Yugantar Writes

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 now, I feel I was just too dumb. I

'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