, what you experience, and there's no guaranteeing that everyone who reads it gets the same idea. It is like what Atticus said in the Harper Lee novel, To Kill A Mockingbird, "You never really knew a man until you stood in his shoes and walked around in them."  But we still write, don't we? We write everything. Every major and minor detail. 'cause years later, when we see them lying somewhere in the dusty corners of our rooms, we open it, and with it, the gateways to our past. We find pages where the ink's fogged with our tears. We see how our handwritings slipped when we described a happy incident. We go through everything and remember all the things that we forgot, or somet...

 My eyes are no longer kind. They lie. They let in light, enough light and so I see what's inside me  and what surrounds me. But not a fraction more.. for it would impair my vision it would burn my heart the ashes of which  would nurture my dark soul. My tears tears of deceit  water the deadly roots of my empty brain and lets it grow until it engulfs my very spirit and I cease to exist. I look around the world and wonder if any of it if any of those eyes are different  from mine.  All eyes lie. - On writing, I forget and the world remembers. https://link.medium.com/HPgFk5Jd8qb

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Isn't it lovely how certain things remind you of an old time, an old place? I am on my bed. I look outside my window, I stare into the vast, infinite, indefinite sky, that is my mind. It is starred with every single one of my thoughts. Or should I say, scarred?  Amidst all the darkness, I see an airplane. It takes me back to an old time as it passes by. I remember looking at airplanes from outside my cousin's window at Pune. Planes flying over ten thousands of flats. The night sky spread before me, like my life; filled with possibilities and opportunities. The warmth of being surrounded by loved ones and the stars reminding me of the ones I lost on the way. The gratefulness I feel in having a home, a bed to be comfy in, a family to tuck me in and God to lead me on. The planes now fly over my home. The night sky still spread before me with everything life has to offer. The fear of an unknown tomorrow, tingling my spine.  How far have I come? How much have I grown in three years...

I hear her voice So profound  So bewitching  I step out Out of my cave into the wilderness. I am far Far from home. I see her stare Her eyes into mine A gaze so strong My eyes burn The air, ablaze of toxic fumes But what does it matter?  For I am far Far from home.    Her heart’s a hole Once broken, Now hollow Devoid of hope Of anything that persists She begs for death Pleads for mercy Her scars bleed of venom The venom you stung her with.  She sings: How do I escape a heart that keeps wallowing in the filth of a petrifying past? as though she’d read my mind as though my brain was speaking Amidst the dilemma I recognize her She is me I am her I caress her hair  Her long, luscious hair I take her in my arms. With the warmth of an embracement, I find her  Filling in the emptiness Feeding me joy,  and faith Until she transformed Into what she truly was- Hope.  I now sing: that even in the darkest of nights,  There always is a star A st...

The senile street poles that speak of silver light, sparkling on me, like the magical creatures that flash through my eyes greeting me in my dreams.. The shadows cast on the road, telling me I'm not the only one left behind.  The smiling constellation making me wish for a shooting star.  The old lonesome tree with its weeping leaves held together by its brave branches assuring me I'm not alone. The meandering tone of a familiar song causing quiver to my bones. The baby plant enclosing my heart in its bushiness.. The rustling sand struggling to breathe under the tyres of a ferocious modern bus, spilling out dust, sinking into a pool of glitter on a pavement, spelling love.  A young girl sitting beside a pale, glass window, staring into the night, her mind clicking pictures of little things, her brain making notes of each and every moment as it passes by, her pupils refusing to meet any other soul..  The wind splashing her hair through her face, begging her not to leav...

 कैसे भूल जाते है हम.. वो लफ्ज़,  जिसने हमे मासूमियत सिखाई है। वो चहरा,  जिनसे हम सच्चाई समझते है। रंगीला बचपन जाने कौन ले गया.. हसरती,चमकती जवानी जाने क्यू रुला दिया..  हर एक वादा हर एक वृत जिनसे रिश्ते पलते थे जाने कब छूट गया..  कैसे भूल जाते है हम?  ज़िन्दगी छोटी है। क्यू भूल जाते है हम?  एक ही तो ज़िन्दगी है! न तेरे लिए रुकती है,  न मेरे लिए... सपनों की सीढ़िया चढ़कर,  बुराई जलाकर,  परायों को अपनाकर,  चलो, चलते है उस पहाड़ी की ओर जहा सब एक हो और एक रब हो॥