Thank you, Typewriter.
Thank you, Typewriter.
“What is love?” He asked.
“I don’t know. Don’t think anyone does. Maybe that’s why its fascinating. Beautiful.
Aren’t we always attracted towards unknown thing?”
“How does it look?”
“Looks fine but it’s not you.” he said.
“Umm maybe I need to find that ‘me’ again.”
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And the to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
– Khalil Jibran
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”, He shrugged nonchalantly.
“Your face reveals more than your words, work on changing that maybe?”, She picked up her coffee mug and left the room without uttering another word.
“You feel distant”, she said.
I’ve never seen a city bleed so openly, so fearlessly…
How can a city be so heartless and tolerant at the same time? How can it take so many lives and bleed endlessly, silently without complaining? The questions made me think of the people who are responsible for turning this land of diversity into a land stained with innocent blood.
‘Why can’t these people leave the city alone and go take care of their own lives? Like you and me, like normal people. Worry about the everyday mess that life is. Maybe about the dramatically rising petrol rates, shortage of electricity, the ups and downs in aloo piyaas kay daam, an annoying neighbor, a wife who wouldn’t stop whining, a flat tyre, a daughter who might be pregnant, a son who’s secretly smoking or a friend who might be dying of cancer?’ I said. And the only reply I got was helpless looks from my family.
I stood up and left the room shutting the door behind me, completely and utterly disgusted by the looks on my family’s faces.
The pity, the grief I’ve always had was all of a sudden replaced by anger. Something more stronger, filled with unknown hatred. Something that lead me to thinking about ways to bring change, for I know that this city needs more than just helpless stares.
I stood still, wrapping my arms around my torso, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and in that moment I heard my heart break. It was a small, pain-filled sound, like crushing a dried flower’s petals.
I saw the world blurring in front of my eyes, looking like those never washed color pallets. A giant mixture of hues, mixing, blurring, fading.
I knew it then. I knew I was sinking.
Sometimes I just feel like giving up, she said. I looked at her, critically. She looked pale and tired, her eyes gave away more than she thought they did.
And you must listen.
Say what you need to say
Ramblings and Writings
A potpourri of my thoughts, rants & genuine journalism, fueled by passion & cups of tea
-where my heart screams, my silence echoes and my words rhyme-
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To My Thoughts
Shams lights, yet it ignites
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Musings of a wandering soul
I usually rant. And gets *coughs* philosophical sometimes.
An idle mind is the devil's workshop
Penn Satire, Since 1899
samosa lover, i make intangible things on the internet