Philosophical Me!

Truth or lies?

imageAnd that chapter is the one everybody is dying to read,don’t ya think?
And that chapter is the one everybody is dying to read,don't ya think?

Truth and lies.

I won’t moralise about what I’ve learned but I can tell you this: in my experience, telling the truth can land you in just as much shit—err, crap, as lying. More sometimes. Sure, a lie can trap you; it can crush you immediately or slowly weigh you down until you suffocate. But telling the truth won’t necessarily set you free; it can cost you everything you love the most. And it can force you to face yourself, as painful as that may be.

So, Truth or Lies?

Advertisements
Fiction.📝

He.

imageAnd, life wouldn’t be so meaningless.
And, life wouldn't be so meaningless.

Ghosts blew through the deserted corridors of his soul like gusts of cold wind. His eyes. It looked like nothing resided in those icy blue globes. But for a fleeting second I saw whole universe swimming in there. Then the shutters dropped as if it never was. That half-grin of his was just that –a wry twist of his lips, trying to hide the real beauty behind it. It was nothing like his real smile. That was a breathtaking sight. When he smiled, people stopped and stared. But he didn’t do it often. No. It was as if he was afraid of smiling; as if the reason behind it would be taken away from him if he showed even a sign that he was a normal, lovable person. He acted like an emotionless, ice-hearted asshole who only did what he wanted to without giving a shit about anyone. But, I saw the truth. I saw that he was a guy with heart of gold and most colorful mind.

-a-

Uncategorized

THE NEW COLOR.

imageLetting go. Letting go.
Letting go.

Fashioned with the essence of her feelings, a new color she had made. Dipping the tip of the brush that was her self-respect, she had made him portraits of her heart. They showed the deepest darkness that resided in the crevices of the blood pumping, overhyped version of the organ.

Dripping the thick red drops of her life blood, she had made paintings that were now the ashes accumulating around the fire she had started with gasoline laced with hatred he oozed and poison he hurled at her. The beauty that she had brought to life with the heart blood that with every pump screamed of her adoration for him was nothing more than ashes of her heart now.

Staring at the flames dancing, as if rejoicing in her slow demise, her need to get back up and paint the world an opaque so dark that nobody would see anything but her brave, young heart, roared. She wasn’t a lowly shell of a being who would let go of the beauty that was her just because she knew how this world works now. She was a fire that wouldn’t die just as easily.

And, so to keep it going, she threw the past as wood, sprinkled with the very color she had fashioned with the essence of her feelings. The roaring amber was a sight to behold. With hair flying in the wind of courage and eyes sparkling with the gold of the fire, she became a new person. She became a person she could be proud of. She became a person who created entire galaxies of memories to fill up the deep, dark pit where her heart once beat, echoing his name. Now, it echoed her own.

-a-

Poetry

Amber eyes.

2
Source | AMBER EYES.

Those whiskey eyes
Drenched in her heart blood,
Staring silently into the darkness.
Long eyelashes wet
With the dew of her soul’s rains.
The dark half moons under her amber jewels
More pronounced than ever.
They are the I’ve-seen-it-all eyes,
Laden with experiences of numerous lives past.
She has no crow’s feet.
She’s young.
But her precious eyes tell a different story.
She’s lived through it all.
Those liquid gold eyes have been witness.
Numbness is her friend.
Her eyes know it even better.

-a-

Poetry

Tasting Him.

image

He brought with him the scent of the rain
The first shower of monsoon.
The decadent smell of earth permeated their nostrils.
They inhaled deeply as if it was their last breath and they were dying.

She couldn’t smell.
She wouldn’t smell.
Instead she chose to taste him.
Breathing him in was as detached as something could be.
She wanted to get so close to him she would feel his soul stir.

Eye contact.
Glances were exchanged, eye to eye.
Smiles were returned, mouth to mouth.
Messages back and forth, heart to heart.

She went up behind him and tasted his neck.
His skin tasted like the most delicious chocolate, a hint of wood, a pinch of bitter.
She could taste the passion wafting from the pores of his skin.
It tasted raw. It tasted real.

She found a drop of sweat ready to roll down the curve where his life beat met his shoulders.
Intermingled with his anger and aggression,
It tasted of his struggles and hard work.
It tasted of salt, grainy with a hint of satisfaction.
He was like the most delicious coffee she sipped on a Sunday afternoon while re-reading her favorite book.

Licking along the rhythmically beating pulse, she discovered his dreams.
He had his own personal universe hidden inside him.
Nobody had discovered it. Nobody had dared.
The rhythm spoke of days past.
It had been steady. It was galloping now.
He wanted her to discover him. He wanted her to know.

She felt the secrets evaporate from the top of his skin.
They were all around her now.
They were all in the air just like his smell.
Nobody realized. Nobody cared.
All they wanted was to soak in the smell of him.
His essence, only she discovered.

She knew she had stumbled upon something special.
It was a gift only she received.
Others weren’t privy to his deep thoughts and beautiful heart.
She was. She knew.

Staring deep into the eyes again,
They discovered each other’s galaxies.
He was ready to taste her now.
He was ready to discover her.
She was ready to be discovered.
She had been starving before.
The satiation came at last.

-a-

Poetry

Two Broken Wings.

imageSource: Google Images Source: Google Images
Source: Google Images

She had a lonely past.

Loneliness, her friend of choice.

The past had taught her lessons few.

Drunk mother taught her to keep her mouth shut.

Opening it resulted in insults hurled incessantly.

It was better to stay hidden.

It was better to stay quiet.

Depressed father educated her to never get attached.

The spirit bottles her mother guzzled had made him a broken man.

He did nothing. He said nothing.

It was better to stay aloof.

It was better to stay away.

Promiscuous sister was the next in line.

She taught her to never trust the divine.

She slept around in hopes of finding the one.

There was no one.

There was never one.

She used to dream of flying around,

Enjoy the sights and the cheerful sounds.

She was now a bird with a broken wing.

She couldn’t fly, she didn’t dream.

Then came he.

Filling her with hope and positivity,

He told her she was magnificent and free.

She believed him and started to try,

She was going to be the bird

With a broken wing who could fly.

She thought she got rid of the past that engulfed her.

She didn’t think she needed to stick with the lessons anymore.

She believed he was the one who would help her fly and dream again.

He was the last straw, he wasn’t supposed to be.

He promised to teach her to fly with one wing.

Instead, he broke the other wing.

She was now a bird with two broken wings,

that couldn’t fly.

She wouldn’t fly.

-a-

Uncategorized

Life of HER.

imageSource: Facebook Source: Facebook Source: Facebook Source: Facebook
Source: Facebook

Braiding the memories of her life past in her hair she started walking on the path she saw in her dreams. It was happy memories for when she wanted to feel the love coursing through her bones. And, it was the sad memories for when she just needed to feel.
She filled her water bottle with water laced with the salt in her tears. It was from happy tears for when she needed to reminisce and laugh. And, it was tears she had shed when her heart broke for when she just needed to remember that she didn’t need nobody to hold her up. She was a strong girl. She was the strongest on her own.
She stopped and turned back to the light breeze that had followed her from the place she called her past. It whistled merrily with smell of her soul and the voice of the smiles in the days past. And, it whispered of the whimpered begging she did when she thought she needed them to live and the waterfalls of emotions she had let go of in the sea already burgeoning with the feelings of others. She smiled and urged the breeze to return to where it had come from. She thanked it for the presents that it had brought. She would need the tinkling of the whispers for when she needed to remember she was a wild one who had been restrained for far too long. Never again.
Looking ahead at the bends in the road fashioned with the essence of her soul, she exhaled. She let go of all the ties she had thought she needed to survive but actually didn’t. And, she let go of all the digressions and hurt she had carried in spaces between her bones and blood. They were weighing her down. She didn’t need them anymore.
She looked up at the sky sparkling with pieces of her life she wanted to hold on to but didn’t need to hold on to. They would travel with her till she decided that she was enough on her own. They would sparkle, arranged in constellations of memories past. And, when she was ready to move ahead without them, they would fall like beautiful stars, turning into stardust, a shower of happiness and tears –everything that made her her.

P.S. Another one, I guess. Sigh

-a-