The dark of the sky has not yet gone,
The sun has not yet gleamed with joy,
The clouds have not yet tired of hiding,
The moon behind them, where it lazily sleeps.
The stars don’t blink, they stand still today,
And all around there’s an eerie silence,
Not a sound of man, nor bird nor dog,
Only the whispers of ghosts prevail.
They whisper to each other in creaks of windows,
In the rustle of leaves, in the whoosh of the wind,
And when all is said and done,
When the morning will come again,
They’ll go back to sleep,
And no one will believe me when I tell them,
I heard the ghosts around me yesternight again.


It is easy to make a promise, just as easy as closing your eyes,
But keeping the promise, is more like waiting for the sleep to encumber your eyes,
For dreams do not come to minds devoid of peace,
So think twice, no, thrice, before speaking out loud,
For once the words are out, you cannot take them back,
Never make a promise unless you decide to keep up with it,
For once he loses his faith in you, you will never get it back,
And he will wander away, away from you, far away,
So far you’ll never be able to get him back in your faith,
And there will be no one else to blame for it, but you.

The Greatest Difficulty

The difficulty is not in choosing,
Whether to love or not,
Whether to marry or not,
But is the most in,
Whether to eat or to sleep.
For some days you are super hungry,
And are super sleepy at the same time.
Do you want to give up your sleep,
To chew some morsels so that,
Your belly could sleep with you?
Or would you rather let your slumber win,
The sweet dreams, and the unconsciousness,
For some, consciousness is,
The annoying things between naps,
And for some, food is all that matters.
For me, I want both.
I want to eat while I am still sleeping,
And sleep when I am eating,
I never want to be hungry,
Yet I wouldn’t want to not sleep when sleepy.
So therefore,
When people talk to you,
About the problems in their lives,
Ask them how they’d choose between,
Their lunch and their pent-up sleep wishes,
And add to their miseries,
Because you know how it feels.

Will You Recognize Me?

Are you really that intangible,
That you would come every single night,
Every single night in every single dream,
Yet fail to show up wherever I look for you,
Are you really that intangible?
Like a wisp of air, tangling in my hair,
Like the breeze of summer, and the gale of winter,
Throughout seasons, you are just there,
Sitting, smiling, waiting, looking at me,
Through those two shiny eyes that I have long not seen,
But as soon as I wake up, you are gone.
Where are you now, right now, in which world,
Tell me the color of the sky you see,
Do you look up to see at the skies,
Or do you look down silently watching me,
Tell me for I am tired of this melodrama,
Tell me.
Sometimes when I think of you before I sleep,
I see the face I saw so many years ago,
So many years have died since then,
A hundred seasons have passed,
And yet you are still there, holding time in your hands,
Not letting it pass by,
When I see you again,
Will you recognize me?

The Hare and the Tortoise

The hare challenged the tortoise,
To a race to see who’s faster,
The tortoise knew what’d happen,
Yet she still accepted to run,
Her love knew bounds for the hare,
She wished the hare knew that,
But never collected her guts to face him,
And so they were here today.

So on a fine sunny morning,
They decided to run the race,
The hare left his crutches at home,
And came limping to the starting point.
He ran on one leg for an hour or so,
The tortoise walking far behind,
Weeping when she thought how much pain,
The hare constantly endured for her.

When he almost reached the finish point,
The hare decided to sleep for a while,
And whilst he was dreaming of the tortoise,
She almost reached the finishing line.
She saw the hare sleeping,
Tired of running on one foot,
And came and sat beside him,
Dozing off to sleep in a while.

When they woke up, his pain was lesser,
The tortoise had bandaged all his cuts,
“Want to continue the race?” she asked,
They laughed and hugged each other.
For sometimes in the race of life,
Slow, steady, or fast, none matter,
But accepting each for what one is,
And still loving them, matters.

Stranded – 2

Read the first part in Stranded – 1.

She looked at him, he was still drinking,
He hadn’t said a word in the past three hours,
Wondered how terse he had become,
And wondered whether he even loved her anymore.
The blood on his face had dried to black,
A stream of it from his forehead to chin,
She remembers how that had splashed on his face,
And the axe that he used to kill him.

The boy who was waiting on him came up later,
And told them they needed to pay for the ale,
She explained how their money had been stolen,
How they had been robbed of everything as they came.
He went back to his mistress, explained everything,
The wench was ruthless, she didn’t care,
Came up and slapped her on both her cheeks,
That was the last time the wench ever breathed.

As night fell upon them, they decided to sleep,
Shared the hay that the horse in the stable slept on,
She talked to him about love and hopes,
About the children that she planned to have,
The things she had ruminated on while he drank,
He listened intently, or so he pretended,
Until a point when he dozed off,
Leaving her to herself, still talking intently.

When the sun next rose, the girl woke up,
And as she rubbed her eyes and faced his side,
Lo, her love was nowhere to be seen,
Nor was the horse, the stable gates open.
She leaped up and started running,
Never missing the footsteps the horse left behind,
But after some hours she realized her folly,
Sat down where she stood, and wept out loud.

She learned that day what love was about,
How it seldom stood against the face of adversity,
How people changed, and did not realize,
And how love like all things eventually came to an end.
Her love knew no bounds, then why was she,
Alone today, in despair and turmoil?
Stranded she sat, amidst the sand,
Which would bury her into itself, come tonight.

#13 – The Death of the Raven

Syra moved stealthily, all the while surefooted on the slippery ice, while she made her way into his room. She stood at the entrance, looking at the entire room, her eyes moving from one corner of the room to the other, deciding if it were the right place she was in. Then she entered.

Outside the door, a man waited. He was a cobbler in his days, now he had nothing but his son and a wife who didn’t remember him although she was always around. Kazh, he was called. Once he had a happy life, but now only the remnants of it in his memory served to bring up a smile on his face once a while. He waited. He knew it would not be long before his guest came up. And soon he did. Clad in brown, fur and leather, always bearing a wicked smile, his hands stronger than any that ever lived, he came and stood by him. He was his son, Fahhr. Or so everyone thought. But Kazh knew the truth. Only if he could speak up.

When they entered man and son, Syra lay on the bed with him. She tried to cover herself, but after a moment she decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He stood up. “Kazh and Fahhr.” He smiled. “I have seen you in the litter, and heard a lot about you as a boy, yet I knew not that our meeting would be in this fashion. People think I am dead. You would know I am not.”

“Yes, headmaster. But.. there is this I cannot comprehend. We saw you get buried in stones. How did you manage to come back amidst us, back from your afterlife?” The headmaster only smiled. “There are things I have learned, boy, in this journey. And much of it you may not believe, though know this for sure. The Things are for real. I have seen them, and they are coming. Even as the raven on my window-sill died today, it croaked and I listened to it. It said, ‘Fly! Now! Fly! Now!’ Do you know what that means?”

“No,” came the reply.

“Then I will tell you,” replied the Headmaster. “I will tell you. I will tell you. For now, it’s our time to fly.”

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