Inspiration and Expiration

Flashes of creativity or imagination and their due results


November 2015

Message in a bottle

Sharing an old diary entry with the world.
Dated: Oct ’14

“I feel like telling a story.

I feel like if I don’t write it somewhere, I will forget it. These thoughts, the memories, this feeling. I might forget it altogether or forget parts of it or mix up the details, important details.

It’s a feeling I get a lot these days. Usually when a new status springs up on my News feed about some event of the present or a memory of the past.
And so I wonder, like I always do, if people think about me and if not me, do they think about the moments we shared and the times we spent together?
Or are they starting to lose grip on the strings that holds us together
Just like me.

Together we felt indestructible, inseparable- bonded by reckless attachments, unable to imagine life without the other.
I often think about what happened to us, what stopped “happening” and what changed, the turning point of our such entwined lives.


Time’s to be blamed. It’s our worst enemy. Life happened too, as they say but life is just a consequence of time, a mere side-effect.
Time passed as it’s supposed to pass. Soon life tagged along. Marks and grades divided us, luck changed courses for some, beauty others.

Aging is also a consequence of time. In this brittle world, everything has to grow old and break, become weak and weary and ultimately give in and wither away, perish forever.
People, things even relationships are bound to age and then expire, in due course of time.

My textbook reads “Aging is an inevitable, irreversible process and despite all efforts to inhibit or stop it, the aging process goes on.”

So, time tricked us into believing it was fate, luck and life.

I’m sure they’ll think about it too someday, like I do now and maybe they’ll figure it out and find a way to accept it as I so desperately try.
And so that’s all I get these days, uncomfortable rides down memory lane, disturbing flashbacks and a million more recollections.

Everyone does that, decide to take a trip down memory lane and make peace with whatever they remember of the past, to feel everything, anything or nothing at all.”




Storms of Silence

Asking after his love for me
Silence smiled in answer
Mocking at me, taunting
Like a predator stalking its prey
I didn’t dare complain
Love was rife at the moment
As days slaughtered in the same silence
Still I cloaked my doubts, silenced my qualms
Growing sick of the deafening silence
I stopped inquiring
Stopped loving, stopped writing
The silence echoing louder than ever
Until one day, he took my hand in his own
The question obvious in his oblivious eyes
How much love I held for him at this hour?
Frozen in place
I neither blinked, nor cried
My thoughts raged,
But my lips held perfect calm
As his glance met mine
I saw my face reflected back
It was my silence that smiled in answer
The same silence that tore us apart


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