Our Story

As the wind swifts away

From her, she draws a ray

Of sunshine to fall over him,

Cuddling the shadow’s rhyme,

For hiding beneath the crime,

A passionate art of succulent

Drops killing his perennial scent


Who am I?

Who is He?

Who’re We?

Words of mystery

Lying behind the story

Embolden them, later

Under the beam’s width


She’s his eerie glory,

An untainted missy,

Comes out from a sleek

And an agile wind’s glint

Following his shortest foot-step

Until he raises her up,

On her hips


His life

Her soul

Their bond

Unites them

Inside a mightily prison

And love’s their reason.


 Across the blue ocean

They see a lean,

Fervent charisma of light

Pouring down the brightest

Ray to fall over them,

Bind them, unite them

As the strongest image, anew.


Photo Credits: Tumblr

A Sunny Afternoon

…I come to the kitchen directly from the messy bed to fill my empty tummy with the remaining droplets of Smirnoff in the bottle that I bought and kept in the refrigerator yesterday; it seems my eyes aren’t appeared to be open soon and the hangover I’ve from the downtrodden last night’s party made my body so weak. It’s inducted me to make myself feel better on this late afternoon. Actually, I couldn’t believe that I’m still alive from a traumatic night I’d been through a few hours aforetime and from the subtlety of knowing a desolated part that existed in me which I never knew before.


Sometimes, the flashbacks of a few emphatic memories are the foremost and the worst portraits in a human life. Such kind of reflections ponders and breaks down through the submissive diagonals of the various corners of our minds and ends up in an emotional trap from nowhere. It’s not that easy to survive in a life from there anymore, then.


“I shouldn’t think too much at this moment. It’s killing me! I’m frustrated for being in a situation similar to this appalling point where I’ve faced everything alone. I must have to bear this. I must…. Nevertheless, I knew that she hates boozing. But I did… I showered upon my anger on her. She didn’t say anything. What else she could say? She’s gone! She’s gone.”, I thought while pouring the chilled cola intently to the bottle of Vodka.


Obviously, it feels so good to be like this, at least while having it, as I wouldn’t think too much like what I thought in her presence last night.


I walk down here and there in my untidy apartment where I’m all alone right at this moment, sipping the full-glass of stress reliever that may help me to forget her memories and count down a feckless life of mine for breaking that one rule she’s enforced upon me. I don’t know why! But it still hurts me whenever I think of her. Her innocent look. Her feary eyes. Godamn it! Everything is gone. I ruined everything.


I tried not to do that anymore, but it’s happening again. This was how I became so connected to her. I looked out through the broken window of my apartment, which is located at Cross Street Palace road, to see whether she’s coming by that way like every day or not. It’s noon time, still…


She doesn’t… She wouldn’t walk down again through this road to our college anymore. She wouldn’t await for me to pick up her anymore. I know; of course, she knows it very well rather than me. She hates me and that’s what I deserve from her for what I’ve done.


I looked awkwardly all around me to see what’s happening; what’s going on in between us; why it’s breaking me so hideously even though what she said was her opinion?


I sit down there on our chair, the one on which we usually sit together and talk perpetually on any unspecified topics unless and until she gets a call from home.


“I’m missing her so much! Why the nature looks so horrible out through the window now?” I thought.


I remember! Memories are urging myself to fill her emptiness in me. I couldn’t… Once before during an afternoon, it was here we kissed for the first time while discussing about the romantic parts of Fifty Shades Of Grey, her favourite novel. She asked me whether I could kiss her like Grey kisses Anastasia in the novel. I thought she’d said that for moping me. I gently slapped her as a hooked response to what she asked me.


“Will you kiss me so passionately like he kissed her?”, she asked me again with her ardent smile.


“If not…?”, I retorted. However, what I’d in my mind was how would a guy of my age could say a senseless no to one among the beautiful girls in his college who has been begging him to kiss her; not just to kiss her, but to kiss her so passionately.


“Kiss me! Please kiss me even if you ain’t okay with it”, she dictated.

I kissed her. We kissed. And we never stopped kissing thereafter.

After an hour:

*Somebody knocking at the door*

I suddenly rise up from the chair, slaughtering the short-nap and run to reach the door. That’s my girl. Yes, she is there on the other side of wall. She’s there.

“Hey Idiooooooot!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Will you kiss me like you always do? Not like Grey kisses her! Kiss me like you always kisses me, Idioooooooooot”

“….in a passionate way, uh?”

“Nope! In a more passionate way…”

I see myself in her, with her eyes wide open, and my heart pounding repetitively to get her back. She steps in and closes the door. Both of us stand beneath the wall.

“Will you booze anymore?”

“Nope! I promise you. I wouldn’t, Sweetheart.”

“I’ll kill you and then me if you booze ever again. Mind it”

My words are all at its peak to control the feelings I’ve on her. I look at her eyes. They reflect the seemly innocence she has always. She holds me closer and I entwine her fingers with mine. Silence. A moment of passion. Love. Bring back the touch.

.P.S. This short story has been written for the #BringBackTheTouch campaign conducted by  http://www.pblskin.com/ and Indiblogger Happyhours.

Here is a video presented by the same partner on the given topic:

Photo Credits: imgkid.com

Be A Writer


“So what do you want me to become in life?”

“I want you to become a writer.”


“Yes! Why not?”

“C’mon..! Do you think I’m a good writer who could write down on kinda dramatic story plots, anymore?”

“Yeah! Trust me. You’re good at it. But you don’t know how good you’re at it.”

“To my knowledge, a writer is someone who copies ideas from what he’s been observing from the infinite nature, regardless whether it’s true or not, and explain its meanings thoroughly with the help of any words which are entangled to his insights and fantasies to make it readable for others. Do you really think I’m good at it?”

“Yes! I do…”

“I don’t think I’m….. You know, it’s not that easy like you think.”

“Of course, it’s not that easy like you think. But it would easy for you. Don’t question me further. Can you do what I said? I really wish to see you as a writer. Think how would I feel to be known as your love- as a writer’s love.”

“…may I know why are you saying so?”

“I’m saying so because you know how to write about me. Our love. Our memories. Our feelings. Our emotions. Our experiences. Our life. You don’t lack any words to express it; you already know what you’ve to write down. Why’re you thinking too much then?”

“Are you asking me to pen down about us and get it published for attracting others to share our story? Did you actually mean it?”

“Nope! You’ve mistaken. I told that I want to see you as a writer and hence you must be…. Will you?”

“What if I say NO?”

“If you say NO, then it’s your decision. It wouldn’t change anything happening in between both of us. It doesn’t matter whether you become a writer or not. What does matter to me the most is your love on me. You would always remain as the wonderful hubby of mine.”

“You’re my sweetheart. And I know our life would be more happy if I become a writer for you. But I dare to write on anything other than you, My love. It’s just your thoughts in me that keeps me moving forward. It’s your love on me that makes me alive. You’re my Eve and I’m your Adam, who live to love for each other in our world. We have had faced a lot of topsy-turvy situations and overt chaos holding our hands together in life. Our bond of love still preserves a charisma of that same passion to be alive together. Die together. We’ve been like this…”

“…..lost in love for?”

“I don’t know, My love! But we haven’t shared our story to anybody else within this 49 years of succulent life. I want you and you want me always in our story to make it refreshing for our love to cherish till it ends on that final day of happiness, on our bed, crossing our hands together, kissing you, like I always do, staring at my innocent eyes and dream under our polar star’s sight”

“I love you”

“I love you more”

Photo Credits: Tumblr

She. He

She lies. Over me

I see. Another me

She cries. Eyes fade

I smile. Kisses shade

She thinks. Time stops

I wink. Word gasps

She writes. Ink’s chow

I read. Rhyme’s flow

She loves. My Owl

I love. Her soul

Photo Credits: Tumblr

She Killed My Romance

Hey folks! It seemed I was hiding away from here, and alive there where I’m trying to adore more of my days with the real world rather than the cyber network clinkers. I wanted to be like that since a few months back and I’m working through this phase once when I set out to imbibe more of the imperative sentences from the books I’ve been reading during my insomniac nights. And what I understood was the depths of a canopy which lies inside me. It causes me to explore and find out the actual gist of an individuality of mine; it keeps me going and moving and moving to dream very less often when I’m asleep. But when I’m asleep properly, I watch dreams which entertain me like hell out of the invariant creations.

I still do remember the plot of the dream I had seen last night. It wasn’t simply a dream, I had dreamt of it once earlier before in the class when my tutor was taking Engineering Mathematics, excessively. I couldn’t give up laughing for a while when I opined about it today morning. I was like *** I’d envisioned? Being a studious Engg student in my college, I’d a noble connection with my Mathematics tutor. She envisaged me to submit my assignment at the right time! My grades are neither below average or good, but it’s merely mediocre. She doesn’t care much about me; she has never asked anything straight forwardly to me. Neither do I? Nope! I didn’t… She knew me almost very well through the flash back images of my 1st year at the college. I was a quite brilliant student and she confessed it before me as well once during my 1st yr of Engg. But thereafter, she didn’t…. I didn’t ask her why, but we didn’t…

So, before speaking about what I’d seen last night, I would say I hate her attitude in the class. She mounts up high on the Engg Mathematics Mountain for all those envious creatures in the class and her hypocrisy on people like us is at its stake.  To all those haters of her lectures, she blunts her anger through the internal marks. Her attitude is like even if you’re good at studies, I won’t give you at least the minimum internal marks, a set of marks which has to be given by her, if you’re maintaining a heedless connection with me.  That’s what she does…. She passed out from her University with the University rank holder’s tag. But what’s there in it? What a headily rule she’s been ordering and following? Why couldn’t she afford the right crosses that we merit?

I was looking out through the window of my apartment, that evening! It’s really nice to stare at the darkness beneath the sky when it’s about to rain. I enjoyed looking out through the window of my olden apartment and I sensed the coolness of fresh air offended by the wind shifting all around. You know, this is one among the best time and place to pen down your elegant inborn philosophies and sketch down the flushes of natural rhythm that nature holds and showers on us. I became absolutely stunned and romantic to see the charisma that nature has and I hightailed it outside to take down my feelings to be loved with a nature ahead me.

I exchanged my feelings to be here; I enthralled my passion in the rain; I admired the pleasure it’s given me; I lied on the ground and closed my eyes for hours to get lost in my nature; I smelled the fragrance of wet soil; I sensed that my body is already wet; I wanted to have more fun with the nature; I lied there…

Suddenly, I came to hear someone shouting at me on the rain. She tried to make me awake from my love making; her voice was so familiar for me. I tried to open my eyes, but I didn’t want to… She raised her voice up against me; she made me awake and I painstakingly stood before her. She was shouting at me. She shouted at me like I’ve harmed her. I felt so disgusted to be there. I wanted to know why did she came here? What made her shouting at me in such a rude manner?

“Rahul…! Did you keep your Mathematics Assignment 2?”

“Excuse me?!”

“……your Mathematics Assignment…?

….you won’t get your internal marks! You’ll fail for the University Exam. Why do you look like a dumb? Why aren’t you getting me?”

I kept mum! I didn’t say anything. But I asked her! I asked her how dare she came there like Mal comes in Cobb’s dream in Inception. Yes, why did she come here?

“DO YOU HAVE ANY PLANS TO SUBMIT IT? Keep your Assignment today itself! If not, I wouldn’t give….mar….!”, she retorted.

I was so romantic! I didn’t say anything else. I walked backwards to my apartment slowly. I had something in my mind; I wanted to ask her something. I walked… I walked slowly ahead through the flood gifted by my nature to me. I couldn’t accept that she came here. And.. I instantly turned back and asked,

“I’m at the peak stage of Romantic Mountain right now. Shall I write a poetry of my feelingswithinseconds instead of the assignment to be submitted today?”

I asked again, louder.

There was nobody behind me. She cunningly escaped after breaking my romance.

Photo Credits: Tumblr

Kiss Her Lips

A night of kisses

Lacing my fingers

To run all around

Your waist, hair, and

Keep holding

Until our meeting

 ends up on the floor

From a sleepless night

To a passionate sight

Photo Credits: Tumblr

Not Anymore… : Part 2

Not Anymore Part 2

Our means of love,

visible in every move,

traces us not to go apart

from a memorable past

to a destined future,

that we sketch over

a wall of white color,

yet to painted 

by our untainted

souls to last to gather…

.P.S. Those who haven’t been through the 1st part of this poetry series, check it out here:

Not Anymore… : Part 1

Photo Credits: Tumblr