And in that moment

I longed

For something




Purely human

In the basest of forms

Yet almost divine

In its guileless naivete

An emotion

A devotion

A creation

A bond

To undo

The destructions

And havoc

Of past constructions

While a single point of failure

Or a lifelong success

Hangs in the balance.


Pandora’s Box

I found it!

Yes, really

Tucked away

Within a distant memory

That floating sense

Of being in love

And more wonderful still

Of it being returned


Now reminded

I think I am

Perpetually hounded

By ghosts of what we were

And the shambles

Of what we are

How do I get

The lid back on

So a mantle of obliviousness

I can once again don.

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When a trusting heart is broken, it gets shattered into a million pieces. The ones that are somehow managed to get picked up again are glued together with a last-ditch effort. Miraculously though, it doesn’t stay in that state forever. For, you see, it turns into something else entirely. It looks like a heart and for all corporal functions, it works and feels like one too. Yet, what we have now isn’t a pulsating muscle. It’s hard and cold. It’s a heart of stone.

People come in life, trying to chip away at the stony exterior only to be faced with unyielding stonewall after stonewall. So they give up.

You see, breaking a trusting heart is like a circle of death created by a bomb. You can pinpoint exactly where it detonated. And, resonating from that point, you can clearly demarcate the area in which it’s destructive power had been unleashed. You can count, as easily as 1 2 3, the number of casualties it caused. Similarly, when a heart breaks, it ends the possibility of a lot of lives interlinking with the person’s within who’s thoracic cavity it beats.

I sound crisp, I sound precise, I also, somewhat, sound scientific and formal to a fault. It’s like I am dissecting a lab rat by way of this narrative. You, quite obviously, might not like how surgically I’m conveying this situation. It’s true, I’m being awful. But, you know what? The things we pay attention to the most, are the ones that manage shock us to the core. So yes, when you break a trusting heart by brutally abusing and murdering even the last dregs of loyalty, remember the body count you’d be leaving in your wake. Maybe, then you’d think twice before choking it to death.


A heart that once beated to a melodious symphony.


Sitting in his empty courtyard watching the rain fall all around him, he closed his eyes and allowed the pitter pattering of raindrops to take him back to the last time he had ever seen her.

It had been a day much like today. Nature had been haughtily showcasing her beauty in all its glory. The rain gods were also in tough competition. And the wind, oh, it couldn’t have been left behind and kept sending pleasant gusts all day.

Yet, there had been a melancholic undertone to the pulchritude that day. He could sense that every element of nature was trying to soothe him, calm him down, embalm him before the felling of a grievous blow.

Nothing could have prepared him for her departure though. It knocked the very wind out of him. It would have been one thing if he’d seen some signs of this impending doom, if he’d been able to anticipate it. Doom, yes, because that moment had been the death of him. From then on, he merely existed instead of living. Awaiting the end of his corporal self.

He did realise later, in his forced solitude, where his fault had lain. It had been too little too late. When he had finally mustered the courage to go to her, apologize and convince her to come back, even if he had to go down on his knees and beg, he found out that she was dying. She had been fading away for quite some time, not that he’d ever had the time to notice. What tore him apart was that she was so far gone she couldn’t even recognise him when he said sorry. There was no twinkle in her, no warmth in her smile. It was as if she was being forced to meet a stranger and had to be gracious about it. It wasn’t her. She had always been vibrant. He could not reconcile this frail image of her with the woman he had known and loved, no matter how hard he tried.

He never got his forgiveness. He never got his will to live back again.

Now, even though years have passed, every time there’s a day with a weather like today, he looks back to the last time he had been able to lay eyes on her, the real her. She had looked as resplendent as the day they’d met.

If only he’d have given her happiness some thought and understood her better. If only he could have mended his ways earlier. If only he could have stopped her from leaving. If only he had not forgotten the beauty in her over the years. If only…

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