The void grew,

Darker and stronger;

Sucking in every ounce of her happiness,

Like her own, personal black hole.

The nightmares grew,

Scarier and vivider,

Till she forgot to tell the real from the imagined

And continued to merely exist in this hellhole.

Existing, not living.

Surviving, but barely so.

She desired one last drink From the fountain of Life,

But for her there remained only the last of dregs.

That light at the end of the tunnel?

It was ever elusive, like a shimmery mirage.

No silver lining existed in her dull, cloudless sky.

No sliver of hope shone through from the dense foliage closing in on her.

A hollow shell of her former self,

She still endured.

Why though? One might ask.

She’d manage a barely there smile

And reply,

Sometimes, it takes a while

For a carnage to get cleared.

Sometimes, one needs to take some time

To examine their own wreckage.

Sometimes, you need to stay broken,

Before you start to heal.

So instead of a patchwork of wounds, cuts and bruises,

You can feel whole again.

Sometimes you need to drown in a chasm,

For your lungs to open up.

You gasp, you flail, you think you’re about to die;

But you see, darling, the order of life,

You need to sink, before you can swim.

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Flying Solo No More

Just a boy still he was, in the body of a man.

Ploughing through life, yet painfully aware

Of lies, deceits and selfishness.

If only had hadn’t fallen victim to this ploy so soon

He’d still have had friends rather than a bunch of letdowns.

So, yes, he went through life keeping people at bay

An arm’s length was the maximum allowed leeway.

While others huddled together in groups to share their joys and sorrows

He always found solace on the roof in the company of his thoughts and stars.

Till one day he found that this wasn’t really enough.

He spun a fantastical world in his mind to escape from reality.

The few moments of lucidity that he still couldn’t control

He chased away with drinking bottles of alcohol.

Then one night while returning from a drunken soiree

He looked up at the stars and their twinkling got to him.

“Are you listening to me?

When I speak, do you even hear?” He bellowed

“I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t go solo anymore.” He knelt down and pled.

Two days later he came across a soul.

Swimming in despair like him yet plastering a smile on her face.

He thought she was his light, little did he know he was becoming her respite.

She talked to him and shared herself

While he listened in bewildered awe.

Till her words gave him the comfort to let flow his feelings raw.

Now they both cling to each other and smile and laugh and play.

Cause it was love that forged their eternal bond, born from despair.

The stars smiled down as they walked hand in hand, enlivening the other’s respair.

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In all things beautiful

07-depressionI have been battling depression since, at the cost of sounding over-dramatic, as long as I can remember. Considering how in my mere 24 years of existence, depression has plagued the better part of the past ten, I can be reasonably excused for stretching the truth a tad. This post begins as a venting of repressed feelings on a sleepless night, however, I hope to be able to provide a sliver of hope to my equally suffering brethren by the end of this.

It saddens me to see how everyone today, regardless of living in the first world or the third, claims to be riddled with depression merely because something upset them momentarily. On a similar note, mood swings are hastily covered up under the pretext of bipolar syndrome these days. Not to belittle these pangs of pain felt by so many, presumably well meaning, people, I hope to reach out to those who are actually, genuinely depressed. Because, you see, depression isn’t just a feeling, it is a state of being. A hopeless state at that. If you see the word hope recurring at a more than alarming frequency in this post, fret not, as it is indeed hope that this narrative stems from.

There is hope, indeed, in all things beautiful. There is hope in the voice of a father asking how you’re doing while it takes all you have to not breakdown and cry on hearing this query over the phone. There is hope in a lover’s inquiry of how your day went while he himself is undertaking a long, arduous drive back home after a tiring day at work. There is, yet, hope in your closest friend casually asking if you slept alright over an innocent cup of coffee.

If you find waking up each day a herculean task after having snatched a few moments of dear sleep when your body wore out of exhaustion in the wee hours of morning, I implore you to hope. Yes, I agree we’ve been brought up fearing hope to be a dangerous thing but what is life without a few risks, eh? Even if every day finds you sinking deeper into the quagmire of your Kafkaesque despair, even if hoping seems an exercise in futility almost akin to chasing the will-o-the-wisp and life does not seem worth the pain you undergo, you should persist. Because life persists in all things beautiful.