A Letter to My Lost Love

Right now I am totally confused with my feelings. Whether to feel lonely, or uneasy, or relieved, I don’t know. A little of all three is perhaps what encompassing my thoughts. I realize an urgent need to channel down my emotions, and how it could be better other than to write it out? And to write it down means to write it to you – to my long lost love.

I know that you’ll never know of this letter, let alone read it and discover my feelings. But this fact is not refraining me from writing it down. More to this, I know that this endeavor will never going to make me feel good, but still I will give it a try.

There are two things I could have done after losing you. Either to remain connected with everyone and ask them how you are doing, or severing contacts with them so that my pains remain buried only within me and shared with none else.

You know that I will choose the second option, and I did just that. Do you still remember how determined I was in hiding my emotions from others? But tonight I feel helpless, I feel numb, I feel dilapidated.

Things were not easy for me after you left. For a couple of months or so I could feel travelling through the forest of anguish, pain, and frustration. At that time I wished to walk in the rain so that nobody could see my tears. I could not talk about the loss; about my lost love to anyone.

Sometimes I think to save every bit of my day-to-day memories so that someday I can bring them to you. Time has passed and my road to you is now lying in tatters. Even if I try to travel it, I know I will never find the same old you over there. You must have moved on!

Even today, after so many years have passed, a chill wave go down my spine when I try to ruminate on how I have spent those long, dark days. Every hour, every minute, and every second became unbearable to me. Every love story haunted me with the memory of the moments we have spent together. My futile search for you, as I thought, would never end.

I knew that time would heal all my pains when you bid me the final farewell. I never thought of you on birthdays, on occasions, on anniversaries. I cross my bridges when I come to them and burn them behind me, with nothing to show for my progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once my eyes watered.

And now here as I sit and ponder on the past, suddenly I am taken aback to realize that years after years I went through the days of remembrance without even realizing that these are the days. Perhaps it is a good thing for me. Perhaps somehow I too managed to move on.

But why on earth the old memories have exhumed to haunt me tonight? Why tonight I feel like all has happened just yesterday? Is it to let me feel that you are still there in the deepest dungeons of my heart? I bore this chalice safely through a throng of foes, and thereby I can feel your presence, your importance to me and to my whole being.

There are times when I can still hear your voice, smell your fragrance, and feel your touch as pronounced as if you were in my arms. I still check my cell for your missed calls, but you don’t miss me anymore, do you? These things, no matter how insignificant they are, will always be there with me.

And right now as tears roll down my cheeks, they reassure the fact that I still miss you Princess.

miss u



Freedom essentially speaks of our prerogative to choose one particular type of bondage over another.

It is indeed interesting to note that this fact is lost on us as the bondage kept changing. But, there are a few ‘buts’.

Chained FreedomFirst, the conditions that appear rigid in one case should appear lax in the next – the alternate pattern of laxity and rigidity should soothe any pain that emanates out of it.

Second, each bondage needs the support of an opiate; yes even Communism itself does need the opium of glorious days being just around the corner, sorry Mr. Marx.

Third, there needs to be an alternate pattern of ego-boosters as well.

Just add these three and the mind takes care of the rest. Yes, it really does. It’s amazing how little it needs to be done to keep someone away from his or her freedom.

Just change the settings and the surroundings, and be assured that the individual would be happy thinking, “Well, it’s definitely better than what I’ve been through already.”

Else, freedom is never absolute; it comes with a sense of responsibility and commitment, even if nothing else. And trust me, freedom doesn’t necessarily mean happiness, neither contentment.

And I am not talking about Freedom from desires, please…

I’m too sensual to even think of something likewise, and secondly, I’m more concerned with freedom to fulfill my desires, to be very honest. Surely by now, you know what I mean…

Take Me Home!

As I excavate deeper into the vistas of my future boulevard, the chill wind above my hairs unfolds a long-lost secret tune of desperation. The more I try to emend the path of doom, the more I get indulged into it. I feel like to flee from the boisterous and vociferous shadows that my life casts over me. A bright and sunny day appears dim to me now, while I can chalk out a lifetime from moonless nights. This everlasting contrast of light and darkness leads me to nowhere.

End of a Day
My futile attempts tease me every time when I am alone; and even sometimes when I belong to the crowd. The solitude, these days, is burdensome to me. It is perhaps patience that all I require the most, and all that I lack the most.

Although I understand the essential lacuna of my character, I love to reign amid the abysmal depth of this self-drawn solitude, of numbness, and frustration. It’s all what I left with now, and all that I am destined to savor until this battle of mind over matter ends.

Heavens rot as tears rolled down my cheeks. Prayers remain unanswered when I wished to get them heard the most. All my austerities are hidden somewhere among the pinpricks of the Eastern asterism. I bleed, I batter, I bruise – all just to let me feel I survive. A million coruscating shaft of moonbeams now seem to delve deeper into the darkest dungeons of my inner self, illuminating nothing but an eternal void.

Wake me up to take me Home!

Songs of Experience

I often wonder how human beings move on after incurring a terrible fatal blow! How things shape into place after a painful hiatus of happy times. It’s time, I guess. Time makes us feel stronger (no, it does not give you muscle power until and unless you workout) and even, sometimes makes us to act bolder. I can still recollect my childhood days when I lost my favorite doll in a misfeasance and thought my life to come to a tragic end. But that was just the beginning, and I never knew that there were more to follow suit.

There are many a time I experienced my world to shatter in front of my eyes. But songs of experience made me choose the path of optimism. Every blow helped me to acquire enough guts so that I could rejuvenate from nothing but a mound of ashes. Phoenix, huh?

To SorrowSongs of Experience
I bade good-morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;

She is so constant to me, and so kind:
I would deceive her

And so leave her,
But ah! she is so constant and so kind

Perhaps no other words could express my feelings in a better way than these lines of Keats. Oh, how I had troubles to read him during my graduation days! But now as I grew older, I realized his beauty (I am talking about his works, not his countenance, mind you!).

To reciprocate to these adversities that my life imposed on me, I take inspiration from life itself: I learn everyday as I play. But still sometimes something haunts me, sometimes something taunts me, sometimes something makes me smile, and sometimes I just love to walk alone in the night.

There is no shortcut to make a way from the darkest dungeons, nor there is any tailor-made method available till date. Patience is the keyword my friend, and time is the best healer, that’s all.