Burning Memories.

Burning memories,
Glowing embers,
A bright red
On a black backdrop.

A fire within,
Scalding invisibly,
Licking my insides,
Melting my facade.

Like a grieving candle,
With wax-like tears,
Each leaving
Scars unseen.

Half-burnt photographs
Smudged with ashes,
Specks of blood
And tear stains.

Flickering flames,
Iridescent eyes,
Another memory burned,
Another scar engraved.

A dried rose,
Some trinkets treasured,
Painful reminders,
Breaking a broken heart.

Incomplete letters,
Faded ink,
Faintly fragrant,
Burning memories.

Engulfed in flames,
Silently screaming,
Sizzling tears
And a burning ME.



Yesterday’s Tomorrow.

Yesterday’s tomorrow is fast leaving,
Like sand trickling through an hourglass.
Like the tick of a clock,
There’s no stopping.
The memories surround us,
There’s no escaping the torment.
Time slips by,
But we’re frozen in the moment.
Caught in each other’s arms,
Trying to get tangled.
The pain, we can take,
For, yesterday’s tomorrow is fast leaving.
And soon, we’ll be looking back upon tomorrow’s yesterday,
And we’ll be but a part of each other’s memories.
Another tick of the clock,
The steady flow of sand grains,
And we’re trying to reach euphoria,
To the point of no return.
Frozen in the moment,
We’re trying to freeze it.
The smashing of glass,
A heap of sand,
And now we stand,
On shards of our past.
We lock our gazes,
Trying to buy time,
But there it is,
The call of a cuckoo.
A hazy vision, a hazy you,
And now I stand with yet another memory of you.
In yet another tomorrow,
Alone, but together,
We look back into yet another yesterday,
And wait for yesterday’s tomorrow to leave us with yet another memory.

His Lifeline.

There they were, tattooed across his abdomen, his shoulder blades and his forearms. Some ran across the length of his spine, a nick above his left eye and the biggest of them was below his right knee, where they had to amputate his leg. These tattoos, these scars, they didn’t make him look ugly, in fact, they spoke of courage, of bravery, of the true beauty of a true soldier who gave everything he could for his country and came out alive with some proud yet painful reminders etched on his body that’d last him a lifetime. He’d lost his friends, his only brother, but they had died fighting for the nation. Their death was the welcome kind and he found himself wishing for that death, but one look at the stump that was his right leg and he knew he’d never have it. His life had no meaning. He’d failed.

Every so often, you could see him hobbling across the room to the closet where hung his prized possession. The uniform. His uniform. He’d run his hands over it, closing his eyes, reliving memories. A tear or two would roll down his cheeks and then he’d take hasty, uneven steps back and bang the closet door shut. He would then hobble his way to the river bank where the children from the village sat, waiting for him to come and tell them stories of places they’d only ever dreamt of or seen in movies.

One such evening, long after the children had left, he’d sat there skipping stones in the river and lost deep in thought when a little girl came and sat by him. He was surprised to haven’t have heard her arrival, either he was out of practice or was probably too lost in his thoughts to have noticed. Or maybe both. He stared at her and she stared back. She looked to be about 12 and he’d seen her with the other kids during their ‘story time.’ For a while, she was silent and then suddenly she admitted, “Someday, I want to be you.” He was stunned. This 12 year old, this young lady sitting beside him, she wanted to be him. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to be like his pitiful self, let alone this innocent little child. “Why?”, he managed to ask in a whisper. “Look at you,” she started in an awed voice, “all those scars, they tell stories of your courage. You’ve fought for the nation, you’ve fought for us, you’ve lived a life worth living and even though you’re not on the borders, putting your life on line, you’re still a soldier. One of the best ones. You’ve done your part and now, you’re doing more. Looking at you, hearing you speak of your adventures and experiences, we find some courage too.” She looked at him with fierce pride. “I’m lucky to have known you and I’m going to be you, someday.” With that she stood up and walked away, leaving him staring after her.

That was the last day that he’d cried over his fate. Now, everytime he hobbled across the room towards his uniform you could see him smiling. His life still had meaning. There was hope. He’d never have thought that a 12 year old girl would be his lifeline. Life had unusual ways of surprising him.


No Punctuation.

She’d seen what it was like to have one’s heart broken. Now, it was her turn to experience it. The fear, the loneliness, it was all so overwhelming. The pain engulfed her. It was like drowning, having no air reach her lungs. But this, this was much worse. She couldn’t form any coherent thought, let alone a sensible sentence. And then she remembered him. His eyes. His smile. Everything. He was the lone ray of sunshine in her life. And now, he was gone, leaving her life pitch black. She tried clutching onto the good memories, but they were fast leaving her, making her feel cold and sick, like one would feel on a storm-tossed night. She tried to numb herself to the pain, tried to forget all thoughts, good and bad, but she couldn’t. She rubbed and rubbed. Until all that remained was an eraser smear where once happiness had been. Anymore rubbing would leave a hole. A hole that couldn’t ever be repaired. The pages in her book of life were coming to an end. Much earlier than they should have. The chapters were getting shorter and sadder, until all that will remain, could remain,  will be a full stop. A punctuation mark to state the end of her pitiful life. She cringed when she looked into a mirror. How long ago was it, when she’d dance away all her worries in front of those very same mirrors? She’d placed them everywhere in hopes of casting away all her worries when she saw her graceful self in them. And cast away they did, only until now, when they’d started throwing her good-for-nothing state back at her. It was like losing a best friend. Only these were so many. They were once her dream come true and now, they’d become a nightmare. The worst kind. Everyday, she would lose some more of herself, withering away. Losing the grace, the passion, the glow, the happiness. The once shining eyes were now reduced to dull globs of brown and white. They’d braved the storms of life and now they looked empty and hollow, not unlike the way she felt. She’d lost all those curves that made all the girls green with envy and now all that was left was skin and bones. With one last long look in the mirror, she sat down to write on the last page that was left in the book, only to notice she’d ran out of ink. Out of hope. There would be no punctuation. No end. Just an empty page reminding people of what was once beautiful and that it could be reduced to nothingness. She didn’t get the punctuation she was hoping she would. If only the ink could last a little longer to leave a full stop, even if it’d be to an incomplete word. If only her hope could last a little longer to give her the ending she’d waited for. If only.