Yugantar Writes

You should see me walk now, Or, maybe you shouldn't But I know you would not recognize me, or at least stare for a minute before having a hint. Buy, If you see me walking, on these streets where I once imagined walking with you. Hand in hand, like we once did, The road leading to your house; Carefree- it never mattered who were all around. The only thing we thought about was how your hands, fit so perfectly in mine. Because it was all just fine. I was always fine. But, Those hands that once held yours They rest restlessly in my pockets now; In a town, that is mine but is new. On these streets, that aren't but feels new. Sounds awful, But, it’s heavy to stay standing For my heart is half the size When you’re gone. You know, You should see me walk now, Or, maybe you shouldn't. I have forgotten to know things, Like, how it's like to walk and know where you're walking to; Know where you want to end up And just simply go there. I...

Have you ever thought of your favorite sound? Sounds apart from the songs on your playlist or someone's voice? The raindrops, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves- yup, they're wonderful. But, have you ever, contemplated the sound of silence? Yup. Silence is my favorite sound. The sound of silence is when you can hear yourself- breathe after breathe. The sound of silence is that 2 AM rooms, where even the slightest of wind gives your ear a push. The sound of silence lets me be me. You know without the constant shouting from the next room, or the pressures of anything. Silence lets me be me. It is only when I can not speak with my choice without fear, pressure and not be judged . This sound lets me be me. It lets me flow and fly like the wind brushing my eardrums. It's not that I don't like music. I do. But have you ever been awake after midnight, when there's nothing but darkness- and no sounds around you than silence? Maybe, you might rethink w...

We all make mistakes. We accept we made mistakes and we move on. Traits of being a human- making mistakes and learning from them. Longing for perfection, we all tend to believe mistakes were made for reason and they taught us something. And then, just like that, we forget most of the blunders we make.  But, there are some mistakes we make, which we do not forget at all. We know we made it, we regret it from the pit of the stomach. We think of it every single day, and cannot make through even a day without having a thought of it. It kills us, or the wills we carry. Thinking of all the people affected by one single decision of yours, one single error you made. Then comes a light, when you are assured, it's okay. Victims or the affected, pulls you out of that very pit you created on your own. The same person carries the weight you'd been carrying so long. All you can do is stare and smile. Then you realize, until you gather your courage to accept all the flaws, you'll...

Expectations you hold from a particular person is normal. As a human, holding expectations from ones having importance in your life is hugely justifiable. But, amount of expectations you should keep must depend on your position in their life and not the other way around. It's clear: it doesn't matter how important they're to you; only thing is how important you're to them. Your actions- sweating your ass off for them, making them the priority over everything and everyone, going way round your principles are just futile. The only idea for keeping on to your expectations and how they're held up is our position on their life - how important you are to them and nothing more. The only decision you have to make when even the smallest of expectations go down the drain- is the importance you give justifiable and worth it?

Love, I have no better salutation for you. For you are much more than words. Have you ever watched anyone sleep love? From start to the deepest of level you reach. Have you ever? I am watching you sleep right now love. Online, but I am watching you. I've never watched anyone sleep before, but I can tell you, I'll never feel this peaceful even if I do watch someone else. The way you move your hands, your closed eyes, your lips. Everything. The small movements you make, those occasional long breathes, and simple rhythm. There is silence and I wish I could savour it all for my lifetime. Not from this virtual screen, but being with you. You are beautiful. Not just because I like you. Because you really are. I am whispering like stupid that I love you on my earphones right now. I would have wanted you to hear what I say, but you know them anyway. It's peaceful. Everything. The rhythmic rise and fall of your blanket, your closed eyes and your hand under your cheek, ...

I keep awake to the dawns, To the windows, painted black And a moment, Just a moment, Before you start, drifting in me Invading my thoughts. And I, End myself up, Groping that cold, stale coffee on my windowsill The last, unfinished mug, From the last night. It's not been long since you left, No occasional message bombs, No exchanges of smiles, No hints dropped. You, You gathered yourself and left one morning, Like there was little, So little left of me, That'd fill you up. You, You left behind a void. A void, A violent void, A void, this empty, A void, that strangles, A void, with nothing. But, Still with a lot. A lot, About, how you had a crush on that guy from next school, About, how you loved momos, About, how you think Hillary'd have made a better president, About, how you'd define love as 'something else' About, how you had a lot in your mind and could only write up a portion. A void. An emptiness, Compelling me...

A cup of tea, and a newspaper headline "Boy, 18, Kills Himself". Usual news it was. Forensics confirmed of suicide. No words of clemency around. Blasphemies from many mouths, a pair of eyes though shed hushed tears, as if asking for forgiveness. Boy. Thick rimmed glasses- a show-off they called, dissembled bulk of hair-careless they called, un-ironed pants-lazy they whispered, class topper-cheater they claimed, name- Munal they loathed. Lower middle class family. Raised by father, hated by his stepmother and her daughter. He lost his mother when he was five and together with mother, he lost his voice. Sole but jovial soul, bright one he was. Physics he considered his heart. He revered Hawking, and loved relativity as much. Discoursing with guitar, frets and chords soothed him. He bled ink, for pen was his only voice. His stories spoke of stars and vanished souls. Being mute had no rewards. But petite did his lost voice affected him. No grievances he had of his inf...

Disclaimer:  The following writing is senseless collection of meaningless words, written being low. Better not to read if not interested. It's been two days since I last saw you, and a week since last spoken. Now, I lie motionless, partly lifeless on the bed with earphone plugged into my ears. I have skipped my normal playlist after too long and the songs are on shuffle. My blood is drowned in you now, and you know, each and every moments, with every cell of my body deoxygenating the blood grasps the alleged about you tight. You might have perceived much times from me, that you are truly beautiful. You might have heard a lot about you meaning a lot to me, and you might have heard on unvarying intervals about me loving you. But, those all really do not mean whatsoever to you, do they? Even though they do not mean anything to you, I cannot stop myself repeating those things even if I want. You are into my structure now, and getting you out is intolerable. You are a dru...

My atoms I feel, Are caught by yours. And though they never meet, They feel the chemistry. The one, which though hovering Would grow together. Ones, though imperfect, Will continue thriving for perfection. I catch you in each jouska of mine, See, I am the only silent one in each anecdoche in there, For yours is the only voice I hear. The voice of yours, that soothes, The voice of yours that heals. I inhale the chaos, Thy leading myself to breathe love. But, Stuck in the presence, I never could. Words I tell you, Are delusions; like the opia I feel of yours. For those words brought me to you, They are carrying you away now. For those words used to brighten you up, Now are haunting all of me. For those words which made your smile wider Now make me feel like an empty plain white paper, Crumbled and dabbed with inks all over. Like a mirror huge, Shattered with distant stones. A bird once free, Now flightless, wingless. Breaking free, Of all the chain...

(It took me 8 days to write this letter, joining parts and bringing them together. Sorry to be out of touch) Dear,     This one is my first letter to you. I do not know even if I have the right to call you 'dear', but, let us build on with it; at least for this letter. This letter is not just a love letter. This letter is recollection of my memoir, the way I had been and the way I am now. I don’t know that if you even care, but, yes, I know you will definitely run your eyes through these words after getting this letter.     You might have known when this all begun right? Right from the day you promised our friendship would never end. My hands were wrapped around yours, it was pitch dark, but I could still feel the warmth of your heart and see the smile of yours. No wonder that was the best evening with you. Days passed, I grasping your hand and walking back home, oh those days were wonderful.     But the way I am getting the things...

'I really love you.' *Backspace* 'I miss you.' *Backspace* 'Miss me?' *Backspace* 'Hey!' *Enter* You see, Backspace wins the battle against Emotions.

No, I would not want anything else. I would not request anything with you. I would want you to snoop, Simply, Listen. Be sure, to hear the murkiest of me, You would know the chaos inside me, You would see a bird deprived of wings, You would acumen shedload of weeps. And all you have to do? Listen. I would hear you too; And all of you would be my concern. I will unquestionably retort the finest I can, And you, You too would work alike. You would have to hear me, Even if I would not express. You would have to apprehend my silence. You would have to feel my occurrence on my deficiency, For, I would do the same. Don't talk about the honors. You would be the only audience of my crazy melodies, You would be the only metaphor in my rubbish odes. Even if you were not there, I would be discoursing with you. And, those my dear Are castigations, not privileges. You know, I am in desperate necessity of you. Think prudently, And tell me, Would you listen ...

Disclaimer: Be clear at the beginning, I am not a pessimist. Yeah, I might have been disturbed by the whole day studies and late night waiting, but I am not a pessimist. I might sound like such, but I swear I am not such. I might even sound highly depressed at some point, which I have not been able to figure out myself. Its 15 minutes to midnight. I, all by myself, am still gawking at the un-replied 'Good Night' text I sent 2 hour 33 minutes ago. I am not waiting for the reply text (which do not arrive anyway) as usual. Today, I am waiting to draw a conclusion. And, though I loathe to say it, I am awfully frustrated to know that I have made myself unimportant to you. I now realize, it was my mistake. I now comprehend, I deliberated myself being too close to you, and led myself far beyond the point where you would relish my concern. I have led myself to the situation where you would not even care to throw a squint at me. I now apprehend, I have made a stern blunder. I g...

Do reckon, I have a heart too. Believe it or not, This heart is fragile too, It bawls when it's strings are pulled It thuds when you come in like hurricane and leave with same swiftness, And yes, It tries to stop, with every single good bye of yours. You know, I feel like I am the 'Parker' on your pen stand, That you never lay your  hands on. I feel like I am the song on your playlist, That you skip every single time. I feel like an empty paper, Crushed and thrown into dustbin. But, you know what? I am not surprised, I was prepared, You  know, it happens all the time. And the reason? I am never at the 'curtain calls' For, I am amidst the curtains and the pulleys. Getting back, I am always there, Even if you do not care, Do come back.

I am in a monogamous relationship with my writing and thus can't love any other woman. -- A Writer

Pen in top-left pocket of my blazer, did not write during my examination. Do you see any irony in that? Being closest to my heart is a betrayal for me.

I discern; You catch scars, every single time I grasp your hand, And I know, you abhor it. I know you muse over HIM, every single time I gaze at you. And I know You hate me for doing that. I know Nary an anguish of mine nuisances you. I know Those times I spend with you are just conventional to you. I know I am just another guy, seeking to get near you. I know All my stories are boring, And all my narration, are infuriating. I know I mean nothing to you. But then again, For I hunted a shoulder to shed my tears, Your words fetched bliss to my senses. For I desired this somnolent head to lay rest on some chest, Your lips curled to infantile me. For I wanted to move a step, Your confrontations made me run. For I wanted someone, to listen through what I went, You became delightful addressee. You are the allegory in my drafts, You are the strings to my guitar. And my pillow when I nap. And, yes I thank you, I thank you for entirety. I thank you for letting me stare at you. I thank you for ...

Went to school canteen after 10 years. Sat on the same old bench; Same brother came and asked, "What would you like?" I replied, "Same old friends around me." This story is not the original creation of mine. Adapted from various anonymous online sources.

Amrit, a seven year old shouted, "Mom, look dad's on TV" Total silence, clock seemed to stop. Running his mother came, tears rolled from all four eyes. It was the routine for martyr 's family.

A cup of coffee beside the windowsill and a guitar on his hand. He was used to it! Sitting by the window with the same old melody on his guitar over years, and the same cappuccino with two teaspoons of sugar regardless of any season. He was as gentle as a breeze and as calm as the sky. His fingers ran down the frets as if they were the robots assigned to that particular task. His eyes were motionless, staring out of the window, to the stars, twinkling to impress the solitary moon. He threw a glance at his cellphone, it was 10:53. Suddenly, a charm grew over his eyes. They started to twinkle as the stars did up there. He took his left hand away from the guitar and picked up his cell phone. Slowly, he went to that number! He stopped for a while- he remembered how this went eight years before. He hesitated, but pressed the green button beside the number, conquering the dilemma. The ring went off. As expected, the call was picked up at the exact third ring. A sleepy but charismat...