A silent space.
A hollow moment.
An echo.
A empty feeling.
A tear rolled out.
I asked myself again….Why?


Intangible Loneliness


“The Kiss” – Painting By Freydoon Rassouli

A silent night with moonlight kissing the sky

A caressing wind makes the leaves fly

A lonely soul with searching eyes

A lonely heart with broken ties

An unsung song in the heart

A wishful thought in the path

An undreamt dream in the mind

Moments lost, now hard to find

Across the road, stands a silhouette

Passing by, the eyes met

An untouched love, a silent moment

An untold word, all emotions vent

Parallel Reality

The door makes a noisy creaking as I push open the wooden block and enter the room. “Close the door, please” says a familiar voice. I oblige. While pushing the door back to its original place, I can’t help but wonder how even after all these years, the voice has not lost its charm, although its intensity and passion can’t be found anymore.

I try to adjust my eyes to the dim lit room. The only light is a narrow shaft of the setting sun’s rays through the slightly parted curtains, as it tries to illuminate the darkness that is engulfing this place. A reeking smell of cigarette smoke fills up the air.I look around trying to make my way through the now forgotten pieces of canvases and paint. At the far end of the room, a flash of fire goes up to light another cigarette.I catch a glimpse of the tired and weary frame lying on the arm chair. I pull a beanbag and settle down next to it.

“Let me open the windows, it will be nice and refreshing”, I say and start towards the window. “No, let it be, darkness is sometimes good for the soul” comes the reply. I oblige once again, settling myself back into the beanbag.

Even though her optimism is lost, the soul searching has not stopped. A few years back this same soul was the chirpy nonstop chatter box who had helped me come out of the biggest depression of my life and it’s unbelievable to see her today at the place where I stood some time back.

I uneasily fiddle on my seat trying to find words to begin a conversation and break the wall she has created around herself. Why does it seem so difficult?

“Don’t try so hard” she says, reading my mind. I gaze at her and reply “Trying is what you have taught me. Remember you always used to say, There’s no harm in trying, even if you don’t gain, there’s nothing to lose.” A thin smile appears on her face. “I see you have taken all my words to heart, child.” The words are followed by a puff of smoke. “Yes, I have. They hold true after all and work wonders, don’t you think?” A hollow laugh goes up from her as she replies, “Wonders, huh? They don’t exist.”

Well I have hit the wall again! How has a single experience turned this forever optimist into a cynic that I can’t relate to? How has life been so cruel on her as to totally turn around her way?

“Show me one of your recent paintings, I don’t remember the last I saw”, I try once again. She stares back at me quizzically, “You really want to? Don’t think you will find it to your taste.” “I insist” I say. “Well if you insist”, with these words she pulls up her fragile frame from the arm chair and walks towards the table. She picks up a small canvas leaning against the ottoman and hands it to me. I try to study and understand the theme on the thick piece of cloth. These are not the usual colours I would find in her creations. The piece is covered in the hues of darkest colours and myriad brush strokes. I look back at her with a blank expression. “Well I told you, it won’t be to your taste” she says.

“This is not even to your taste; this can’t have been done by you!” I retaliate. A sarcastic smirk is followed by “This is my inner and outer world, child. What else did you expect?” “I expect…. I expect you to come out of this misery that you have drowned yourself into. Come back into the world where you belong, back to the life that is yours!” I try to stubbornly voice my thoughts.

She chides me with a pat on my cheeks, “Ah! Expectations! I don’t belong anywhere and neither anything belongs to me. The world is meaningless, child. But to answer your expectations, one day I might find the courage to walk back into what you call world, until then this is where I need to be, emotionally and physically.” I start to give another argument but she cuts me and says, “It’s getting late, you should get going.”I nod and get up to leave. She walks me up to the door and says, “I like you, keep visiting, won’t you?” “Yes, of course!” I reply. I take my leave from her by hugging her. She unexpectedly smiles and plants a small peck on my forehead and says, “Be blissful.”

And you too, I send out a small prayer as I walk towards the faint light of the dusk.


The soft glow of ember, still has the hints

Of the gashing fire it once was

The cold ash lies damp with the soul of the dying flame

I once created a universe which lies today with hopes

Of resurrecting again like a phoenix

I have the serenity of the zephyr

And the rage of the waters

I am the creator

I am the destroyer too

I am filled with light

I am also the dark moon

I learn and unlearn

I breach

I repress

I resent

I love….

I die once more today

So that I may live another day

Solitary Child of Lonesome Wild

The pitter patter of the raindrops outside my widow has been constant for some time now. With sleepy eyes, I look out of the window pane that is splattered with little droplets of water. The nearby tree and its yellow flowers make a beautiful impression on the beads of water and it looks like a bright floral wallpaper. Seems like no later than 6 in the morning…..and I start to wonder, this place looks familiar.

Am I dreaming? Yes I guess so, still how can it be so in my skin? 

I try to jolt myself out of the realms of sleep, instead find myself walking towards to veranda wrapped in my quilt.
I put my hand out in the open to feel the drizzle on my palms….cold thin needles of rain pierce the arms and sends a shiver through the body…..Ah! so refreshing! The gentle breeze flows through the hair and I gather my quilt a little more closer….

I sit down on the broad banister with my chin on my knees…..the drizzle keeps touching occasionally…… the silence cannot be measured, both within and without……the trees sway their branches to the tune of the breeze and make a melodious rustling sound…. My eyes gaze upon the vast expanse before me….. the swings, the see-saw, the grass, the crooked tree right on between the field, all part of my life here at the sleepy corner of the world…. It was difficult to figure out these same things last night in the mist covered white blanket of nature. Today they all look so fresh and alive again!

A nagging voice at the back of the mind, emerges its head again…..No, no, everything is fine, stop thinking about it now…..look how beautiful everything around is….. but what about all that has been happening over the couple of months……???

Sweat breaks out as I try to fend it off…..why am I not able to break off this prism…. Wake up! Wake up! I turn on the bed…the ordeal carries on…tears start flowing and I can feel its warmth on my pillow…

The bell rings, and the pupils start scrambling out to freshen up…its Sunday, everyone looking forward to meeting their folks…. “Are you not going to get ready?”, a familiar voice echoes from behind…. I turn around and find the friendly nurse standing there with a sweet smile. I nod my head in disagreement. “Okay, but make sure to have breakfast and your medicines”. Once again a silent nod is all that comes out.

I look down from the banister and see the girls playing in the field before me….should I join them? Will they play with me? Why do I not have someone to care for me too? Why am I asking so many questions?
After about an hour of gazing at the happy souls below me, I retire to the sanctuary of my bed, where the wet pillow and the warmth of my quilt awaits this solitary child of lonesome wild…

The rains have started again…the phone has been ringing for sometime now…I peep out of the window, its been pouring… I get out of the house on the balcony and let the soothing water drench me and wash me of the past memoirs…