“Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink” — S.T Coleridge. — Trickling down arid throat. Dearer to me than pearls of black. Yet my throat lies bare. Savoring whatever comes forth. The last drop slides down slow. Stop it may, but it won’t. The flood never comes forth. Dries in air, does my throat. A memory too faint. To savor, I want…

For whom the bell tolls… My feet have taken me far. My home a blip in fading Time. Heart callused more than feet. Yet, more brittle than the shards walked upon. Calluses… Oh, those that have robbed me of breath. My eyes the receding waves — Recede do they into the darkness lying within. A laugh… Ages since those creases went up my face. Those sparkling teeth worn by gritting — Are but futile in incessant quibbling.

Rage and guilt are incomplete without each other. — Like curtains, does heavy air fall. Your gaiety fades like mist of past. Lips stretched taunt, the last straw. Pray I bear the worst of what may augur. The impaling gaze, once floating in mellow sea. Binds my heart in fetters of fear. Your memories fade like mist of past. Rage gives you impetus; follow you must. I see the cathartic avalanche. Tumbling down the slippery slope. Yet, deluded by hope, I plead in futility. Hoping you realize it’s none but me.

Leaving both of us behind, our parents return back to their rooms. I decide to take a small walk along the fence and familiarize myself with the dangers that lie ahead. “Hey Dip, want to see how the forest looks during night.” “Man, I feel sleepy now. …

Beauty captivates the fleeting eyes. Intricacies painted in its hues. The fleeting eyes delve in scrutiny. To unravel the beauty in the tapestry. The hues, each a mark of its own. Undulate do they across the satin ground. Yet, intertwined are they in uniqueness. Consonance in dissonance of the distinct. Strokes which stand out alone. Only to be seen as one to the world. Complement do they in each regard. The tapestry be devoid of none.

“Tough night.” I mutter to myself. A rather hectic day at work leaves me yearning to go home as I approach the bus stop. Yet, I see there’s nobody standing there. Perhaps I have reached here the first for the 8:00 pm bus. I am exhausted and all I wish…

Split did it throbbing heart in two. Pitted did it kin against kin. Parted in all but heart. By the wall at the heart of Berlin. How emotions of every form and kind. Sacrificed were they at the altar of ideals. Ideals to rule Man’s mind. A cult-mandated is greater than Divine. Yet, Truth won the battle for Time. Spliced was Germany’s torn heart. Kin and kindred united in one. Evil never be victorious for long.

My experiences in climbing up a hill. — No more! My feet scream. I stop and rest, lauding myself. Persisting so doggedly, fighting the heat. My fears, I shall always beat. Looking down, I feel pride. The hurdles I crossed lay beneath. Yet, I still have more to stride. Atop the summit, stand shall I. Through rain and…

Ahead of me, there lay — Shroud of white, in tepid wait. My feet scream to stop. Yet, suspense hangs in its breath. I see the white around me. My skin pricked by its sharp claws. I shiver, I seek warmth. Yet, I trudge on, unheeding my cries. Dew rests…