To Benedict Cumberbatch What troublesome times we live, when the world is suddenly in utter chaos and xenophobia is rising everywhere? Where Orwell’s 1984 has suddenly become relevant again? One recalls the opening verses of TS Eliot’s Wasteland: April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring… Continue reading Benedict Cumberbatch
Sipping a hot mug of cappuccino that I had made on a winter’s night; I was distracted by the dust motes that resembled pixie dust when observed dancing to my garden lamps. How carefree they were sans any adulting to worry them. It made the storm within me tamer and closed my eyes to breathe… Continue reading Why I’ll Never Give Up On Love…
Hello Guys! So this is going to be my first foray into the Harry Potter fan-fiction. I noticed that JK Rowling has not yet written about any magical school in either India, Pakistan or Bangladesh. I wanted to know if there was any school of witchcraft and wizardry in the region, but since I have… Continue reading PAASBAAN-E-HARF: The Defenders of Magic.
On a busy street, named Orleans, I play the jazz, from my toes. Music is not going to erase it away… On a rainy day, named Katrina, I play hide and seek, from the raindrops. The weather is not going to dry them away… On a windowsill, named Washington, I play freedom, from my caged… Continue reading On a…
The aubade of war was a blissful sound, dulling me to sleep. My man was getting ready to be greeted by Battle. And I had insisted he wear white, but he wanted to cosplay the brown Tunic that he wore when we wed many a guns ago. And so we had fought over his love… Continue reading The Aubade of War
It has been days. Or months I don’t know. He has read them, I am sure. But hasn’t replied, why? I don’t know. He says all the right things. Why he acts strange then, I don’t know. Is it because I do the same at times? Yet he knows how I feel, or not. I… Continue reading I Don’t Know
I dress in silk. He dresses in a suit. I dress to please. He dresses to dominate. I dress in lace. He dresses in latex. I dress sensually. He dresses to dominate. I dress in nothing. He dresses in nothing. I dress submissively. He dresses to dominate.
Laying in my bed, I think; How far we had come and gone. What would make for it to sink? Our fragile ship, we’ll see anon. Counting the seconds gone by, I wait impatiently for his reply. It matters if he is a fox and sly, Hunting me like others, killing me with a lie.… Continue reading Sinking Love
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