And when it hurts....who's behind that hurt?
Is it the ones whom you love to the core. You become so sensitive to them that they don't even get to know that how,and to how many pieces you are being shattered. Or is it just you yourself that allows to let each act, each word, travel through you deep inside.

Funny how we end things when we crave for a continuum!

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Cold drops pouring from the skies
Hand in Hand . Soul in Soul.
There's nothing else that meets the eye.
How for certain events time becomes insignificant? And how after some time it becomes so much significant that we would do anything to go back!

Who makes the memories?

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डर है कि साथ न छूट जाए?
डर है कि अकेले न रह जाये?
नही।

डर है कि डर के कही प्रेम करना न भूल जाएं!

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Dear Self,

You can be quite a dreamer at times. It would be nice if it could all play out as it might in a novel, if it's a desire or something else which you have Idealized.
Let me tell you about the real thing.
when it arrives it might not look like what you were expecting at all.

-

~~(HOPE)~~

It blossoms every morning like a Rose!
It kills every night like a thorn.

-

Some of the conversations only take place in the head.
Did anyone wonder,
How real they could be!

-

What's complete and whole, looks so serene!
Just like a family with members dining together.
Just like a night full of peaceful sleep.
Just like a piece of art.Touched.Untouched.
Just like home.

What makes anything or anyone whole?
For I am all pieces now and i can't gather myself.

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I am fine just the way I used to be.
Walking, running, sleeping.
Following up the same routine.
Looking at flowers just the way I used to.
The rain mud that stick to the shoes while walking. The fear of falling, getting your shirts and pants dirty. Fear of people and their conceptions about you. Of evenings spend in laughter about talks that doesn't bear a meaning. Empathizing with people I don't know. The nostalgias I had seeing someone getting happier,meeting the ones they love. I just can't relate to them now.
The colours just don't add up. The mud can stick to the shoes and be the dirt all over . And let them think what they want to. And I can now laugh with no intention of laughing. I am fine. I am fine.
I am fine.... Just not happy.

-

आखिर क्या है वो?
जो हम छोड़ आते है,
उन बातों में,
उन गहरी चन्द मुलाकातों में,
उन हंसती रोती आंखों में,
जो हम तक लौट कर कभी नहीं आ पाता!

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A strange smile. A hideous cry.
A face with roses and thorns inside.
A lame assurance. A bluff so real.
Sceptic, different serve with whatever
you can see on the surface.
The scars that were behind fades in the present.
The pain fades a little later.
How many of the people can we see and can we know?
And how many of the people we know can we understand?

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