When you’re struck with tragedy, what is the first thought that resurrects itself firmly in your head? The thought that pushes itself up from the numbness of shock, the one that reverberates inside on an infinte loop? It is of death, your newfound lust for death. Suddenly all sense of reality leaves your body and whats left inside is a silent tale of crippling sorrow. The tragedy runs in your blood now; life fleeting in tiny drops of grief, flowing out facilely because the sunsets have lost their charm and the stars are just inept stones of light. Your spirit has died and the haven of bliss is slowly slipping like grains of sand. Everything you once held sacred seems futile and all love empty; life has faintly donned the hideous white robe of death, barring your soul of colours and joy. But the irony is, even in loss, when you readily accept death, you keep on living because that is the most logical thing to do, accept the circumstances and move on, even with a heart that has been ripped into shreds. You move on and you keep on living, sometimes searching and sometimes hunting desperately for a laconic peace of mind that you lost when the moon still shined bright. Life goes on and so does tragedy. You never forget it, you never leave it behind, you just let it slip from your mind, even if momentarily and find your harmony.


Falling out 

The advent of morning sunshine in the small vicinity of my room forces me to shake off the midnight dreams away. I slowly open my eyes to the mellow chirping of birds perched outside the gated window. Turning lazily in the queen sized bed, a dazed me find the silhouette of a man entangled partially in the crisp white sheets. I have slept with the same person over the last ten years, and yet I do not recognise him. His chestnut brown hair hide most of his features from sight but one can still trace the outline of his plump, slightly brown lips peeking from beneath the cracks. I have kissed the same lips over the past ten years, and yet this morning I do not recognise them. Our whole story seems like a late afternoon dream now, we have come so far in life together without realising that time has been drifting us apart slowly and we have merely been reduced to ephemeral characters in each others stories. I still remember the first time we met, young and madly in love with life. With time, I guess our love for life was replaced with love for our own selves and we moved on ahead, only away from each other. The sands of time have filled our lungs so intensely that this change in our lives was not conspicuous, until this morning when the morning mist suddenly made me aware of your metamorphosis and how the same locks that my hands couldn’t get enough of are now just an ugly mess that fills me with disgust. What happened to us? Why do all the happy memories suddenly engulf me in guilt? Where did we get lost? Our conversations have dwindled away, no affection, no adoration, just monosyllabic words. No matter where we turn to, all there are are just concrete barriers.
 My thoughts are clouded with regret, hoping that all of this is just a bad dream from which I wake up to my eighteen year self again. To go back and live a different life, something completely disparate from this.

I have started dreading your presence these days, even your scent fills me with morose. We have no clue as to what is happening in each other’s lives. You have shut yourself in a mundane shell and I’m tired of knocking at it with enthusiasm.

You shift slightly in your sleep and my heart is filled with sadness. Suddenly a pair of puffy grey eyes stare at me blankly, devoid of any feelings and it dawns on me that our love has faded away, we both are tired of each other and how effortlessly have we managed to disregard each others company. Your eyes convey all their hidden desires to me, you want this to end more than me. You can read my thoughts, because your eyes reflect the same tragedy as me, begging for an escape.

We talked of stars and now our love has exploded the galaxes inside us.