Vocal Silence

                                "There isn't anything romantic about death." Death. The ever-looming noose just around your neck, just awaiting the right time to tighten around you. Death is an unrelenting monster. You may escape the clutches of love but you can never beguile death. W e seek love, death seeks us. Sometimes, your parents would fail to make sense out of your tragedies and theirs, but that does not mean tragedies are senseless and in your grievous moments, never think life is meaningless. Its upon us to make sense out of the tangled loom of thread. Pass the thread through the nook of the needle, and sew your own stories on the complicated web of time. Never for the briefest second, undermine the importance of your existence for you exist for a reason and that reason is not "to be shunned." If your elders ever give you that reason tell them no actor steps onto the stage without a role an...

I used to wonder what love would look like But now I know. It surely looks like a baby wrapped in white cloth, With only his little round head bobbing out; And with slight, squirmy movements, Also a tiny little hand, clenched into a fist. Love looks like this parcel, Sent straight from the Heaven, by the will of God. Love looks like random colours: Orange, blue, red and purple, Hanging loosely on gangly limbs. And love sounds like the cries of a baby boy, When he asks for love and attention Through the only means he knows.: Milk and a change of clothes. Love is the sparsely haired head, That is cradled with utmost delicacy. It smells like Johnson's baby lotion, As its fragrance lingers on your fingertips long after you have touched the little boy. It is the wraith of a crawling baby, And a toddling future, A paint splattered page, And one small shoe lying on the floor. Its the promises of candies before teeth have ever grown, and its the interchange of hu...