An Incessant Pursuit

Focused on opposite directions, who’d have thought we would ever intertwine still and all we settled, perching on each other’s soul, like the Gulf of Alaska, converging but not merging for we were contradictory yet inseparable opposites. I came to light from behind the closed doors, without caution but with curiosity and purged my heart out, into the glass you held so gently, my need to sense the breeze and run my hands over freedom was satiated and without you proposing to, I was willing to walk down the road with you. You hiked into the dark roads of my city that were waiting to be found crafted countless reveries that wouldn’t escape my memory for an eternity, I am overwhelmed by the sanctity and purity of what love tends to bring thank you, for being the waterfall to my crater. The world is round, the travellers told so so don’t worry if you get lost in this odyssey, we shall always be united under

"I could sense the dreary winter night settling down as my fingers clasped the base of my palm and I immersed into the ghetto of my doubts, again. On nights like these I feel intellectually lazy, morally cynical and emotionally disastrous. And the firmaments of time lead me slowly to a chamber; a chamber deaf of noise and blind of glimmer. When the stains of the ‘what ifs’ eclipse the clouds of my ambition, yet again. Slowly the feeling of discouragement overwhelms, turns me inside out, and I am in no time on the pilgrimage to self-doubt and uncertainties. On nights like these my thoughts slumber on leaves falling and cold winds coming, on fiery sands and sinking ships, while my music is centered at doleful songs. But tonight was different. In that dull, dense night, I could hear someone telling me not to get bogged down in the ‘hows’ again. Somebody out-cried, asking me to be self-confident and remain persistent on the journey set on. It told me about a light that fo

I am writing a book, that would glorify the songs of blue and sing praises of the daily heroic humdrums that I valiantly triumphed through; A book that would lionize the obscure walks I took like the moon walking towards its eclipse and celebrate the pages of remarkable sunsets when no rain could quench the thirst of the somber lips. I am writing a book, that would dedicate odes to the setting sun and to those stranded quests for the hearts of stars at the loss of a loved one; That would not make me feel miserable for the choices I accepted but never made and would put me on a pedestal for that melancholy smile, I so beautifully masquerade. I am writing a book, that would contain tragedies in pages I would want to tear off, but will not for when I look back to the finished stories I would realize that this memoir is mine, and those half-written characters were so paralyzed to have shaped my final plot; That would underline the days when it was scorching

”You are free the moment you decide to be yourself. It is when you decide to be unruffled by their prejudices and don’t let them come your way; when you stand in the light of your own halo and understand that their opinions only belittle them, not you. Freedom is when you get comfortable in your own skin; when you stop modifying yourself to gain their acceptance, and when you understand that people use detrimental attitudes to boost their crippled self-esteem. And so my dear self, stop trying to fit in. Let not the fangs of their opinions bury your true character. You are only losing yourself during this process and affecting your inner peace. Stop doubting the reservoirs of your potential because of their unavailing comments. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to make everyone happy. Sure, you are strongly fenced by your insecurities today and that is probably the reason why you have camouflaged yourself under the skin that is desired by them, not you. The insecuriti

She was all misty and obscure and a touch of being guilty Divorced from her inner self, she had married the outer city The voices beyond the bounds had become eloquent and clear She rummaged wildly for a howling zoo that could cloak her fear. Anesthetizing the lyrics of her head and heart She endured a loss of face; gave her life a stagnant start If only had she not paralyzed the core of her selfhood Did not beleaguer herself to the veiled elixir of the wildwood Brooding in a dark corner, with demure creeping into her face Flowed a constant stream of rhythmic memories of a mellifluous phase Her graceful amiability for self was swiftly unrolling the panorama of mystique A flame of transient scarlet crept in a swift diagonal across her cheek Just when she was becoming cognizant of the imbroglio imbued And was pilgrimaging for a panacea so she could elude The harbingers appeared with an evocative message underlined "you have chosen to close the g

So this friend came to me the other day and accused me of being a paradox. He complained that your scripts talk about being vigorous and iron-willed while you, on the other hand, seem to be feeble and obscure; that you are a contradiction, full of falsehood and you drop lines on the piece of paper that you’re literally not. I let him had it at that while, because I believe I am good at pushing a pencil and am not blessed with the gift of gab. My dear friend, to you I write, I am a meek valiant. I sob at the sofa in the middle of the day, panting and yearning for something far-fetched. I am a miscalculation of theories and sentiments. While I scribble dauntless and lionhearted beliefs, I might be the most timid and reticent human being you have ever met. I am the one who fragmentizes inward and sheds bitter tears in a dark corner, rather than howling back. This ideal, prototypical girl in the back of my mind that I write about and that, in the heart of hearts, I aspire to