I write on my better days


Your bones don’t ache as much as your soul does,

And neither do your words bleed as much as your heart does.

Would you like to hear a story, the one I told you on the night your lamb died?

Or should I just lay here and quietly rock your tears to sleep?

Tell me if you have anything to say.

Tell me if you want me to stay.

I will.

I always have.


A synonym for inner peace.

“Move on, For movement heals.”


111111She raised her gentle brown eyes to meet my cold black ones; smiled her smile and with that she was gone, in the blink of an eye. Her last goodbye already meting into the darkness beyond.

Some people just want to watch the world burn; others let the world watch as they burn themselves. She was the later kind, I guess. Which is better, I still ask myself. Drenching herself in agony brought a certain relief to her. I often wondered how. She never told why. Maybe, it was her way of defying norm, breaking the shackles of freedom, life bound her with. Maybe this was her escapade like she was mine. Maybe.

I tried stopping her. A futile effort, it was; yet earnestly did I beseech, but to no avail. Her resolve strengthened with each word I uttered.

‘Cage this heart of yours dear, do not let it set you on fire’, I had whispered.

‘Fire?’ – she had laughed.

Taking another step towards the edge she had whispered back; ‘I’m already ashes sweetheart.’


‘Do you remember the day I stopped laughing?’

‘Did it rain that day?’

‘No, if only our lives could be as dramatic as the stories you write.’

‘The tales we tell are nothing but a reflection of our own selves, they say.’

‘Like mirrors?’

‘Like mirrors.’





‘Mirrors intrigue me. How could a plain piece of glass reveal so much; the past, present and even the future?’ Her voice trailed off as I walked over to the mirror on the wall before me. I leaned in.

You have been better, the heart hissed.

Don’t dwell anywhere but the present, mind murmured the lesson it was taught ages ago.

It’s a futile effort of the fool, she would say. I wasn’t a fool. I would never be one. But this notion of hers, of knowing the future beforehand was an irresistible one. The mind protested against the improbability of it, the heart pleaded to know how. I took a step back, letting the reflection of past replace the present- A composed look, a waning smile. ‘The only condition dear, is to seek and not to see, it said. Seek what? In a world where sight was norm, ‘insight’ was a rare commodity. Oblivious to its fallacies, indulged into its fantasies, we fall for this world and all that it has to offer. Merging wrong into right, separating sense of conscience from a self of desires; we crave for more- one after the other, till our greed outlasts the thirst- And when chaos finds its way back home, all we can do is pray that at least gravity is there to stop our fall.

I looked up, letting the present take over again- A withered look, a composed smile stared back. I had seen this smile somewhere before; a temporary facade, a pretense to conceal the raging storm inside. Like I said- They reveal a little too much, Mirrors intrigue me.

Et si? –

Grand_Ballroom,_Windsor_Hotel,_Montreal,_QC,_about_1878 (1)

The grand morbier clock in the study chimed the beginning of the feast. It wasn’t just the menus upon menus of assorted delicacies and champagnes that made the invite so irresistible but the charming host himself with his irrevocable promise of the night being the only one of its kind which made the refusal utterly impossible. Standing in the balcony, witnessing the seamless ballgowns flowing in unison with the chords of the resonating motet, He smiled. Nobody would return disappointed from here tonight, nobody but him. Pouring himself a coupe of Moët, he inconspicuously shifted his gaze onto the front entrance. He let his thoughts run- as free as those carved horses in the mahogany door.  Tilting his head to one side he wondered, ‘Et si?’  –

The door was wide open, inviting everyone & anyone with a desire to quench their thirst of cloud-nine. It was however, an altogether a different matter that there were no guests for it to graciously receive anymore; at least not the one, the owner of this classic château was eagerly anticipating. Looking skywards, his gaze met the scintillating chandelier. He was trying to interpret the geometrical patterns made by it on the dome of the roof when the realization hit him. Maybe, people are not supposed to be happy.  Maybe, gratitude is all that is expected of us. Instead of complaining how things didn’t turn out according to the plan, we should be grateful that it didn’t get worse when it could have. He had his answer after all. So close, yet so far apart.

His plans deserved a genuine laugh from him. The music subsided as the morbier chimmed midnight. The feast was over and it was time to bid adieu. Shifting his gaze for one last time on mahogany entrance he reflected on the taste of his Moët; as sweet as his dreams, as bitter as his memories. ‘Et si?’  – The ticking of the antique clock was barely audible over the silence which ensued. Time passed, yet the night lingered on.



He wanted her to die,

So he could write her an elegy.

He put his pen to paper,

As she walked towards the gallows-

Such was his love, such was her naivety.