Of the reality that everything is numbered. The wrinkles on the face are increasing just like the candles on the cake. The lessons learnt many & the experiences few. The pages piling up on the desk more than the stamps on the passport. The wallet is getting thicker but the time to spend it (with and on) less. The smiles on the faces of others reducing because they were never returned. The scars on the soul have increased; just like the scars on the heart. The battle rages on. Even if the eyes are shut. The song of the struggle goes on. And he would rather contribute a verse. Hence, negation of the reality & an innocent belief in the illusion that the age is just a number.


That’s the colour he wanted to paint the town with. Crimson red. Blood. All over the town. Rotten stench of death. Some putrefied. Others in rigor mortis. Eventual calcification & degradation that would not even bring appetite to vultures. Death, in all its ruthless & remorseless glory. Shivs on throat and fists once the blade looses its sharpness. Triggered and enraged. Caged. But fighting. Fighting for blood. Vengeance? From self. A self made hell. But blood, nonetheless.

Reckon with.

……the cards that were dealt, and hoping for a reshuffle so as not to fold so early; to go for a blind raise; to eventually get the 21. 21; so, he can make the same mistakes again. Undo the past to create the same future. Reclaim the same glory. Rejoice at the moments of laughter. Renew his reasons for celebration. Remember to laugh more with people gone and lost. Some by choice, and some forever.


Sadness. Of a lover departing. Of a story ending. Of a caged bird dying before it could learn to fly. Of a dream lost forever. Of closing chapters and burning books. Of burning the angel on the cross and believing in religions. Of hope? Or the lack thereof. Of watching the clock tick away while some still pray; watching paint dry. Reminiscing the what should have been and what isn’t. And what can’t be.


About all the realities, alternate or otherwise, that conspired, evolved, and led to the moment when these words are written, with the thoughts behind them formed from feelings, that were created because of emotions, that were formed because of events that became the reality, that conspired, evolved and led to the moment when these….

Bridges. That’s what we all need. Bridges.

Photo by Fillipe Gomes on Pexels.com

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