Dusk dispatched messages for those who liked to linger in the wild calamitous shores of the Night every time it reached a transition point. And though there were only few–they never opened those messages. For they knew already what Dusk would have to say, they feared what Dusk had to say–and they were tormented.

Sometimes they stayed back and did not cross over to the night. They became ghosts. Sometimes they climbed the broken walls and would glance at the Night. They could not decipher its mysteries and its depth. But neither could Night decipher their longing for the Dusk. So sometimes they would hang back and stay over, within the Dusk–the silent stillness which marred it with its pink, orange and lavender skies and the dead clouds which were as formless as ever. It was then that they would become free.

Dusk would leave messages for those who liked to stay back. But they would not open or read  them–they felt betrayed. How could they not! For they could stare at the Dusk for hours and become immersed within it, becoming one with its slits, with its dismal glory, with its sorrow, its longing and its clouds which were as formless as ever–and Dusk would not stare back.

For it was Dusk–the cross over, the transition, the orifice of the day and night–it could not stay forever. For it was an episode in the grand theater–and it wasn’t final and it wasn’t anything. For it could not linger on around the empty shores of the people and it could not stare at the hollow, slowly turning pages of them–it could not stay back and listen to the silent music of their souls. Dusk was not free. Dusk was not a ghost.

And so–it would dispatch letters and messages which no one would read. And one time during a moment of transition–a passing wind blew one of the messages towards the Man who would stay back every time–staring at the immensity of the coming night, shuddering–with his eyes fixated towards the Sky which was asking questions he did not have the answers to. And the spell was broken momentarily, and he glanced at the letter and a lament of pain escaped him. And that was the last he was seen–on the shores, for he crept silently into the dark abyss of Night, never to be seen again–leaving the Sky broken and alone–as it suddenly took the shape of a question never to change back into the blue vastness.

Back to Bedlam


Dear Emptiness.

What art thou? What feeling are you–I want to know today! The only reasonable explanation i have is very confusing..Ha. Emptiness. What are you?

The only explanation—you are the feeling that everyone succumbs to one way or another. The feeling of having smoke inside your heart–smoke that just wont dissolve and turn into vapor, like everything else. 

So many faces and so many feelings they all hold and hide simultaneously. Emptiness–the feeling of lost sorrow. The feeling of never being alive–not even for a split second. Are you sadness? Happiness?

You are indeed the feeling of getting lost inside the same smoke that perturbs the heart and screens off the mind. The feeling of going on a shaky boat and not even being scared. But does that make you somewhat resemble being brave? Nay.

Brave is facing the open intense sea–you may not survive. You on the other hand are the feeling where one just sits on a shaky boat on a rough sea–not scared, not worried–yet making it out alive at the end–and not even ecstatic.

Emptiness–death before dying. Aloofness before pain. Harm before hurt. Blood before water. Tiredness after the storm has passed. But who cares. One simply puts emptiness aside–apart. And rejoices with the nature. Because see, nature is not empty. It holds secrets, luxuries and many many more things. But then–there is us. We, who are filled to the brim with a thousand and one dreams, hopes, fantasies and emotions. Yet–we are empty.

All of us! Like the stars..up above and faltering and alone and still shining. We look at them and are consumed with awe and fascination. Without knowing the cost and the effort and the force and the gravity behind their being up there. So we–just then suppress it all–shut everything tight inside us.

So tight that it creates a space–a crest–a hole—Emptiness.

We put a smile. And a brave face. We rejoice….with the rest of nature. And forget the empty hole…

But then we come back to life. Ha. Back to bedlam..back at last.

Alas dear heart….we travel back to the drudgery they call life. We all land right back in the empty hole–so we leave the blue sky behind..and fall right back in.

This is you Emptiness… And this is precisely me.

Dolefully Yours

When Clouds Collide


What a fancy thing is it. The blue sky—roaring blue sky. And clouds. Gosh so many clouds. Clouds represent people sometimes. Wandering about. Drifting about. Like vapors. Except much larger and much far off.

Clouds were solace. Are solace. When wind comes to blow away memories that one wants to hold on to. Clouds are a solace. They don’t stop it from happening. But their  being there up above in a manner which nothing else can afford–does nothing more than give one hope that memories can never be just taken away by a simple wind..because memories are kept within a person, and no matter how weak he is, he can still hold on to them. Because they are like a thread which keeps him sane.

Clouds are a comfort. In rains. Rains that you wish would never stop. They tell you that there is more to come. Rains that you want to stop. Then the clouds just silently drift away silently…far away.

Clouds. Ha. Clouds are hope in the sun. Up in the sky. they tell you that in the sun–they can hold on to themselves. An entire vapor. Which can float in the sky…and face the sun. They tell you to never let go.

Clouds are strange. They are many things. Many moods. Many feelings.


When clouds collide! Only then there is something close to a stormy situation. There is noise. But follows it–silence.

Just like you and me. We linger. And we drift. We stand. We hold on. We try not to let go. We meet. We collide. We silently drift away. We collide again. We become one.

And on a clear sky–the blue wonderful intense sky. Upon which an eagle takes its sole flight. Hovers. There are  dispersed a thousand millions vapors. Holding onto each other. In the form of a cloud, or many clouds. Moving, lingering–drifting. Breaking the silence. Making the silence.

And then they collide. They bond.

And amidst all the clouds. You were there. And i was there. And we kept drifting. Until we became one. That was a long time ago. We’ll keep drifting. Until we become one–again.

When clouds collide. There comes with it rage. And anger. And passion. And follows it–peace and finally silence.

When clouds collide. A beautiful catastrophe.



Man has nowhere to go. he is of the earth they say,

But the earth is never his.

He kills and he is killed–he is not safe

Nature bestows but it also takes

Man has nowhere to be

He has developed wings, so he may take charge of the sky

But the sky is just as malevolent–it takes charge of man.

Man has nowhere to hide

He can swim like a fish, in waters deep and freshBut the water devours him

It just makes him bones rot

Man has nowhere to hide

He gets warmth from the fire–which burns him up

It leaves no flesh nor bone

It preys on his blood

Man has nowhere to go

Man has nowhere to hide

Man is the king yet killed like a pest

Man is nowhere safe