Oblivion

it’s astonishing, how sometimes memories are mere scattered papers gasping for a hurricane to be blown away beyond the horizon of emotions..

a few years back, I met you through my laptop screen..stared at your picture with a mouthful of forevers..

never met you then, yet the stars which peeped through the window every night before I fell asleep were enveloped with teenage pipe-dreams safeguarding our little wishful infinity…

now, the memories are still alive yet, somewhere lost..like the estranged G-talk icon on my desktop, long forgotten to be logged in..

you may curse our damned generation..but, she was the warmth which kept me alive through the winters of my life..

and maybe, memories are just meant to be consigned to oblivion..

-animesh

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Artwork by Hades and Parsephone

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Half Past Dead

with a ruined mascara she kept sliding fingers across her cellphone screen.. staring at men who failed to love her swept by like tides, one by one..

but I swear, if it were me, I’d shed my skin, my bones, till the very beat of my heart is visible to make you realize how severely I wanted to take the beauty of your soul to my grave..

because, I relentlessly believed that you had madness sprinkled on your bones..but, there was no one daring enough to penetrate into the wilderness..

every night I spent hours to create words that’d let you unearth the hidden magic in you..yet, the amalgamation of ink, paper and cigarette ashes failed to fuel the warmth of your body..

by the time I looked at the clock, it was half past dead..

-animesh

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Artwork by Norvz Austria

Shades of men

for the umpteenth time she whispered, “I’ll never fall in love again!”

…but like the clock’s pendulum which kept her from falling asleep through the darkness encased night, she kept falling in & out of love for better shades of the same man..

-animesh

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IC- Broke Bibliophile

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Labyrinth

how wonderful it is to walk on an estranged street on a cold winter night…

the lights showered happiness..the walkway was paved with love..the only stranger was his shadow walking by, skipping through the dry leaves..

ah! and then amidst the zigzag of alleys came a cul-de-sac..

in that moment, the silence made his bones clutter & he understood that walking through the boiled-down infinity of life was no different than walking on a windy winter night..

the snow lying on the ground was like a quilt begging him to go to sleep..

yes,life is a labyrinth waiting to be escaped..

-animesh

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Graveyard of broken dreams

I craved a love so deep,

that when our souls locked hands, even affection couldn’t slip through..

but, our world, where all that love does is weep, you & i, he & she, all making love under the lamp of our own ego, and all we ever did, was hold the sword that would defend us by the sharp end..

and, now as I dwell in my castle of loneliness..i still crave for the smear of your lust spread across my bedsheet, which was once our voyage to infinity..

every night, as the curtain of darkness fell upon us, the moon silenced the earth to listen to your 2 a.m secrets & fetishes..

yet amidst all the envy & stale dreams, I swear that the dust that I am returned to, to even the withered flowers that will once decorate my tomb will love you entirely, from the taste of your sweat to the collarbone from which it dripped from..

-animesh

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(photography and writing both mine)

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Walking down an alley

how amazing human beings are..

some find calmness walking down a busy alley..

yet, some crave for silence, failing to escape the chaos of a moonlight night..staying up late to safeguard the clock., where two strikes of the pendulum comprised of more secrets than her lips ever uttered..

the thoughts were ink..the moon was the half written book..

-animesh

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(photography and writing both done by me)

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Life

So, this is the ground where I grew up playing soccer. While we played, we always had one spectator who never got tired looking at our amateurish play. As the sun set gradually each day, and the streetlights lined up at the edge of the field glowed with more intensity, an intensity strong enough to call us home, this man still stood there to offer us his last few glasses of desi lemonade which was enough to satisfy our thirst,

…and his tomorrow!

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