Unspoken

Words left unspoken. The thoughts of love, forever lost and pain proliferating; paving its way into the depths of my soul. The world around; a standstill. Myself being the only witness to the agonies, soul burning in the deepest depths of brutal beatings. The edge nowhere to be seen and I find myself in the... Continue Reading →

Advertisements

Caged.

      The number stayed the same but an addition and a loss of one kept going on, but those eyes never left the hunger of knowing what freedom tasted like.                                              ... Continue Reading →

Solitude.

In hours of pure silence; the darkness that resides within, comes out to slink unenclosed. It gambols upon the rocky abyss of my soul and mocks the myriad images which bear witness to my adversity. Working through the hours of solitude, indelibly resides itself within the deepest corners of my quiddity.  Leaping above the quivering... Continue Reading →

In love.

She was always in love with the moon. Maybe it was because it made her realize that no matter how many scars you have, you can still shine brightly amidst the never-ending darkness. 

Mcleodganj.

Mcleodganj, Himachal Pradesh, India. Mcleodganj is a suburb of Dharamshala in Kangra district of Himachal Pradesh. A place which is popularly known as "Little Lhasa" because of its large population of Tibetans. The winds and streets of this town are filled with peace and tranquillity. Serenity wafts amidst the valleys; the winding roads surrounded by... Continue Reading →

Forever. 

Who are we to use forever when we ourselves are ticking bombs of death. For every breath we take, we come closer to an even more transient self. So forever seems to be a huge word for a mortal, the word carrying a fervent significance nevertheless. 

Moving on.

Leaving people behind is one thing we all find hard to endure. But we always forget, once the pain is over and once we have dealt with it strongly, we can always move ahead without a single drop of tear for it changes us. And well good memories never die, do they? We eventually learn to... Continue Reading →

Textures.

Textures, made out of long hours of work, purity, accuracy, imagination. It holds within itself the sole dream of a person long gone in the wind. The hours of hard work of a person who probably died halfway through the work ; eyes filled with dreams of seeing it complete. The art that makes each... Continue Reading →

WordPress.com.

Up ↑