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This is how it happens...

A strange silence drowned her nights and burned her days. It was a silence she had never heard before, touched before. It smelt almost like fear, but not quite so musty. This made her fear it even more than fear. She sat still in the darkest corner because it was the most obvious thing to do. Moreover, it was the only thing she could do. Darkness shrouded her like wasted memory. She wallowed in it with the pleasure of a person who’s sure to die. Then, all of a sudden, she did something she had never done before— she started thinking. It’s something normal people never do until they’re alone. She was normal, so she had never considered thinking for herself. That was partly because it’s never polite to think in company; one must always let the company think for everyone. The other part of the reason she did not know. But she knew that it existed. So now that she was alone, she could think; and so she did. She thought because she had nothing better to do. No parties to attend, no se...

Flying Kites

The boy jumps up the stairs, Two at a time, intent on Getting to the roof in less then Five seconds—the remaining Fifty-five to be used 'constructively'... He reaches the roof in record time— Just over four seconds! Panting ever so slightly, Puts his kite on the granular floor, attaches the new, super-sharp kite-string— a wealth acquired for a little less than five rupees. Satisfied with the strength of The string, having Determined the flow of The breeze, he jumps to his feet And puts the kite in the air-- applying just the right amount of Jerks required to catch the wind. Now an expert, having learnt This ‘art’ last summer, Having practiced dexterously In all kinds of winds, Now manages to fly Even in still air. He maneuvers the kite proficiently, Changing its trajectory deftly, At the least sign of ‘danger’… He brings down thirteen kites before losing his own in a hard-fought battle with the fourteenth. This ritual is repeated Ardently over the next few Weeks, till Rakhi app...

Decaying...

What if age reverses its steps, and reduces you to a mass of grey?

Self-Destruction

A dull, red pain Oozing out slowly from a Forgotten wound

Untitled Haiku

Black water In the lake today Smells like death