The Boy with the yellow diary

Today, when the sun filtered red rays of the persimmon sky, I watched the road, from my imprisoned balcony, lined with a new plant, boredom gave birth to, in the last few days of unhappiness. you weren't there, but the air smelled of you, I watched the smoke closely rising from the wet creepers, snuggling into your arms, and I ached, the pain of the pain, I felt. You were there, months back, dealing with my fears, placing my heart for the show, in the market place, while my bones shivered, begged, and cried, but you didn't care, it ended, the way everything beautiful ends, in the lies of your afterglow, and in the truth of my confessions, Today, I watched the same road, where we began, and ended too, I smiled, after a pause, and the sky sighed heavily, but it didn't rain, because we left, and so did my pain, perhaps. ___________________________________

It happens once in every year, twice or thrice sometimes, depends on the intensity of hatred, flowing in the brook of a political agenda, that wants to unite the world, from the blood of soldiers. Look at the ashes on the ground, can you find the bones, that carried hidden responsibilities of a father, a son or a brother, all wrapped in a tricolour? Today, when the world was busy celebrating love, it slowly died in the arms of a soldier, bleeding its last salute as smoke already burning on the pyre, that ignited tears and soaked sorrows. A wife is widowed, a child is orphaned, parents find shelter in old age homes, where is love, I will ask today? where is humanity? What kind of patriotism we all celebrate, if we still remain helpless, and let the soldiers suffer, the terrorized hatred? Today, you and me, we will sip coffee, and have dinner peacefully, sending condolences to the family, discussing headlines like debates, and sleep. Tomor...

You should not date a writer if dates are important to you. But ask them about the day of your first kiss And hear him describe how it was raining and both of you were drenched and when he kissed you, you tasted of mint. If going out on adventures, chasing storms or loving the things that will destroy you in the end, is on your wish-list… date a writer. You see, I’ve never dated a writer, but I know so much about them. They give you a beginning, a middle and an end. He is going to spell your name when you two are texting. He will say your name, repeatedly, when he’s talking to you. He will promise to take your name if he knows you are the one. He will wear a t-shirt that says “I Flirt with Words”, But he can never start a conversation. He’s a madman who causes trouble on the paper with his ink, But he will always be gentle with your stories. He’ll notice how you’ve kept your hair open, Although it brings you a lot of trouble. He’ll ask about scars, ...