Kislaya Srivastava   (A heart penned down)
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Shadows and lust
Joined 30 November 2016


Shadows and lust
Joined 30 November 2016
6 DEC 2017 AT 22:40

I go down.
You moan loud.
You arch your back
as
I slither my palms 
up your spine.
You call my name 
and ask me to stop, 
but
I kept kissing you.

I climb back up.
You cup my face
and look me in the eye.
You search for something
you don't find, 
and yet,
I kept kissing you.

(Read more in the caption)

-


5 DEC 2017 AT 3:43

रात को सो जाता हूँ मैं अब
बिना तुम्हें याद किए
फिर क्यूं आ जाती हो तुम
सुबह सुबह
मेरे दिल का मातम मनाने?
डर लगता है मुझे,
पता है तुम्हें?

पता तो है,


पर क्या फर्क पड़ता है?

-


1 DEC 2017 AT 2:29

#OnThisDay

2015: You forbid me from making plans for your birthday. You were back in the city; I wasn't.

"I'm in the city. Nobody knows this," you tell me. You tell me what nobody else knew. You had always told me what most others didn't know. I should have kept it at that.

(Short story in the caption.)

-


26 NOV 2017 AT 2:47

My pain
gets buried
in my heart
under the weight of
your pain
and
in your heart
under the weight of
your indifference.

-


22 NOV 2017 AT 1:47

न तुम्हारी बेरुखी से मोहब्बत है
न तुम्हारी मौजूदगी में सुकून

क्या करोगी दूर जा कर ?
क्या करोगी वापस आ कर ?

-


12 NOV 2017 AT 3:46

Your
b r o a d
back
was
n
a
r
r
o
w
enough
for me
to slip off
and die.

-


24 OCT 2017 AT 23:12

Unless it is born out of circumstance.

-


20 OCT 2017 AT 18:41

Essentially,
life is nothing
but
a series
of heartbreaks,
only one
of which
is real.

(Letter in the caption)

-


11 OCT 2017 AT 19:17

As I part ways with you today, the only picture that I'd take away with me would be of you hopping into a bus and grinning ear-to-ear on having found an empty seat. It's bizarre, because I've had so many better ones and so many bitter ones. But I'll take this one with me and keep it forever. Not our aimless rounds of Delhi, not my palm on your head, not the moment we kissed and not the abuse we coped. But this - you, smiling, your teeth sparking through the window pane and the two moles complementing them. I was sad to see that you had become oblivious to my presence after getting on that bus. I was still there waiting to wave a goodbye. You didn't turn around. I didn't get my goodbye. I won't get my goodbye.

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10 OCT 2017 AT 1:39


I'm at a bus stop. It's raining here, so cabs aren't easily available. I'm waiting for a bus that might not arrive either. Just like you. You will never arrive. I'm sure that by now I would have made myself an object of mockery. A creep, perhaps, who cannot take things in the stride. And why shouldn't I be mocked?

Sometimes, I cringe thinking how easily you slipped into another man's arms after slipping out of mine; how your conscience wouldn't have been one bit guilty even after knowing how I felt about you and how your touch had the power to destroy me, which it did. I think about how nonchalantly you would have placed your lips on his without giving even a second of a thought that your taste off mine hadn't waned. And how easily the two of you took off. Even fate didn't have fucks to give.

(Letter in the caption)

-


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