Skip to main content

The Lament

Love, the traitorous thief, who abandoned me in the midst of plenty. As I gaze upon the darlings of another, parading before me on the pavement, I am lost in the sea of faces. 

I seek refuge behind my mask, my face a veil for the pain that love has wrought upon me. 

Oh love, why have you left me alone amidst the crowd, suffocating in my solitude, yearning for a way to escape the prison of my own heart?

Let me disappear into the masses, where I can hide from your relentless torment.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hindolam: S

When someone is taken away from you, you realise how much you need that person. The universe took 'him' away from her and she wasn't ready to give up yet. She needed to get back to 'him', to her world. That was the only thought that crossed her mind, it consumed her. Her fear, perplexities and doubts vanished, this was the moment she figured out what she really wanted. She realised that she knew it all along. She loved 'him' so dearly that she wouldn't leave 'him' for anything in the world.  She told him, "I belong to 'him'. No matter how intensely you love me, I will love 'him', not you. Because it was a promise for a lifetime. Even death can't do us apart. Let me go. I have to go back to 'him'. I know I'm hurting you but 'he' needs me. And do you know how ardently I love and admire 'him'? As much as you love me, if not more. And 'he' loves me much more than that also. ” His moist eyes...

Rage

Rage, rage, rage! Rage unto the roaring skies and rob the mighty waves of light; And sound the clash of Titans. Bring me them in the arc, I shall drink them to the less. Ah, my Angels and Devils,  Rage unto the eternal fire and waters, I shall blow the west wind and chariot unto the Eastern skies. I carry the unquenched fire and sound the trumpet of war. They devoured Prometheus's liver, Defiled Hypatia upon Caesareum's altar, Stripped by oyster shells, Bathed in the blood of Jesus, the Nazarene. I bury them. Yes, I bury them. I see the reversal of the time-  Those who walk on land shall return to their origin. The slave of the past, Bearer of forefathers' sins, Shed your blood, find solace in your shadows, As they demand the return of your sins.           Show me your hands           For, they drop blood            and wipe the stains of sins they p...

Kundera

Emerging from the lampshade, a nocturnal butterfly fluttered erratically, startled by the sudden overhead light. As I closed the book, the strains of a distant piano and violin drifted weakly from below. Lost in contemplating the butterfly's flight patterns, I found myself entranced. Kundera, sensing my bewilderment, remarked on the rhythm, the highs and lows of the musical strains below. He spoke of the interconnectedness of each note, emphasizing how even the pauses between them contributed to the symphony's beauty. I was drawn to the profound silence, where a symphony was meticulously orchestrated. Interrupting my reverie, she snatched the book from my chest, exclaiming, "What are you reading?" I could only respond with an "Ah!"