Who doesn't want to celebrate funerals with cakes and balloons?❤

Grid View
List View
  • nostalgic_silence 76w

    //A Slit in the Darkness//

    My world ends here. No more tears, no more hiding from myself. And yet, I smile.

    Dad, I remember you holding my fingers, laughing our way out with those little evening walks. I was a kid, then. I loved those walks, Dad. Just the thought of those used to make me so excited that I never used to sleep in those afternoons. But when I was in my 5th standard, you told me that I was big enough to go for those roads alone. I tried. I failed.

    Mom. Remember how you used to lie by me and make me aware of a demon under the bed who may come out even for the slightest delay of closing my eyes to sleep. I was a kid, then. But now I know, that demons don't reside under beds anymore, but in us.

    You may find me hanging from the ceiling, tomorrow morning, or may be lying down with my wrist slit open and for a moment, the world around will crumble down to your feet...the regular morning cups will not be filled with tea leaves. I know. You will scream out loud enough to wake everybody up. You all will probably think where it went wrong, where it possibly could have went wrong...because to you, I was always that bright girl with a sunshine face and with a happy-go-lucky way of life. I never really gave you a single hint of my monsoon days. May be, I couldn't open my heart up to you all, Mom and Dad. But that's all on me. You two have nothing to do with this. I chose this for me. There are so many reasons for this but I don't want to go through them now.

    Well, sometimes people are foolish to say there's no courage in taking your own life. Adding days to life or life to days is just a choice just like happiness is. And this is my choice. I know I have people attached to my life...this little family of ours...and those lines forced to my ears by the therapist that I need to survive no matter how hard it gets... still rings in my ears.

    But sometimes you got no choice, sometimes you want to escape from what's going on. I just want to let things slide by as I hope to lie down in a surreal slumber for the rest of my life. By the time, you will probably be reading this, I'll be away, far away from you, from everyone. I will be long gone. I know the agony of seeing my cold face at the daybreak will keep both of you dismayed for a long time. But I hope everything will be fine, once again, may be.

    Suicide ain't heroic, I know, but it's not that coward an act as it is displayed to be. A girl cuts deep enough to slit her own wrist and no one has a right to shove a tag of coward on her cold face! Someone who is not afraid to take her own life, whose hands don't tremble for a second to push the blade to her wrist, you think she's a coward. Well, that's were the irony lies. You do not know the demons that we carry within us. And so, it seems to me the easy way out. I'm sorry.

    We are living in a world where people trade lives to see graves adorned with flowers and where mental health is mostly prioritized, for a short time, under the spotlight of a celebrity's suicide news. And in a world like this, a soul like mine feels pretty damn hard to make it through.

    ... and here I fall like an autumn leaf swinging in the air and yet, I smile.


    Read More



  • nostalgic_silence 78w

    The November rain touched the woods and there I saw not a single soul on the streets. I wondered how extremely false those lines were that i wrote in my 7th standard, under the phrase "A rainy day". I would cry my heart out if I were to find out what stopped people from getting wet in rain. I slowed down near a Bus Stop for a smoke. I realized I forgot and left the lighter in the tram cabin. Pretty annoying, surely. A hell lot of rainfall without a smoke.. November hadn't been much good to me. I lost a job, turned down two offers and finally landed in a so called nostalgic tram cabin and now I lost a smoke too. I sat on the old bench at the Stop and kept on glancing at the nearby street lamp. The slanting beads of pearls lined the scenario. The wet broken road shined under the lamp's blessing. I don't know what exactly was on my mind. I just drowsed in critical confusions of nostalgia, digging up the soil of my heart. I realized there are many such situations which reflects a long old quaint aroma surrounds you in such a night. You go back in time to fit in the piece to a long forgotten memory. I realized I was feeling a bit cold. The November rain brings in such sweet memories. For how many of you still make sailboats with paper and make them sail in such a bliss and feel upset when then crash down midway? A handful, may be. The sky sobs but it never questioned for the moon's absence in its heavenly atmosphere. It's an eternal feeling of understanding how one can unlove someone who has acquired a greater slice in your heart. It will take a life time to stop missing someone you love. Or may be a lifetime isn't enough for that. May be unloving isn't hard in some other reality where fire can be melted to wood and wind can be burnt down to ashes. I saw a man on a cycle in such an hour. Perhaps,his business allowed him a tight schedule today! But his smiling face on his half broken bicycle won my heart. He went far and disappeared.

    Sitting there I fell into a kind of trance. It was quarter to 8 p.m. The rain gave no sign of stopping on such a bright and sunny day.

    I don't know if it was all real but I thought I recovered from it 2 years back. Delusional disorder.


    Read More


  • nostalgic_silence 86w

    pal bhar Theher jaao
    dil ye sambhal jaaye
    kaise tumhe roka karoon
    meri taraf aata
    har gham phisal jaaye
    aankhon mein tumko bharoon,
    bin bole baatein tumse karoon,
    gar tum saath ho,
    agar tum saath ho..
    //2:10 a.m.
    Back in the heart warming summer days in 2013, I tried holding you back one last time. I tried to touch your face for once. I was one of your loved puppets stringed to your fingers, having some of the best dances of my life. My eyes loved seeing you and would speak to you through silence. But you weren't there to hold me in your arms. You weren't there to make me understand, depression is real. Depression kills. May be for that reason, I never had patience to observe flowers bloom amongst all the mud. You were my flower. And you always made me feel special by blooming all over a mud like me.
    behti rehti neher nadiyaan si teri duniya mein
    meri duniya hai teri chaahaton mein
    main Dhal jaati hoon teri aadaton mein
    gar tum saath ho..
    //2:21 a.m.
    I remembered the days that flowed down to your world with all our fights, our talks, our nights. They suddenly became a melancholic hangover and I smashed your skin with a hammer. You were lying there asleep with no idea of the blood lying all over your wrinkled red skin. I tore your heart out and unleashed a caffeinated evening sky under which we stayed close to each other with beautiful dreams in our eyes. I loaded you in the trunk of my car and drove away to the highway. I always wanted to celebrate those years, when my hands slipped around you in the most unexpected moments and butterflies would adore your curls. But, time passed, and I realized that in the end, we all are just clouds of our own unfulfilled aspirations and just need someone to hold our hand, temporarily, may be, to face life together.
    Teri nazron mein hai tere sapne
    Tere saapne mein hai naarazi
    Mujhe lagta hai ki baate dil ki
    Hoti labzon ki dhokebaazi
    //2:43 a.m.
    I threw the letters out of the window and they flew away like butterflies over the highway; turned the radio on, lighted a smoke and grabbed the steering. A love-lost soul speeding on a moonlit highway in the month of June with the only words ringing in the ears, "tum saath ho ya na ho
    kya fark hai
    bedard thi zindagi
    bedard hai"
    (It really doesn't matter if you stay with me or not...
    Life is merciless, always, and would remain so even if we are together.)


    Read More


  • nostalgic_silence 88w

    Dying artist
    You said life's easy. Yes it is, only when you are not into it...for my ink never made a man so great and my art never made me feel so low till I decided to wade through life and pull off one last time. I failed, terribly. I'm still decorating my face with little smiles hanging from the corner of my lips, celebrating each day like the last one, tasting the fruit of life and keeping the sour ones aside!
    I was told that God is great and He will make your way out through life and I realized, lately, that God was never great all this time. It was mostly me all this time, who just tried to pull off one last time, hoping to survive, may be.
    Art stopped attracting me. I became aware of this when I shut a window to a noisy downpour outside. The wet city didn't call me that day to scribble like a 19th century writer. I didn't go to the coffee shop for a week and it really didn't feel like I had a connection, before, with the waitress. I used to order a cup while scribbling in my diary and she used to serve with a million dollar smile. One day, when I asked her the reason for making such a meaningful connection with her smile all the time, she said, " We don't just serve coffee here, sir, we spread smiles. We don't know if someone had a bad day or not, so we always try to have a smile on our face to make others understand that there is a lot more things to stay happy and satisfied in life than to stay sad and disgusted. It's not always the coffee that heals us, sir, but most of the time, the manner of serving."
    Artists die a million times before their death. They die, not because they grow old with time but because time never gives them opportunities. And also, only one opportunity is not enough. Even a hundred may not be. They have the courage to spread wisdom round and round the globe. They don't fear. The World War happened twice and we are also "this" close to invite a third one. Giving opportunities to the world to destroy lives two times and not giving a single chance to an artist to save lives even for once, is the biggest trick ever played upon humanity. You see, that's why artists die.
    And for the fact that the roses may bloom, darling, and the jasmines may grow on my grave... But I'll not return. May be, you will remember, one day, that there was some artist who died because he decided to destroy the symphony of his heart and soul,
    And play the broken strings of his life...
    Unpleasant, yet beautiful!
    Insane, yet wonderful!


    Read More

    Dying Artist


  • nostalgic_silence 90w

    The Studio
    Paartho managed to sit comfortably as Avinesh da tried to tune the soft background music for the 15th time. I reached the studio at 7.30 PM. It was already 9 o'clock and Avinesh da had been fucking with that same old wires that I saw him doing the last night. After some irritatingly silent few seconds, I said, "Get this dumb recording system atleast someone who can fix this, Avi da." And then I waited for another several minutes for his answer. He finally said with his grave voice, "Aree don't say dumb. It has seen a lot of history in this Studio. Ai toh hoye geche, hoye geche." Thank God it didn't take him eternity.

    Nitin entered the studio saying, "Everything ready, dada?"
    ----"Yes, Yes everything is ready."

    I finally put on the headphones.

    Nitin gestured his hand from behind the wide glass wall to tell me if I was ready. I signalled to start.

    The soft background music started.

    REC: ON��

    Hello people. It's time to put off the dirt from your soul and plug in the earphones, switch off the lights and just lie down closing your eyes as I carry on with my words. Well, how many of you have suffered from heartbreaks? The number will surely be huge, right? I particularly want to mention the word teenage heartbreaks. Basically, it all happens something like this - you fall in love, you enjoy his or her company, you feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach followed by bunking tuitions and spend the entire sweet time holding hands and then one day you suddenly find yourself alone and it's all over...contacts blocked and you cry overnight, well it happens, it happens. Your family feels good after hearing about your heartbreak and then the only consoling words they come up with are "Come on. Don't cry. It's not the end of the world." And there it all begins. The wrong treatment of curing heartbreaks, I mean. I don't know what adults think...but surely when you are telling your children that "It isn't the end of the world", they are actually feeling like it's the end of something precious in his or her life. I hear some of them say that "there is a specific time allotted for celebrating each thing in life" 15 too young an age to celebrate love? Is
    even 16 so? Love neither comes with a validity nor with a tag of age. Most people forget their own adolescent feelings when they face the romantic nature and sexual attributes of their children. Dealing with love and heartbreaks is not that complicated but when it comes to adults who are dealing with heartbreaks of their children, they do so. Never put yourself down in such situations. They are meant to happen. Read good books and run after good vibes, and sometimes if you feel like the world's crumbling beneath your feet, offer yourself a good time and talk to your soul. Yes, that's the place where you reside. You can't expect life to be fair with you every time. Everyday is a big day to measure how far we have flung to make it through the life's struggles.

    As a matter of fact, even I suffered a breakdown in love life...some years back. And it is exactly the same thing that I am going through about which I have been talking to you all this time. Heartbreaks are not easy to overcome. But they are, surely, not that hard even to do so. So, don't fear heartbreaks.

    I am now in the last few seconds of this recording and I just wanna tell you that never stop loving people. It's the most beautiful thing that you can adore someone's life with. Come on, you surely don't fear love after your heart got broken. If you do, then let me tell you one thing. Have you seen broken crayons? They still colour right. And just like broken crayons still colour, two broken hearts do make a complete one!

    REC: OFF⚫

    We finally recorded it. The studio looked deserted. After all, no one came to this abandoned studio for 15 years. It remained closed. It was when Avi da told me and Nitin that he knows this place, a bit old though but a fine place to record.
    © @cry_for_cryolite

    Read More

    The Studio

  • nostalgic_silence 95w

    The candle's still a-burning

    I walk past the deads a million times through the hell,
    A caged moron; celebrating optimism in the first few seconds
    And despair in the next.
    I grew graves for others to fall
    And in the act, I fall a little more, everytime, in the eyes of mine
    For blood looks good on my hand,
    I couldn't resist to stab and slaughter...
    With a thin stream of blood carving its way out from the eyes
    Falling down to eternity, I would say,
    "Fear not! The candle's still burnin'..."

    A chaos of souls, full of regrets
    At the burning end of my cigarette
    Keeps on echoing the misdeeds
    For what we all do, has their own limits
    Has their own consequences.
    My father would say,
    "That's the lesson, my son,
    If everything had come free,
    People would have walked the roads with blood-dripping hands,
    Sending chills down the spine of the Almighty."

    Amidst the rain and the thunder,
    The roses may bloom, the jasmines may grow
    Celebrating a life beyond the grave.
    But I'll not return...
    For death is what makes life so great.

    The sun went down
    And the evening grew darker,
    I didn't see an end to suffering
    I grew old and numb
    Till I steadily pierced a dagger to my right eye
    And left my left eye twitching forever.

    With a thin stream of blood carving its way out from the dead eye
    Falling down to eternity, I could hear someone whisper,
    "Fear not! The candle's still a-burning..."


    Read More

    The candle's still a-burning

    For blood looks good on my hand,
    I couldn't resist to stab and slaughter...
    With a thin stream of blood carving
    its way out from the eyes
    Falling down to eternity, I would say,
    "Fear not! The candle's still burnin'..."


  • nostalgic_silence 107w

    ❤Kyaa pata ye kaisi taaklif hai ke kuch khwahish adhura sa reh gaya

    Chaand taaro ki baat na kijiye...
    Unke shaazish mein toh har aashiq mara gaya

    Saal naya hai, lekin laabz wohi puraana sa reh gaya...
    Kavitaao mein lipti hui waqt wohi thaam gaya

    Haar saal ye soch ke jite hai ke is bar thode alag se rehenge...
    Paise kam aur khusiya zada aapnayenge
    Iss baar ki bhi kuch asi khwahish hai
    Dil kam dukhayenge, mohabbat zada kaarenge...

    Muskurayenge ye soch kar ki pichle saal ki khwaahishe iss saal pura kaarenge...
    Aur phir aagle saal bolenge... "Socha nahi tha ke kuch khwahishe pichle saaal bhi adhura reh jaayenge"!

    Muskuraayenge iye soch kar...
    Ki naya saal pehle ki tarha rang birangi lifafo mein nahi aaya
    Fir in baato ko bhul jaayenge
    "Chod naa yaar, iye zamana toh kab ka badal gaya"❤


    #poetry #life #love #nature #love #friendship #inspiration #life #poetry #thoughts #diary #travel

    Read More

    Muskuraayenge iye soch kar...
    Ki naya saal pehle ki tarha rang birangi lifafo mein nahi aaya
    Fir in baato ko bhul jaayenge
    "Chod naa yaar, iye zamana toh kab ka badal gaya"


  • nostalgic_silence 117w

    She took my heart away in my late 40s...well, 40s aren't that late to have your heart broken? Is it?
    On some days, she would quarrel over her favourite songs.
    "Oh come'n! You will never understand this."
    ----- "I understand you and isn't that enough?"
    She noticed my futile efforts to suppress my laughter.
    "Fuck this shit, the joke's on you honey, it's my bad that I love someone who doesn't even try to love country classics."
    ----- "Seriously? Who does listen to country songs these days? You're so old fashioned."
    She would smirk and say, "I do. May be, I am old fashioned. May be, my love is old fashioned. But, isn't this the "me" that you love to see everytime when you return from work?"
    In reply, I just had to act like I was joking and just to prove myself a peaceful man, I would forcefully say, "Oh dear, you always make a hell out of my simple words."
    Well none of them are true. Because I know that she was right.

    On some days, we would sit together on the rooftop with empty glasses of wine and act like we are poor and just talk our heart out to each other. Just to make a romantic move, I used to say... "these stars are beautiful" And she would reply back with a "Not more than me" and continued with her she didn't even care for my efforts to be romantic. But trust me, it felt so cute when she said that.

    On some days, she would keep on telling me that she loved me and we two would sit and laugh at each other's teenage pictures and spent the evening dancing to country music, her favorite, of course.

    On some days, life used to keep us so busy that we could hardly spend some time of the day, together. Just a good night kiss without feelings and off to sleep. Most of the time, the kiss would deliver neither love nor lust. Just an empty gesture to a good night.

    On some...on some days, I would spend my entire time beside her hospital bed and the doctor would say, "Much complications are there...either the baby or the mother... Any one of them can be saved."

    On some days, she would say, "If I don't stay here with you, just keep our marriage album safe dear... We will surely meet in afterlife." And I would shed tears to her words to which she used to lament, "Have you read that love story, I forgot the name, where all the characters die because the author didn't know what to do with them?" I haven't. But I was sure that the author would have spent that whole night, weeping.

    And on some another day, I remember that I attended the funeral walks with the coffin on my left shoulder and then, put a rose while it went under the ground and came back to my daughter, smiling, never really letting her know what happened.❤

    These days, I often embrace my ears to country songs, often drink wine from empty glasses, and always give goodnight kisses to my daughter.
    All of these out of love? Umm. Not really. I mean, may be, may be not. It's just that, I love remembering her.

    And for the last time I stood amidst the raindrops, staring at her grave, I actually realized that love is such an old-fashioned notion and people are meant to be loved in the most old-fashioned way.


    Read More

    "...and for the last time I stood amidst the raindrops, staring at her grave, I actually realized that love is such an old-fashioned notion and people are meant to be loved in the most old-fashioned way."

  • nostalgic_silence 148w


    O beloved, thou art a wildflower,
    Twisting thine life to odds of the forest
    Canst thou tell'st me how to pray and shower
    Happiness and, to bliss, thou returnest!

    I adore thy summer days, cliche love
    When thou cling'st to me in a nameless night
    Like the midsummer rains, pain may unlove
    Even the romantics of a playwright!

    But now I'm a broken old fashioned glass
    Devoid of the feelings of a '90s love
    Mine affection seems so fallacious
    I got tired of thee, O, my ladylove!

    Thy summer cries at thy love so forlorn
    Thy autumn won't find me 'cause I'll be gone!


    Read More


  • nostalgic_silence 149w

    Urban Ciggaretes Final Part

    I don't know what evil force instigated me to vomit all of my thoughts. But then, I saw Akriti's eyes turning blurry and reddish. She somehow couldn't take this entire thing suddenly.

    She came near me and started speaking in such a slow manner as if every uttering of her mouth was costing her money , "I l o v e y o u ! ! A n d n o o n e c a n t a k e y o u a w a y f r o m m e ! ! "

    Tears trickled down from her eyes to the marble floor. And nothing is more terrifying than an unbalanced equation of love. The results are lethal. And in my case, that was not an exception! She threw her hands towards my throat and choked me as much as she could. I could sense her inhuman effort to kill me. I was getting breathless. And then I did something that changed the rest of my life for the worst. I forced my burning marlboro into her eyes. She shouted a cry of intense pain. I pushed her vigorously and she hit her head at a large sharp glass showpiece and she fell down with blood all over the place. I desperately started checking her if she was alive, regretting what I did, fumbling for my phone to call an ambulance. I was so confused with everything that I did nothing but allowed my inner conscience to keep on sitting beside my wife's body. And then, I lost her pulse.

    It was 2am in the morning. I cried a little and then giggled thinking that there was at least one less problem now to worry about. Aakriti, my wife. My children were still sleeping. They were not even aware of the fact that their mother is now no more. She is dead. They will wake up to the most beautiful thrilling surprises of all times - bodies covered with shrouds. I closed our bedroom door and locked it where my children were sleeping peacefully unaware of the cruelties of the unfair world. I washed the whole dining room with kerosene and spilled litres over my wife. I sat more comfortably beside Aakriti's body, lighted another cigarette and after three to four puffs, I threw it on the marble floor. Within no time, I saw a half burnt urban cigarette taking down a whole dining room, years of memories burning down to ashes, the decorated wildflower cries to see her petals turning next to nothing. And there I was sitting beside Aakriti's lifeless body. Shreya's words flew like fireflies in my mind --- "Do you love your wife?"

    But yes, I used to love my children's mother --- My old Aakriti, with whom I took my marriage vows, with whom I used to spend the evenings doing all the lame cliche stuffs to prove our love for each other. We were so happy when our children were born. Our little ones grew up slowly taking each year to bloom like a flower. But, some marriages fail to weave the threads of a family. Love between me and Aakriti lost its way slowly as time marched forward. She ignited the fire to the pages of our affectionate bond, burnt the scriptures of our holy love, blackened those lines that we wrote together, turned those metaphors to ashes who helped me to describe her soul. But now you are just a silhouette, sweetheart. You would never rise from the dark burnt ashes.

    I knew people will find our dead bodies sooner. I held my dead wife's hand, tightly and let that monstrous fire take us to its overwhelming clutches. I was dying and I know that I was really dying when I couldn't speak at all. My children's faces flashed infront of my eyes. They would have ceased to believe in fairy tales by now. And someday, when they will grow up, their 'new' parents might be consoling them by saying --- "Life is short and our days are numbered, my son. Don't waste it in chasing cliche love and cigars and low life girls. And always remember, family is not when two people fall in love with each other; it is when they decide to stay for each other, anyway, and no matter what happens."

    I took out my cell phone and texted Shreya for the very last time --- " Free enough to love you now."

    "Love will always remain overrated...", I whispered, "...even when it is dead."

    I found my solace in death. The blistering heat engulfed me and Aakriti. I held her hand.

    And everything turned to darkness after that.

    The last thing I saw was the burning petals of the wildflower slowly turning to ashes and...the half burnt urban cigarette resting still at my leg.




    @writersnetwork @geraldine_mary @__soultalk__ @riddzee @readwriteunite @nikiwriteup @natasha_18 @poetricjournal @the_writing_spook @versatile_quotes

    Read More