Trust Dear Dearest, You asked me whether I trust you completely. Baby I can’t say that I trust you. I don’t trust anyone, for trust is a belief. And I don’t believe blindly. And if I say that I trust you for a reason, how can that be a trust, it is actually a realisation. That doesn’t mean that I don’t take chances. I do take chances. But I don’t ignore the other possibility. May be that’s why I am always anxious. I don’t believe that you love me. I understand that you do. That doesn’t hinder you from leaving me if I become bad or incompatible. Or at least I know that it shouldn’t. I understand that you had been on my side on many occasions when I needed you and when I needed someone. I also understand that sometimes I was on my own. But you are one among the people go to when I am troubled by something. So, I don’t believe that you love me, I know that you do at this moment. That is the foundation on which our love is built. Thus, this relationship will go on until we stop feel

The Illusionist

The Illusionist Dwelling in the tangled labyrinth is the rover, In the realm of time and space an eternal wanderer, The inventor of innumerable creators, Having the shape of their creators And codes of life, mutable always, Suiting the beastly humane ways. Where the hell is the hell? In the abyss like well with corpses' smell Or the complex nerve cell Where all evils dwell. To once reach heaven Never do those seven. The heaven and those seven, Mere cookies baked in his oven. How did the imaginary lines that divide Relatives, contingent on where they abide And twenty-four and sixty slices Of the earth's spin come to life? After this grand illusion He too started living in delusion.

Immoral Beings

Immoral Beings Why has God given us eyes? To see good things. Why has God given us ears? To hear good things. Why has God given us brain? To think good things. Why is it so? Because it is given by God? No. No. Definitely not. The ones whose livelihood is God, Needs us to not to see, hear, and think Beyond what secures the concept, God, As it will make their treasury shrink. The eyes, ears and brains, given by God Won't see beyond. We HAVE eyes to see, We HAVE ears to hear, We HAVE brain to think, Both good and bad. Only then we can rebel, Rebel against the circus trainer Who cages us to perform for his gain In this giant circus tent.

Eight out of Ten

Eight out of Ten I saw a girl and liked her, The astrologer didn't like her, He rated three out of ten I saw another girl then Same happened again Only astrologer had gain Many came and went When I like he would resent. I saw a girl, didn't like her, The astrologer liked her, He rated eight out of ten, They made me marry her then. Today, is our divorce. I spare him for now, For last month he too faced divorce.

The Severed Tongue

The Severed Tongue The silenced has a language, A powerful, peerless language. Each one has a tongue of their own, The one, along with them have grown, With undiscovered words that surpass The language of elite class. A language, not of elite class, And thus unfamiliar to the mass. A language forged out of experiences Unfamiliar to the mass that seeks differences. Yet in your language, we seek expression, The language that has treated our experiences with oppression.

Essay 1

Poet, Lover, Lunatic I don't know where all my thoughts wander. In a span of two minutes where I tried to sleep by closing my eyes, I thought of narration (as I was trying to sleep listening to a bedtime story in calm app), imagined how I will narrate a story to our children, will I be a good story teller, how can I be a better story teller when their mother is already a good one, I thought of sound modulations that I may bring in my narration (I literally imagined those sound modulations), then I thought of whether I should tell them fairy tales, because I know those form a wrong understanding of the world, creates a neocolonized mind, then I thought that I should tell them the stories or else they won't be able to understand and recognise one of the most effective methods used to shape and dominate minds, then I told to myself that I should deviate from the traditional way of raising children by teaching them not to discriminate, and then I thought about rights, I thought

Short Story 3

Mr. Deviant R.I.P Mr. Love, the butcher of Normal Street, renowned for his swift hands, slaughtered Mr. Deviant in the name of God. Mr. Deviant has travelled beyond the street, and was therefore a headache for all. He questioned the agents of God, sometimes the concept of God and always the existence of God. He was not supposed to be left to rot as the butcher believed that he will pollute the air and the sin of slaughter will be washed away when it is served as food.  The butcher gave the flesh to his lover, Ms. Kind, who owned a small restaurant in Normal Street. He told her that it was Mr. Deviant, and she asked “The devil’s son? People say that he got his name from the devil, is that true?” The butcher disagreed to that and said that he is not the devil’s son, but that he says  we were not made by God but we evolved from other animals. The butcher joked that Deviant might have been born from a monkey. Ms. Kind, due to her curious mind, asked, “He says he has travelled beyond