You Are The Only Exception

The world is a dreadful reflection,
where hate buds between every creation
and nothing is even close to perfection.
But when I look in your eyes, I see a new world
And a bright new sunrise.
With splashy days and silver nights.
I lay by you and you calm my frights,
and love forms a whole new generation
Coz you are the only exception.

When I am scarred, I have no consideration
And with pain I wish no association.
But when I‘m with you, there is no hurt
And I don’t feel the blue,
For an ounce of despise, the passion is more.
 For each bit of your scorn,
There is a white flag and no keeping score,
And I have no expectations
Coz you are the only exception.

Without you my life would have no direction,
and maybe, there won’t be any resurrection,
or even a simple reverberation.
But when I think of you, I have no regrets,
Mark my words and heed them too.
If time took me back, and I could do it again,
I wont change a thing, who cares what I gain.
And there would be no hesitation
Coz you are the only exception.

I hope one day, you come across this revelation
And know that you are my only exception.

PS: The name is inspired from the song ‘The Only Exception’ by Paramore.

The Modern Crusade

Note:- This post is a little behind in time as it was conceived sometime ago but my hectic schedule had prevented me from posting it earlier.  

All the recent hullabaloo about the Babri Masjid-Ram Janmabhoomi ordeal has sent my neurons firing. Time and again the issue had come up in dinner-table conversations, party debates, newspaper articles and so on. However, I had never been able to make up my mind and take a side. Until now I had believed that perhaps I was too young to understand the potential implications and consequences of this matter, after all it was a matter of great socio-religious as well as political significance. Today, 23 years after I first tread on this planet, when the final verdict is about to be passed, I told myself that its high time I take a side in this debate.
So I went on thinking, which side am I on.. A bunch of religious fanatics who claim their sole right over a piece of land based on an epic composed even before the advent of time. The piece of land is of such importance that they readily defy everything their religion has ever preached. Or another bunch of religious fanatics who believe that ever since an Emperor hoisted a monument in his name at a point 400 years ago, they have reserved the exclusive right to offer their prayers at that spot. Huff.. tough choice.
The only conclusion I could settle upon after thinking about all this was that the fact that this is even an issue is a gigantic evidence of the foolishness and ignorance of mankind since a zillion centuries. A peek back in time, brings us face to face with a very similar issue in the history of world, ‘The Issue of the Holy Land’, The Crusades..
‘The Crusades’ as described in history books, are religious wars between the Catholics and Muslims to resurrect their exclusive rights over the Holy land of Jerusalem. Extending over a period of 200 years, they are tales of horrendous war crimes and massive massacres worse than both the World Wars put together. The Christians consider Jerusalem ‘The City of God’, where the birth, death, resurrection and ascension of Christ took place according to Christian theology. It is an equally important pilgrimage place for the Muslim community as it is also believed to be the site of the ascension into heaven of The Prophet, much like the Ayodhya issue.
However a detailed insight into the historical accounts of renowned historians, makes it very obvious as to what the real incentives behind these military campaigns were, much like the controversial insights on which the Liberhan Commission shed light. Although the Christians had a strong hold over Jerusalem since the 4th century, the Muslim conquest of Syria in the 7th century marked their intrusion into the Holy Land. However the concept of the crusades had not materialized until the late 10th century. I agree that there were numerous reasons which in some way or the other contributed to the flair. However the main reason was the threat the Christian Byzantine Empire felt from the ferocious and ambitious Turks. They hid their fear in the name of Christianity and appealed to the Pope to fight for religion. And the Roman Catholic Church, which was more than pleased at the prospect of bolstering the Papacy and gaining control over the East, did not refrain from breaking the moral code. Thus commenced the inception of centuries of conflict between two of the greatest religious and social communities. Perhaps, the seed of modern day terrorism was sown.
Although the Ayodhya issue was not conceived by the leaders, but few would disagree with me when I say that time and again political propagandas of various political parties have aired the flame scavenging the core of religious harmony and tolerance which still persists in some way at the site. Some examples of which are the Raam Chabutara and the fact that the mosque was called Masjid-i-Janmasthan for a long time.
My claims about the hidden agenda of the great religious wars are not without evidence. History is witness that the first thing the crusaders did after the siege of Jerusalem was creating the Crusader states: the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the County of Edessa, the Principality of Antioch and the County of Tripoli. If it was only about the control over the Holy Land then the wars should have ended right there. But it was a dark night, which never saw dawn. Eventually, when the Muslims recaptured Edessa in 1144, the Pope  called for a second Crusade. In addition, in the Kingdom of Jerusalem 120,000 French-speaking Western Christians ruled over 350,000 Muslims, Jews, and native Eastern Christians.
However it is pretty well known, that just like modern day political parties, the medieval Church was a power monger, which wanted to extend its control beyond its original domain. Very cleverly they used the bait of remission of sins. And blindfolded followers in the prospect of remitting their previous sins committed thousands more. I wonder if any of them earned a spot in Heaven.
The crusaders and Knights Templar were mere pawns at the hands of the leaders like the Byzantine emperor Alexios I, papal beaurocrats like Pope Urban II, Pope Gregory VIII etc., preachers, like Bernard of Clairvaux, European Kings like Louis VII, Conrad III, Philip II of France, Richard I of England (aka Richard the Lionheart), and Frederick I, The Holy Roman Emperor, much like the karsewaks being the pawns in this whole strive for Hindutva.
I always reckoned the purpose of history, other than tormenting kids in school, was to remind us of the past mistakes and indiscretions of mankind so that one can learn and elude from reiterating the same. Alas, even after 1000 years, it seems like we have indeed failed to do so.  People have criticized the Ayodhya issue extensively, pointed fingers and passed judgments, but few have sought for a harmonious and peaceful resolution. I wonder how people have chosen to turn blind to a fact even more obvious than the solar motions, the fact that no religious dispute in our country is fuelled by religious animosity. Indeed they are driven by political agendas and power lust.
I am not here to judge, so the verdict is of least significance to me. Although I fail to comment on its candor and decorum or whether or not its agreeable with my personal opinions, but all I can brag and swagger with immense joy and pride in the way the common people of my country have taken it in their stride. The concerned parties accepted the verdict with astonishing dignity. Despite the intimidating scare that verdict was going to tear the country apart, Ayodhya as well as the entire country maintained peace and order. This prodigious act of tolerance has renewed my credence in humanity as well as in the potential of my country. Perhaps this is just another side to the secular spirit of a country where Eid and Diwali are celebrated unanimously and in similar spirit. Or perhaps dawn is setting in on this dark night. This could be the beginning of the end.

The Great Escape

The ‘blue devil’ in the thin glass capillary resembled the silent yet powerful demeanor of the ocean. The recondite power in the few milliliters of this magic fluid was beyond imagination. In the last 45 minutes that I had been wielding the lucent needle between my fingers, my hands didn’t falter, not even for a moment. I had always been a man of rectitude, endowment but mediocre eminence. I had never resented my decisions and never reneged after making a decision. But tonight, my worldly ties are making me weak. I have been through countless highs and lows but the tribulations of time and fate, had always failed to capitulate me. Tonight, I have succumbed to the adversities of my judgment. Tonight, I am shattered.. shattered by a squall of misfortune.
I sit here like a defeated man, alone in the dark, reckoning the fiscal benefits my daughter and her dejected mother will receive from my meager indemnification once I escape this brutal affliction of time… The anguish and agony of failing the hope I see in my daughter’s eyes when she looks into mine… The distress and desperation of seeing deceit reflecting in my wife’s eyes, which once shone with love and conviction. Their thought makes me want to renounce every thought of this escape, but the shame makes me want to opt for the easy way out. It is like a positive feedback loop. How could I ever look into their innocent eyes again, after loosing everything we had strived for to a flair of my instinct. I couldn’t… So I had to quit, take this Escape and make their lives easier.
~ .  ~
The morning rays escorted an unfortunate deliberation. Something was not right… Was it my little girl.. her condition had not been too good the last few weeks. We have been toiling and travailing for the last 3 years to save up and get her operated. An unsettling feeling was twitching and nudging at my insides. I could feel it in my bones. I was oblivious enough to ignore my missing husband in bed. There was very little chance that he woke up before I did. Maybe he didn’t come to bed last night at all. Last night I had left him perched amongst what seemed like a myriad of folders and documents, engrossed in relentless calculations. Over the past months, we had conceded over silence on keeping to our own turf. He had looked unusually confounded and flustered as if trying to resolve a fracas within himself. I had wished I could reassure and soothe him. But I was too tired..
As I strode into the sitting room, my heart was chilled but my palms were sweating. His limp body was reclined against the couch, as lifeless as a stone. His eyes, which usually expressed volumes, were void. The neighbours arrived, the police reached, his last rites were performed, but I didn’t shed a single drop of tear. I still wasn’t at terms with the truth… I couldn’t. How could he abandon me.. us. My mind kept seeking answers. What am I supposed to do? But my heart was evading the truth. My little girl hadn’t even set out on the journey of her life, and there she was, on the verge of its end. And what impetus does my life have if I couldn’t even grant her a chance. Relatives quarreling over the ancestral property, people talking about my husband’s debt, officials debating his insurance money, the public slander, all this was a frivolous and despicable farce for me. I was stoic, other than the deception of my husband and the inefficacy for my little girl. The only way to end this unending resentment and remorse was the Amobarbital they had found in my husband’s drawer. This would be my Escape.
~ .  ~
The strident shreiks of the alarm clock startled her awake. As she pushed the visions from the mind aside, instinctively she extended her hand to the side. A wave of utter relief dashed through her veins. But the horror hadn’t desisted her.. What was it?..  A Dream.. Or the Truth. Her eyes flew open and she gazed at the frozen figure beside her. He shared the same horrified look.
He wasn’t sure.. What had happened? A Dream.. The Truth.. As if interlaced by an invisible string, both walked to their little girl’s door in silence. The morning rays shining off her face, her rough but peaceful breathing and the calmness of her form rendered a fresh serenity to the sight before them. Appalled by the unsettled look in her eyes, he slipped his hand into hers. Despite his own horror, he felt the sudden need to comfort his wife. His moist palm clutching her hand was not just comforting, but assuring. Assurance that no matter what, he will fight with her until.. until they can commence every morning with this pristine sight. And he got the answer to the question that had been prying in his mind for the past days.. Endeavours? Or Luck?.. Strife? Or Chance? He could forsake everything.. but he couldn’t imperil his family.
~ .  ~
At that moment of truth, they both discerned that..
Life is a fight. And in life, Death is not an Escape.
~ .  ~

A 'Real' Love Story

~ This is a fictional dramatization of true incidents ~

I was fidgeting with the curls of the phone-wire long after everyone in the office had left. It wasn’t something extraordinary for me, the long hours at work. I had nothing appealing waiting for me back home anyway. Solitude had inundated life, and I had engrossed myself in futile and wacky work. Alas I wasn’t finding the much sought after solace even there. Today was different than the other morose late evening surf sessions. My freaking mind was playing weird games with me. After pulling a couple of strings I had ferreted out what I had been secretly wishing for sometime now. But as I crumpled the little piece of post-it between my fingers, I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to use it anymore.
Maybe it was too late.. maybe it was too inappropriate.. maybe.. I was unsure if I should call him after all. Life has moved on and it has been a long long time… But if nothing else, he was still a friend. I could just talk to him to know how he was doing. I dialed the number a couple of times but disconnected even before the call went through. I was acting weird. I had always been sure about everything in my life. But this wasn’t in line. Finally I thought.. wtf .. I will just call. Maybe he won’t even answer.. it must be really really late there.
 “Hello”, he sounded the same as years ago. “Umm.. hello” I faltered. Wow.. I needed no further introduction. Even after these years he knew who I was (Impressive). After a few pleasantries, we talked.. really talked. Although we were talking after ages, it didn’t feel like it. I had never felt this magnetic force between us before. That night I slept like a baby. I was savoring the feeling of having something to look forward to (Oh.. Out of the world).
The past fleeted before my eyes. School days when every day orbited around him. Those 5 minutes when we could share our day with each other had been more than enough. Childhood fantasies never come true.. do they.. My young mind had envisioned a bright future with him. Alas time (and mountains of Ego) had forced us to part our ways. We had been friends, we had been foes. But our consideration towards each other had never changed to apathy. My joy knew no bounds. Getting a friend back was a great achievement.
The following night something prodigious happened. He said those words which I had never expected or even wished for. I had always wished to retrieve our lost friendship, but never our love. Maybe it was like one of those unsaid wishes. The love, the laughter, the anger and the tears it all came back to me at once. My sane half was bellowing and beseeching me to pay heed. Vibes from an ex are the devil’s call. But my impulsive half urged and argued, what if this was my chance to get back everything I had once wanted.. everything I thought I had deserved. What if this was life’s way of giving me back all that.. What if this was my only chance.. 
Alas sanity succumbed to impulse. As always, reason lost to love. Friends had often said how charming a couple we made together. But I had always warded off these things by saying that ‘the past is past’ and ‘I don’t wish to live in the past’. But today the prospect of reliving the past appeared so attractive. The third night heard me whispering ‘the magic words’ for him. By now all reason in me had perished. I was uber-sure my heart was leading me the right way. He sounded sure too.
I didn’t believe in myself anymore. I didn’t need to. I believed in him. My sane half still warned me 'He is still the same diffident and meek guy'. Years ago he had deluded me. 
‘But how would we make it work, you are so far away’.. he had asked. ‘We will make it work’, I had assured. What could I do to show him that I meant what I said..
I knew.. I hopped onto the next flight and headed East (Whoa.. it wasn’t Adrenalin in blood anymore, it was blood in Adrenalin now). 
There he was.. at the same place where we had met countless times years ago. In the lush greens of the park, he looked like a Roman God. His crescent smile and dreamy eyes made my stomach churn.

~ The End ~
© Awesome Love Story © Happy Ending ©

- In love, the heart rules.
- Always abide by it’s (in)decisions.
- In love, it is always okay to take a leap of faith.

~ Oops.. Twist ~

But his eyes dug into mine in a cold stare. And then.. it hit me, ‘Oh My God.. What the hell am I doing.. I am such an idiot. This was such a mistake.’ His stare was slashing into my insides
I scrambled in my head but couldn’t articulate any audible sound. He stood there, equally still. ‘May my impulse rot in hell. What the hell was I thinking? How could I have thought that all this was gonna work out. Damned be his dreamy eyes and charming voice.’
I could discern in his eyes what was coming next. All I had to hear was the ‘I am sorry….’  I was surprised, that I wasn’t upset at all at the aspect of this whole childhood love-thing not working out. Indeed I was furious at myself for making me look so ridiculous and callow. Impetuous, stupid and still crazy about him.. oh I painted such a nice picture for him.. and the worst one for myself. The ‘twilight’ love evaporated into thin air.
He must be gloating in gratification, while jabbering out his zillion excuses about ‘How he didn’t want to make things more complicated and how its best for both of us to let things be the way they were’. I wasn’t even listening, I was too busy choking and drowning in the sea of my own shame and despise. He went on and on about ‘how he couldn’t do the same thing to someone else as he had done to me years ago’. Huff… Could I care any less.
Finally at the end of the long “heart-broken” monologue, all I could get out was a flustered ‘Alright’. And amazingly, he had seemed taken-aback and greatly  displeased with my ‘Alright’. Perhaps he was contemplating a more dramatic end to this “event”. Abuses flying at him.. Tears streaking my cheeks.. Yeah.. sure.. like I hadn’t scarred my self respect enough for one life. 
He tried to scrape the wonderfully sewn ‘fissure in our fabric’ by a couple of more apologies, some messengers who brought the same messages and relished playing a key role in reviving an extinct relationship.  Each time, I smiled assuringly and claimed ‘Its alright. No hard feelings. I understand.’ While I prayed in my head ‘ God please let this be erased from the memory of mankind.’
And fortunately for me, in about 4 years, those 2 weeks never came up again.

~ The ‘Real’ End ~
Great Story On Adversities of Love. Yet.. Happy Ending :)

- In life, all organs of the body must stick to doing what they are best at, i.e.
Heart --> Pumping Blood ; Mind --> Making decisions.
- Never try to exchange these God-designed functions, otherwise, before the mind-pumping–blood can kill you, the heart-making-decisions will.
- In life, taking a leap of faith is alright, but only when its faith on your own instincts.

Love Me Or Hate Me

He says he hates me.. but he also hates to see me dour and dreary. He can’t brook my watery eyes and vents in prodigal outrage. He vexes, flusters and hurts me so many times, yet he makes me ecstatic so many more times. He comprehends my mind even before it materializes on my face. He never thinks about how to make me happy, yet his little inconspicuous actions bring a smile on my face. He says he wants me to relinquish my prerogative in his life, yet he spends every infinitesimal and momentous moment with me. He says we can never be together, yet he envisages a future with me. He says he hates me, yet in his hate I discern a clandestine love.
Perhaps this love is a mere figment of my imagination. Perhaps professing hate is much simpler than professing love, for it doesn’t tag along the encumbrance of expectations. Or perhaps proclaiming hate is much more exciting and thespian than the honest expression of love.
They say love is a four-lettered illusion. But what is a stronger illusion than love? It is hate. It is a four-lettered weapon which has proved fatal time and again when abused by perfidious and mercenary our-kinds. For it is much easier to incite hate than to incite love and respect. And it is human nature to take the easier way out.
Love and hate are never independent of each other. There is hate, only where there is love. Subject who are beyond the realm of love, are also beyond hate. For subjects we know not of.. we harbor only indifference and apathy. Apathy is not synonymous with hate, it is pure oblivion. Love and hate are not black and white. They are overlapping sets of feelings and there is a whole spectrum in between.
Hate is born where love fails. Failure to bear the ponderous burden of expectations anchored to love, incites disappointment and anguish, which gives way to hate. Good examples are public figures. Their actions give rise to immense love, affection and reverence in the hearts of the masses but when the same masses are crestfallen, unfathomable hate and resent arises.           
They have asked, what is love? For me the vital question is what is hate indeed? Not because I am proficient in the ways of love. I am just as confounded and drift as anyone else. But I believe that love can find its way, while hate to me is like a missile gone astray, vulnerable and perilous.
Thus, hate in itself is a mere illusion which makes one believe that they indeed despise the subject, while it actually reflects their disappointment in their love for the subject. At other times, hate is merely a façade. A façade used by cowards to hide their vulnerability.. Cowards appalled by their own ability to love..  For some others, hate is a tool for spicing up their rather insipid and humdrum lives. Being spectator to the formidable farce of violence mustered by the deep-rooted hatred is the only form of entertainment remaining in their dreary lives. Nevertheless, the tic-tac-toe of love and hate is what is holding the universe in equilibrium.
Love me or hate me.. your records shall always remain spotless. Love me or hate me.. I behold the mystic love in your eyes.

Great Expectations

Dear Maa,
I know you must be very upset because I left. But you are not alone, you have Dada to take care of you. I am sure he will take very good care of you and Baba. I will not say sorry for leaving because I had to do this. You may think this is wrong but when you know my reasons, I am sure you will agree.
There are so many things I always wanted to tell you. But between work, Baba, the house and Dada, you never had the time. I know you love me Maa, I know you do.. and so does Baba. But how come I never see it or feel it.  Isn’t love a feeling?
Baba had told me several times that you scold me and ask me to do the things that I don’t want to because you want a better future for me. But you never told me that you loved me, like you said to Dada. So many times he had asked me to do well in my exams. But he never kissed me Goodluck, like he did to Dada. Numerous times he had explained how to kick the ball right. But he had never cheered for me, like he did for Dada.
Maybe I was never good enough for the Buck up Hug or the Goodluck Kiss.  Not maybe, I know I was not as good as Dada in all the things that Baba likes. But it is not that I do not try. I swear Maa, I had always tried my best to get good marks in Maths and to kick the ball right on the football ground. But somehow I could never get there. How I wish to get that one pat on the back from Baba. How I wished to hear those words of Baba “Don’t worry, You will do great next time”, just like he said to Dada after every football match that he lost. I guess he knew I wouldn’t.
I love to draw, and my violin teacher says I play really well too, even better than Dada. But he never had time to come to any of my recitals. How I wanted to see the happy look on his face when everyone clapped for me. But I never got a chance to see that. Maa.. I really really wanted to make Baba proud. I really really tried hard to make him proud. But Dada was always better at it.
I don’t know if Baba knows how hard I tried. But I want to believe that you know and understand my dilemma. I prayed to God everyday to help me make Baba proud. I prayed to show me a way to overcome my failures. But God never answered. Maybe he is too far away. So I decided to go closer and ask him. A friend had said that if I jumped off a tall building I would meet God. So I took his advice. It’s a long long way Maa, I do not know if I will be able to return soon. But one day for sure, I will come back with my answers. Then Baba would take me into his arms and kiss my forehead lovingly, just like in my dreams.
I hope you will wait for me.
Your loving son,

PS: I did not write a letter to Baba because I knew he would not have the time to read one. But please convey my love to him.

~ · ~

Dear Dada,
You are the best brother anyone could ever have. I will never forget how supportive and understanding you have been, how you had help me overcome every difficulty I had and how you would hide my mistakes. I just wanted to thank you and tell you that I will always love you and look up to you.
Your loving brother,

PS: Since I am going to be very close to God, I will ask him to help you win every football match you play. I know how much it means to you.

~ · ~
~ · ~

8th June 2008, Kolkata: “The Salt Lake area of Kolkata has gone into shock over the suicide of a eleven year old boy who jumped off the 14th floor of Lake View Apartment in the late afternoon of 8th June. According to the Police officials, investigation is underway. The boy was declared dead on site and the body will remain in Police custody until autopsy has been conducted. The boy was reported to be alone at home at the time of the incident. The parents and elder brother of the victim were reported to be in their respective workplace and educational institution at the time. The victim's distraught father stated that there was no apparent reason for the boy's suicide.
However, when Psychologists were asked to comment on this shocking tragedy, they were of the opinion that there must have been serious psychological pressure which compelled a 11 year old boy to take such a drastic step.”

The Come Back

“It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere”
These words express me in my present state of mind as best as words can do. It has been a significant amount of time since I last posted something here. It does not mean that my love and zeal for pen & paper or this virtual space has declined any bit, just that other essential undertakings for the existence and subsistence of a living form, like work, had to take the priority.
Liberty from parental rule does not always mean all ‘play’ and no ‘work’. Instead at times it turns out to be ‘work’ and more ‘work’. It is like an unsaid passing of the torch of discipline from the strong bearing maternal hands to our own fragile wavering hands.  The topsy-turvy ride with a ponderous torch in one hand and feet scrambling to stay put on the quivering ground, is a constant battle to hold our forte. The doctrines of a coordinated life appear transcendental. Mind threatening, as it is, sometimes existence is threatened as well. So in my pursuit to hold my forte, I made a promise to myself (not the kind of commitment that Salman Khan makes, which he himself can’t alter). I can totally.. and mostly always I falter from the word I give to myself.
I had set my mind, I am not going to open a new word file until I hand in my thesis. This time it was an exception. A couple of times I felt that all ‘work’ and no ‘play’ has taken its stall. I severed my promises to myself and was ready to indulge myself in avocations. I opened a new word file and typed in ‘The Comeback’.. but I couldn’t bring myself to turn my thoughts into words. My mind was cluttered with p-tests, trend-lines, figures, tables and what not. The tortoise shrunk back into its shell. I exited the blank file. I thought, after all ‘play’ should always come after ‘work’.
On the 1st of this month, after 48 long hours of mind numbing struggle with the keyboard and MS-Word formatting, I handed in my thesis. Then a couple of days to gather my thoughts and banish any specks of scientific writing from my mind until a week and a half atleast (that is when I will get the comments from my supervisor) and I am back to doing what I love, sneaking time in between lab work and everyday errands.    
In the meantime, I consigned to oblivion regarding the completion of 365 days since this virtual space of expression, reflection and conception, came into existence. Special moments do not always need jubilations to mark them. Perhaps.. some other time..
Sacrifices have to be made to achieve something, in my case, a degree. Well the degree comes handy in earning bread, and more imperative and salient things. Over the past 2 months, some ideas that had been playing in my mind have been lost, some visions I had are misty, some inspirations have become rusty. Nevertheless my mind is freshly reconstructed. Some tattered ruminations still persist.. some new ideas have started taking shape.. some new concepts have started to crystallize. I have verpasst some amazing and powerful posts by fellow bloggers. Few, I managed to catch on the verge of time.
Nevertheless my motivation has been newly reconstructed. Armed with a blank mind, with this post, I dive yet again into this world of virtual bliss. 

The Life After : IV

A drabble is a form of microfiction that renders a work of fiction exactly in 100 words. This is the concluding part of a quartet of 55-fiction posts. However I chose to post it as a drabble to grant myself the liberty of 45 extra words.

“A year.. nothing has altered.. the tears, the despair… the solitude, the anguish.  We strived to thrive in our asunder worlds, but foundered in severing the bonds and fetters of love.
The silver Maybach quivered vehemently on the colossal bridge. He pressed down the accelerator.. Tears blurred his sight. I was shackled by invisible manacles, helpless. The Maybach crashed against the cast palisade and whizzed into the air.
From the dazed mob emerged a smile, a smile I had missed for long. His eyes gleamed with an ethereal bliss, as he gazed into my eyes. Our worlds have united again.”

Cherry On Top

Yet another honourable award from my dear friend and fellow blogger Nils. I am so glad that you found that little bit extra here. I really love you and your blog. Always stick to the pen :)

Thank you so much for the award. My heartfelt gratitude ..
·         Thank the person that gave this to you.
·         Copy the award and put it on your blog.
·         List 3 things you love about yourself.
·         Post a picture you love (e.g a person you adore etc.).
·         Tag 5 people you wish to pass this award on to.

As I already did the first two things, I will skip to the 3rd step.
3 Things I love about myself :-
-          I love that I have amazing friends.. I have (mostly) always been lucky with friends. *TouchWood*
-          I love that I am pretty much able to express myself in words.
-          I love  that I am able to love unconditionally, be it human or animals.

And the 5 people I tag are :-

My Dark Angel

As I repose in peace, she guards upon me.
When I am about to take a fallacious stride,
she compels me to foresee.
If I falter in my path, she grabs my arm.
When I am perturbed, she calms me with her charm.

When I am down, she boosts me up.
And sets me sail on the waves of hope.
If the going gets rough & I ain’t nimble enough,
She takes my hand and aids me cope.
She is headstrong, she is spry,
There is none like her,
No matter how much you try.

As tenebrous clouds of gloom impend on me,
She emerges like the incandescent silver line in the sky.
When I drift away to a whimsical land,
She pricks and jerks me back to reality,
Even before I can defy.

She scratches, she bites,
but she is dead scared of heights.
If you pester her, she smacks hard & kicks higher,
but she is petrified of fire.
If you tickle her then she turns crimson
and sanguine like a cherry.
With her demeanor she makes everyday merry.

At times she is like a tongue-twister,
And sometimes she acts like an archaic transistor,
Oh and when she unravels a secret ‘bout me,
She wears a smirk so sinister.
Now.. who could that be other than my big sister!

I know she bears a mystic magic wand,
And sometimes she wanders away to a far off land..
She is .. “My Dark Angel”.