Last String

People come and go.

Permanence is one thing that never exists in this fast-changing world.

We live and we die. We say ‘hi’ then we bid ‘goodbye’.
We sing along a good old song, and then it ends.
Someone touches our lives, the next moment they’re gone.

Just like that.

Not a day’s notice, not a word of warning.
They come and they go, and then we’re never ever the same.

We learn the hard way that nothing’s definite, only goodbyes.

One day or the other, we lose someone and the only way to cope is to LET GO.

But who’s ever ready to let go?

When letting go means losing the things that truly matter.

Who’s ever ready to let go?

When letting go means losing pieces and parcels of one’s soul.

When it means waking up in the morning, feeling less of a person with a big hole in your heart.

Really. Who’s ever ready to let go?

We hold a million strings in our hands,

Borrowed lives, fleeting time, passing love;

But at the end of the day, none of them is ours to keep.

We hold tight to the things we believe would last forever,

but none of them ever does.

One by one they’ll seep out from our grips, like the fine grains of sand we try to keep in our palms.

We can muster every bit of rage,curse the gods, cry our hearts out,

But at the end of the day, we have to let go.

We have to let go.


Gone in this world but never in our hearts..:)


Blind Eye

The heart sees only what it wishes to see.

Like the stunning red petals of a thorn filled rose, or the beautiful basket that carries a handful of rotten fruits.
It sees only goodness in a convicted man’s being, and finds vindication in lieu of a beloved’s lie.
It takes notice of that single right in a deluge of wrongs, and esteems that single smile amidst a rainstorm of sorrows.
It looks at what it receives rather than at what it has given, in a context of misgivings and unjust returns.

Yet the heart knows what it refuses to see.

Like the sadness behind those façade of smiles or the coldness unconcealed by those humdrum, empty words.
It feels the pricking pain as the thorns of the rose it adores rip open the surfaces of its fragile skin, or the gushing of blood for every word not said and deed not done.
It sees a flame blazing, yet feels deep within the extinguished spark that loses its luster day by day.

But despite what it knows, the heart believes what it chooses to believe.

It is soldered into its unyielding pretence that ‘Everything’s fine’, the make-believe that someday everything will fall back together again.
It builds a wall so sturdy to protect it from the truth behind those lies, and to never stain nor destroy its ideals of love.

But a heart that sees within limits can only love within boundaries.

For the fear of what lies outside the walls of comfort cripples its capacity to love without bounds.
And that kind of love, no matter how pure, would never be ENOUGH.

P.S. Perhaps that other person loves you so much, to be in such denial despite knowing the truth.

The One That Got Away

“…the one that got away, guys have that and serial killers have that. I had the truck lined with garbage bags but then she got away”

I wonder if there’s really that one person, that one love you can’t escape, that would take away a parcel of your heart and squeeze its way into your thoughts every once in a while.

When you’re oh-so-happy with a new love, I wonder if in the midst of your calm and bliss someone would sneak into the corners of your mind and make you wonder about how he’s doing.

That glorious moment when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful white dress, I wonder if there’s someone who would steal a miniscule of your thought and make you hesitate for a fleeting moment.

Like a breeze that blows right through you as you sit content into the porch of your home on a lazy afternoon, that makes you wonder if you also brush that other person’s thought the same way he brushes yours.

As you stare into that mirror, feeling nostalgic over your first strand of silver hair, I wonder if there’s that one person who would make you see a hint of regret right through those old weary eyes and make you wonder ‘what if’?

And as you heaved your last breath, I wonder if an image of that one who got away would be the last one to cross your mind, while you wonder in that final second of your life if you touched his life the same way he touched yours.

I drift away into all these thoughts and wonder if ten, twenty, or fifty years from now I’d still think of you the same way I am thinking of you right now…