Its times likes these, you learn to love again

Record the voices in the playstation of your memoirs
The strong current of the wind will bring the echo back
Redefine again the faith and conviction you build
Of sandcastles withering and collapsing,
Penning down ages of regret and guilt and humor
Cursing and thanking the same god for various reasons
For friends I had and friends I made
Affectionate and cold had its own connotation,
Tears’ are mischievous, uniquely subtle and humorously fucked up.

A smoke made everything alright and comforting,
Fire and ice came simultaneously and tripped us beyond shores
Closets were kept for the indifference which we felt
Hoping each night, the next day would be the usual
The time to remorse was always interrupted by time to be yourself.

So the finishing line is as close as ever.





(For the ones, whom I will miss. The four years that laid the path of being a man….to my Godavari hostel 3rd wing, I’ll so miss you bastards….18th April, 9 p.m. Rock on……)