Terrorism. Pollution. Intolerance. Crime.
Earthquake. Tsunami. Drought. Cyclone. Famine.
God finally legalized Euthanasia.
Nature obliged.
– Tirthankar Sen.
Previously posted in The Scribbled Stories.

Tomorrow starts Today!


‘Tomorrow’ Starts Today
Here I enact, in the theatre of time.
Reality, my stage.
He, my audience.
Nature, my censor.
The curtain draws, the codetta resonates.
Let bygones be bygones.

‘Tomorrow’ starts today.
Drops are we in the ocean of humanity.
Ripples are we in the ether of time.
Dust once.
Dust once more.
Let bygones be bygones.

‘Tomorrow’ starts today. Illusions we worship.
Phantoms we adorn.
Redundancy we pursue.
Rise above the rest.
“Grant I may so
Thy steps track here below,
That in these masques and shadows I may see
Thy sacred way;
And by those hid ascents climb to that day,
Which breaks from Thee,
Who art in all things, though invisibly!
Shew me thy peace,
Thy mercy, love, and ease,”
Let bygones be bygones.

‘Tomorrow’ starts today.

Let bygones be bygones.
It’s time to live again.
~ Tirthankar Sen

(This got published in The Scribbled Stories on 31st December, 2015. You can have a look )

Ashes to ashes,Dust to dust…


Somewhere in between loving the idea of her and loving her,

a relationship became a responsibility.

Somewhere in between responsibility and liability ‘we’ became ‘you and I’.

I lost myself.
I lost my idea of me.
I gave up on my identity.

For the brief time you and I were we, I felt myself breaking down, solubilizing, distorting and ultimately adopting shards of your being as my own.
It wasn’t whether a decision would affect me or not; it was all about how it’d affect us.
Discussions became the mother imparting vitality and warmth, tethering Decisions by the umbilical cord of dependency.
It was just too late to realize that I was beyond the point of no return.
I wasn’t myself anymore
I wasn’t you, yet.
I was somewhere in between.
That somewhere being the thin conflicted battleground where love, hatred, fear and hope were one.

In the end, you chose yourself.
You didn’t let me go but you held onto yourself harder than I could hold onto you.

My journey from loving the idea of love to loving is now complete.
Loving the idea of love is the most fulfilling feeling there is.
The perfection and purity of the idea overwhelms us and transcends the darkness and decadence of the world we live in.
It’s when we fall in love with a person do we see droplets of imperfections trickle in and dethrone an idol we once worshiped.
It’s mostly a downhill journey from then on.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”, I mumble as I look back at the days that have been.

As I slowly rift the gap between my being dead and my death there’s one thing I realize, from the day I tried seeing myself through your eyes I started loosing mine.

All the memories of my eyes does nowadays is bleed.

But here’s the fun thing about bleeding.

Once you bleed just enough you crumble and unite with your blood, as dust.