‚ÄčTurning back the clock, bleary of light, 
Chaos, by the fire, the heart craves home tonight. 


A half knitted dream.

Picture credits : Pinterest 

The shifting play of light and shadow, driving past the deserted streets. The downpour of heavy rain, igniting the fervent flow of undoused flame. 

She stole a glance of him and met his sweet chocolate gaze, a smile touched the corners of his mouth, bringing back a fimiliar fire in her heart, telling her dreams had begun again. 

His eyes fixed on the road ahead, their minds on the “remember when” s, unvoiced feelings filling the heat of the chilly night, warmth of their skin brushing past by. 

Darker stories followed the lighter tales, making her feel at home in the middle of nowhere,their entangled fingers filled her with what she craved since forever and a day. 

Oh how those shattered pieces that she lay bare infront of him, cut her when the night had ended and with that, the half knitted dream. And oh how deftly she hid the agony of leaving it all behind, swirling her skirt around and disappearing into the absoluteness. 

To the ones it doesn’t happen for. 

Not meant to be

Picture : Pinterest

I put my hand on the couch between us, waiting for you to sluggishly brush your hand against mine, for me to turn beetroot by the intentions of your lazy contagious smile. I look over to you, too engrossed in the story on screen than in our own colorless ballad, that I could feel you slipping away form our delightful ditty and that I have ceased to be your only felicity. 

And it was a sore awakening that our hearts no longer skip beats together and that time has had its way even in our ‘come what may’. 

People give up when the lullaby ends. And so many unfulfilled dreams frizzle out. When the sparks die out, stories break off, feelings ebb away and the memories made often remain off the beaten path. And its tragic how so many ‘happily ever after’s come down to this. 

Stand with her (2)

This photograph was created by my talented friends Rick Choudhury,  Jennifer Mazumder and Aryakii Alomyan. 
Isolated and cursed by the ones who bring her to the world, 

Beaten and abused by the ones who promise to protect and care for her, 

Discriminated and exploited by the society that worships Goddesses,

Misunderstood and unaware of her own strength and capabilities,

Her soul cries every night to sleep. He soul cries for being a woman. 

Stand with her. 

Picture by : Rick Choudhury (ig : @yourcreationmylens )

I’ve waited too long, given too much. My strength, my vigour, my voice, my everything. They exploit my body and clog my freedom. They say silence would keep me alive, yet ironically, my silence is what kills me inside.