My Story

Some people believe in dreams, in wishes, in unconditional love or in love with the first sight. I used to be one of those people. I used to live in a world full of magic a world that none can possibly hurt me. A world completely safe for me and my heart. I was a dreamer and none or nothing could take away my dreams. I was perfectly happy and safe. I was keeping my distance from everyone. I was building huge walls around me so none can come and get me from my world, reality, safety and then suddenly you showed up. You brought confusion in my life. But it was a sweet confusion. We were having good time together. I shared my dreams, my hopes with you. And little by little you took everything from me. I didn’t get it because I was blindly I was in love with you that I never knew when did we turn soulmates who were just inseparable. I was so foolish that for a while I actually believed that you love me. I thought that you were feeling the same way I did. No, that was another dream of my imagination or maybe a nightmare. I woke up and none was there next to me. You disappeared. I can’t sleep; I can’t dream I can’t hope. I lost my way, I lost my soulmate. I am in my cold dark room. Once again I cannot breath. My pretty happy world fell apart. I am faking a smile, a laugh to my friends so they can think that I’m fine, I’m empty. I loved you more than you deserve so you hurt me more than I can stand. How can I ever love again? You have the whole me. My wounds are so real. When are they going to heal? Will they? I’ve tried so hard to realize that you’re gone. That you will never come back again and that I have to move on. But unfortunately I’m a terrible liar. You have all of me and I’m empty inside. The dark and the black is my personality now.

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The birds

We are the love birds, but in a cage.
We long to broaden our wings in the distance and take to the air till its midnight.
We extend to sense breeze of the winds caressing our wings, comforting our souls, dancing among the clouds.
We desire to recoup our birth right of freedom and spread love to all
Finding safe haven in the rains, we dream to live a life without chains, even if it means to be beaten of our lives,
But all we can do is long, for as we are just birds, love birds in a cage.

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PEN

I stood in the darkest corner of her enormous room, alone, with no one to talk to or even write to. And there she was with her new friend, unaware of my dejected feelings and hopeless state. But this is not me…This was never me! Nor was this the life I had imagined! Let me take you a few months back…

I was a pen, red and shiny but had always written in royal blue. I was the gift from her dad on her fifteenth birthday. She used to be fond of me and used to take me everywhere, through people, places and events … I had travelled so much, through pages and pages of the feelings that lay inside her, through her writing. She used to call me her “Lucky Pen”.

But one day, I remember her writing … writing harsh on the roughest paper I had experienced. She was crying and I could feel her tears on me. It was sad to know that she had lost her dad because I knew she loved him the most. But then, the most horrible thing happened when she accidentally put me down and dented my nib. That hurt! “Oh No!” she wept and cried even more. I wanted to console her, write “I’m OK! Really!” on the sheet of paper she had in front of her. But Alas I couldn’t because even though they call us mightier than the sword, neither can we stand on our own nor can we express what we feel. We can articulate what our owners feel or what they want but not about our own selves. So that was the last of her I had known! That was the last of Us!

I enjoyed running over the soft and smooth pages of her diary, telling about all what she felt … made me cry sometimes, reading what she wrote. And that’s why I bled, and she went berserk at that because bleed is what good pens aren’t supposed to do, only if she understood why I bled!

I loved being with her. “Lucky Pen” she used to call me and I was proud of that status.

I am on the wait now for her to pick me up and give me some exercise. I miss reading into her mind. I miss being the first person to know what she felt. I miss her. She never even comes to me these days. I see her fingers flying over the black and white keys with her eyes fixed on the white flickering screen. I see they are her friends now and I am neglected. Although they print well what she says and thinks but they will never smell her hand nor will ever see her beautiful handwriting. They will never bleed for her nor will they think or cry for her …

I stay in her pen stand, waiting to be taken in her fingers again, drink in ink once more and spill it all out for her … but I guess I will have to stay like this and wait in vain for the rest of my life!

Pen!

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Those old walls

Sitting on the brick panel I think about how the winds of time have worn the house, sweeping away vibrancy that once delimited it, those empty chairs at the table are gone on the spot.  After the turmoil, the unvarying locomotion and time grinds to a close down. Oh what grand treasures were woven in these walls – every scratch, every crack had a great story. Oh great house, Oh great kingdom upon a time once. Crumbled, held uphill by winds of reminiscence, a rational convection, a watched pot that never boils which is now a memory that never fades.

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My Fantasy, My love story

I was never successful in relationships, no one ever loved me seriously and I now nearly find it impossible to get married. For me my life is a party without anyone to party with. I am twisted by life but love brings smile. I have always loved the idea of being in love, having someone who would make me feel stunning evermore. My idea of love used to be like a movie where two people meet, but don’t know they love each other and one fine day the sweet reality dawns upon them. I have an imaginary love story, where everything is perfect. To love someone so much that all that matters to you is being around him, no questions asked and most important no conditions made. My imaginary love story is usually the reason why I sometimes can’t help but accept as true in “may be”, when the sky within is clear and it’s bright in my heart. To have someone to say goodnight is not a big compact, but to have someone who wants you in twinge more than in smiles is what matters. At least my made-up love is like that! I am in love with the idea of being in love and a dream of having a love story and the fact that my life is like a car driving a super fast car in the opposite lane but it doesn’t stop me from imagining a love story I wished, but could never have. They say you can’t live a fairy tale, so who stopped you from dreaming of it.

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To my haters

Sometimes I think people just ought not to have us, because they cannot grip such a high level of pledge and altruism. Because they know they cannot match it and hence they imagine ignoring it. But somewhere, even they know that with each passing day they are becoming smaller and smaller. They cannot accept it, but they cannot ignore it, either. And then they chose to ignore the people who make them feel bitter about themselves. The best way could be to remove the animosity and become the one they fear of. But that requires a high amount of bravery and the highest amount of selflessness; and the path is certainly not easy. So, they choose the easier one. They stop looking at the people, they know, they can never turn into.

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