Tuesday, 24 February 2015


An assortment of bottles,

A pot of well brewed Chai.

Long stemmed glasses,

And a dainty little tea cup.

Filled to their brims,

And then refilled, again.

They sipped at their addictions

And he drank in her sight.


Thursday, 5 February 2015

Dying Night, Broken Sighs.

It was only in the very last wee hour of the morning that slumber began to even tingle her senses. It drew her out of her reckless stupor and begged to be not cast aside, like an innocent yet irritating child, it tugged on her sleeve until she finally looked up from staring at the blank screen, where a sole tiny vertical line blinked with no words on either side of it.

She drank in her surroundings; the many sheets of paper with scribbles lying on her left, and the three mismatched cups lined alongside her right, each with a similar rim of brown liquid floating at the bottom. The ear phones lay abandoned, a little far away, faint music still escaping the tiny holes that adorned it. The laptop sat in her lap, waiting, the screen flickering back to life after every fifteen minutes as she swiped her finger impatiently on the mouse pad.

As the light started filtering outside, past the dark curtains of the night, and the stars stayed on for only a few eyes, her fingers flicked. Words poured out of her as her hands flew gracefully over the keys, knowing where to press; as if they had reached a familiar place, as if they had reached home. And her eyes fixated to the screen, watched on as the word after words materialized, marking the blank space. The silence, now replaced by the excited and impatient click of the keys, applauded in the seldom silence of the symphonies of the typed words.

While the sun began to rise, the colors of dawn began to cascade upon God’s canvas and the stars began to hide for the day, she typed away. She stared at the screen, the silence had been broken, and words had paved their way once again. She smiled out of sheer bliss, looked up at the sky, as the last of the stars faded away.