A Voice in the Dark | Shubhodeep Pal

Years later, when these tears have dried with the mist will you even recognise the pain that's floated down the years? Years later, when we walk beneath teary-eyed skies, will you spare a moment and laugh at how dry my eyes look? Years later, when all my love has turned to loss Will you turn to me and whisper that all that anger was love? Follow @diaporesis

People aren't afraid of going through the horrors of hell. Indeed, an inherent, inexplicable streak of masochism makes them welcome pain as a depraved form of pleasure. What scares people is that, after they've been through the fire, nobody will ask them how it was. That there'll be nobody to complain about hell. That nobody will hear their belated screams. That nobody will care that they're still alive. And that, eventually, it might want to make them leap into the flames again. Forever. Follow @diaporesis

Years later, when we walk On these familiar, worn roads Under grey skies and hesitant rain A few drops from the skies will Remind us of the pain of Eager expectation. Years later, Mostly forgotten memories will reawaken You and me from temporary stupor - Our thoughts touching, arms interlinked, - Nascent, tiny pains will seems blurs - Loneliness will stay alone. You and I will lie down some years Later and remember the heady buzz Of separation. And we'll laugh at how we made ourselves Victims of time. Time, you know, Evaporates. Love remains. Forever. Follow @diaporesis

winsome willow leaps in the air an act of faith overdue since the seeds  of its slow time were swept into being. a break in flight it realises the satisfaction in a slow death. the roots leave  their shallow home: sometimes life begins with death. Follow @diaporesis

Sometimes too much of quantity is lost in search of quality. It's that haunted feeling of anticipated loss: Perfection is a terrible, and terrific, illusion. Nevertheless, illusions keep the ego sated. O Perfect Muse, come to me. Now. Follow @diaporesis

the mirror shivers and kicks my dull reflection into deep focus

And so when I go to sleep tonight I'll put my dreams on hold and strip them bare. I'll pull my blanket over my eyes and hope they won't find me. I hope they won't come  and tear my blanket away and leave me shivering in  the music-less night. I'll hope they won't take my belongings and scream with their eyes. I'll hope they won't give me the inevitable blood-draining news: That I'm just a ghost now That my past is dead That nothing belongs to me anymore That I was living in falseness That tomorrow I should take my wife  and children and start living in parking lots. That the millions I invested have crumbled to dust.  That my past was a lie That my present and future are incompatible. That my family will have to  beg to exist. That we have nothing to  call our own. That our private lives have become public objects. That I won't be able to hug my children in a few quiet moments of solitude. That from now on, whenever I have to make love, I'll