Skip to main content

Missing Persons


I thought of him today
A beauty faithfully inspired
A face missing, a person away
A duty that has now expired.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moving Art

  Did I just do that? Volodya did not know he was capable of what he had done. All he could hear was his heavy breathing, roaring in his own ears as he desperately tried to catch his breath. His loud panting felt deafening to him and his chest hurt. He held his breath to hear himself think but he could only hold it for a few seconds. The sound of breathing came crashing back with a sharp pain in his chest. His body, which was vibrating in excitement, started to calm down. He looked down towards his right hand and saw a blood drenched knife. Why do I have that? He quickly hid the knife under his jacket, as if trying to hide it from himself more than from others. He looked down on the body lying near his feet. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the puddle of red that kept expanding. A red canvas that grew glorious with every inch the blood travelled away from the lifeless body it came from. Is it okay to be moved by such art? When the blood has flown out as much as its heart desires...
Post a Comment
Read more

Morpheus Gate

  Morpheus’ Gate Preface   This is a story about change, realizations and moving on. Before I start, I need to equip you with a few facts that will help you move smoothly through it: -The first chapter is part of the preface. -This story isn’t narrated by the protagonist only. Change of narrator will be accompanied by an indication of year at the start. -This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.   1. ME   If I met myself, what would I like myself for? What if one day I wake up and there's another me sitting near my bed. No one else sees that me but me. I can dislike him, hate the situation but he'll still be there. He'll be there forever. I'll have to think of a few positives in him that serve as reasons for tolerating him all the time. What will those positives be? Guess what. I’m already living with a me that no one else can see. He was there since I formed the ab...
Post a Comment
Read more

Gray Dress, Black And White Spots

The last thing the boy remembered about anyone was holding his mother’s hand while their tribe was migrating somewhere. This story is set in the stone-age times when the video that is “human civilization” was still merely buffering. The path was rocky and tricky. The boy had to often run in order to just keep up with everyone and not lose sight of his mother. His eyes were fixed at her gray dress with black and white spots. The ruthless twists and turns around mountainous paths ensured that one wrong step would mean definite disaster. I have learnt in life that disaster is inevitable once you have to look for it at all crossroads of your journey. The boy tasted proper tragedy when what he feared became a reality. A rock slipped from under his foot and he lost grip of his mother’s hand. He went tumbling down a steep slope near a cliff and was soon out of communicable range. Did no one try to save him? Was he never found afterwards? This is not a story of rescue. It is a story of ...
Post a Comment
Read more