It killed me. Knowing that I couldn’t live without you and you were the air entering my lungs in every moment. The sweet nectar in our love we tasted under the oak trees at nightfall before we walked in the same direction, hearts intertwined and the hands interlocked perfectly like the perfect key to a … Continue reading When Reality Hits
Our silence is more of a distraction than our love, My longing for you drains the pure blood from my veins, As I stuff my mouth with The letters you wrote me, Trying to quench my thirst With the dried ink, But choke on the yellow pages instead. Want to feel your love through these … Continue reading The Bloodbath of Our Love
“Dust” by Niharika Gursahani https://link.medium.com/NQ6RLccuh2 Greetings people! As you all know that I’ve started publishing on Medium as well, I request you all to read this piece, applaud, and simply follow me through your email. I may be publishing different content here and there so do check it out! I’ve just began, and only published … Continue reading Dust on Medium
An archaic tune playes over the dusty radio,Reminds me of a dwindling duet I almost forgot a second back,Every cosmic binder of the universe,Wants me to never forget the rhapsody of our love. Our rhapsody was melodious,The tune was full of life,And the lyrics of this rhapsody,Were the loving letters I wrote you. This rhapsody … Continue reading The Rhapsody of The Blues
And the cicada bellows a horror tune, Into the turbidity of thoughts of the chilled night, That petrifying screech of intense terror. And its horror, Provokes the aeons and alerts their nerves, With an abandoned pain Of a long-forgotten tale. And somewhere the oak leaves rustle, Perhaps to calm the cicada’s call, Or to soothe … Continue reading It’s night.
Dear Papa, No matter how long we talk over the phone none of it compares to the time spent together when you’re here. Birthdays. Some are excited, some are not. Some have gigantic parties, some make wee celebrations with cake at the most. But we’re simple, middle-class Sindhis. Give us sai-bhaji with chawal along with … Continue reading Happy Birthday, Papa.
I am tired of rhyming words, Tired of surreal metaphors, I’m tired of mirrored symbolism, And tired of reading between the lines, To find some worth that lies within deep. For that’s what I do the entire time, Go through the same day repeatedly as if Groundhog’s Day, Finding out where I go wrong, And … Continue reading Waiting for You