Dead Flowers

My eyes are closed and the only thing I sense is nothing. I don’t know what sound shall guide this feeling, but it is happening. In the grave of my mind where the sand is the stillness of this universe. The dark space where I Inhibit within and without.

She would kiss me with flowers. Petals on my dead skin and I don’t know how to tell her this but I think my body has given up years ago. Now that I understand that only my desires lived and not my intent. Might sound all the darker, this space inside my head and I have nothing to say those kisses or the flowers that will eventually die with the fraction of time. I cannot see you anymore because I don’t want to. Yes, I understand that you are practical and none of this makes sense to you. It doesn’t have to make sense to anything at all. Senses are frail weak conscious traps.

I am a young dead man. And these thoughts are surfaced out of the five minutes that my eyes were closed and nothing disturbed. I carefully sensed my death. How in darkest breaths of the space, I would feel these dead flowers touch the earth in all sincerity.

It was never meant to be. Nothing was ever meant to be, but it did happen. Now I don’t really know from where I have the audacity to hurt everyone around me by saying that all of this that we sense is a web and the more we think, the more intense is the trap.

But it won’t be long until the flowers kissing my dead body becomes one with me. That’s what is meant to be. The slow degradation of senses. My dearest fellows might come to feed the dead flowers with some drops of tears, the clouds I mean are fairly dominant to the skies of life. The cries shall help sincerity reach its salvation.


31st April, 2040

A few days, since yesterday, the pain has settled. If not settled, my mind has forgotten how to address it to the trees around me. I am happy to be alone, I asked my sister to take away Flake. No dog should ever witness the death of his owner. Unlike my family, he won’t understand my philosophy to smile away the last few seconds of my life.

I was ready, and the tumour was only a tool to ride the ladder. I don’t know if I was hungry. I was comfortable on my chair, looking at the door, accumulating all my spiritual energy to feel the light that never falls out of my universe.

Anytime now, God shall open that door to the void of existence. I will be one with the cosmos, it was time.I knew it all, a swift of the stars and then I can fly.

I heard the knock on the door, this could be anyone. Not my family, they respect my space, not my students, we already made peace with my death last month, not anyone I would not want to talk to on my last day.

“Come inside, if you are death. If not then there is a life out there for you. This old man cannot possibly help with life. Read some books, there are some resting near the broken car. Come inside, if you are death.”

“I have no intentions to make you feel. I come here on a selfish account.”

“It has been 7 years, Erika. I still remember your voice at the back of my head. The only woman I love, why have you come here. Leave. Don’t make this beautiful moment delay.”

“I feel you need some answers.”

“I don’t. I know it all, or maybe I don’t know anything. Never knew anything. I decided I will wait for you. Well, I cannot anymore. I am sure you still have reasons. I hope you have a great life. Now, leave.”

The door opened and then I saw the last thing any man would want to see in life. There she was, her long hair reaching out to perfectly curve waist, she was wearing one of those long dresses, a blue one, of course. Erika did not change. But, I never truly knew her. I just love her. She took a few steps and I could not move, Not because my body was cramped in every way, but that’s how it always used to be, her sight made me forget everything.

She held a violin to my heart,
Played along the strings
Till I fell asleep.

Blind Blood

You remember that day when you placed the sword on my neck, just forcing my skin to sense intimacy, I told you I was alright. Maybe, I was not.

I liked the way you looked at me. Blind in love, pulling roses out of the red blood that left my body to feel blue. You looked at me smiling and I smiled back, as my knees met the ground.

You never knew love, neither did I. I felt something, pain. You must have felt something, must have sensed something. As I leave you forever, and my blood hides in the sand, you must have felt something.

I lived my life hoping you felt something and that’s how I died, hopefully.


To Finities and Funny Things

Dear Death,

Right now, it is 2:03 AM and I just felt like telling you a few things. I mean, I wonder if people ever tell you things about life. People live a little fast, sleep too much, dream a little less of you and well, life is more about ignorance and happiness. You see, happiness sustains in the senses till they are not aware of how trees actually cannot speak the language of our lies. We grow up to rediscover only our fallacies.

Some star that I used to call Sparky gets named B-8779 according to this thing called NASA, or maybe they call it something else now.  Sparky told me stories about how he had hopes for me to be an amazing writer, but this world only tells me that it only burns to give off light. I mean, how does that make sense. I was reading The Little Prince today, somehow, my cognition felt down to its origin to feel better. I was also not satisfied with my day, as I could not get a response from the people I look forward to talking too, at that moment I realised that even though Sparky was not there in the sky anymore like my best friend, maybe because of the dusk in Delhi or some other scientific reason, I was alone only because I was taught what is alone. Sparky died with my acceptance of the subjects. Loneliness was born out of knowing that my father is never happy with my mother when she is not able to help him sort his issues.

You see, dear death, it almost seems to me, that we grow into your need. By default, isn’t it? We are born as a pure stack of beautiful thoughts and then we do make-believe things like chemistry and psychology and sociology and even this language that I am writing in for that matter.

I was born in a way that I admired females in a different way, then I grew older and developed sexual urges. Last week I kissed a girl and now when I am not able to have regular conversations with the girl, my mind acts a little strange. We grow into the need of death. I wish I could simply admire the girl I kissed in the manner I can without hampering my head. But that’s human, developing ideas that only hunts the life within them.

Throw a nuclear bomb at me and I will meet you, but I wonder if I will ever be able to tell you why I lived. The point is, I don’t need to know and that’s what life is, we don’t know. Philosophers like me think day and night, but we never realise that even time is just a cute tool of the mind. How much can I really know till my own mind ages into an oblivion? Why do I even need to do things? I can only have fun with sparky, every night.

I don’t know, death, I just cannot tell you about life. It’s funny. Better not to know that right now my psychology is actually suicidal. How funny is that? They call me an escapist. Even funnier!

Ah, it is humorous to find these grown-ups not able to sit down and smile for no reason.They call it madness and the complaint about how they are not content. I don’t know, I just probably want to kiss the girl again. It brings me closer to myself and to you.

Dear death, I dont know. Let me.

Sagar Arora

Only Ink In Between Life and Death

“Mr Poet, will you ever really love?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Jason. I fall in love almost every night.”

“Haha! That’s why you end up staining all those pages with ink, huh?”

“Well, we stain each other first in love and then write stories.”

“You and your fantasies.”

“Cheers, old friend.”

I got out of the bar, it was raining, the best kind of night in Los Angeles. Rain is rare in the city, but tonight was special. I walked slowly, feeling each drop that hit my face. The sky was alive, crying all the way to rejoice. The road was empty, the streets were held by the cold winds.

A girl stood towards the end of the road. She was still, I could only see her back, a blue robe flying with the wind. Her head was covered by the cloth extending from the dark blue robe. She stood still, one in the depressed lot. Everybody was depressed, but she could be smiling in madness too, her story held a strong vibe and I was pulled. She turned around and her eyes caught me in the skip of the second.

Blue, bright, I wonder if she was crying, but when the world cries, we can hide in the frame of time.

“Are you alright?”

She kept her sneer alive, no words travelled the air except mine. She stepped towards me, blue approaching the dark in the night. Her intentions never lived and my fear had died. Her lips overlapped my mind and I was kissing the rain tasting of wine. We ran, could fly, but the sound of the legs flattering through the water had a sense of delight. A narrow street alone in disguise waited for the light. We kissed and the thunder broke its might.

Each kiss became louder than the rain. My heart could suck out her pain. Not only the wet cover of her body was blue, but her dying sight, like the sharp poison of the dying night. I tore apart the lies on her chest, a quill tattoed on her heart, a heart held still in the dark. She stared at the thunder hitting my eyes.

“I am dying.”

My words never came to life, we kissed away the misery in our mind. The clouds fell down with her cloak, as I kissed the essence of her breast. My lips felt cold as if an immortal held my core. The streets died, the stars had committed suicide. Dark had enveloped the light in my eyes. Blind.

In the void of my desire, I held her in my mind. I could not feel my skin, numb till the silent scream of the divine. A shiver ran through my chest as I saw two blue crystal burning away my blind. Demons of the dark canopies, dancing with my soul, claiming the skies.

“I am dying.”

Some clouds had left the sound of her cries. We kissed away her life, a melody so dark that my ink could not survive. I was laying on the ground, looking at the moon. The blue had nerved my darkness into doom.

A Letter to Love

Dear Diary,
I might die with words that belong to your pages. Some pages that belong to her, hopefully, she will understand. I was born to a beautiful life. Lived like a song and hit highs that no one shall attain. The song got too loud to ignore when I asked questions about this universe and therefore, I kept asking. The questions would make them dance, the society. They don’t like them, people like breathing in the same air that fed centuries of ethos to this planet. I wanted to know the source of it all, I tried science but nothing hit the chords of my heart, nevertheless my head messed up after reading the troublesome textbooks. I was living for questions and dying for answers and then, I met her.

She was a flower bud with flaws all around the submerged petals, and I fell in love with the flawless fatal scars on her face. I waited. Maybe, I am still waiting. But I am waiting for nothing, I know the beautiful silence is the answer to many questions. You see, she never reminded me of her dead past, she reminded of God. She gave me a direction to my answers. To my death. She can understand my need of leaving for answers better than most. And she needs to know and therefore I write tonight. It is very simple, I love her for what she is, and I don’t deserve her for long. She called me, ‘paranoid’ for being in love with her. But my life was too sane to appreciate the fake smiles, I fell for a broken one. A beautiful broken smile. A star that never shines? I can’t help, but rhyme. Love and light in the night, our walks would tell you more. Everything is engrained in space with the ink that formed up in tears and precipitation of my love for her.

I shall leave anytime now, for I know the path. Time is tricky to understand, years without the answers hurts and I am trying to go away. But there she is, loving life, terrified. My family is perfect. Equated well with their questions and answers. I will be one with them, on the other side and it will be peaceful for once, forever. There are pages filled with stories that feature my family. For now, I want to tell you about the flower. Fragile? No, she called herself a “bad-ass”. Who was there to blame her? Nobody knew her. God lies in each one of us, as a poet I had to carve out social codes to greet the God in a person. But, it is easier with the people who never took on the cloak of social conundrums. I met her when we were young, her eyes were naked beyond universes. Don’t blame me on my hyperboles, they are important to the sense of serenity. We got together thinking as if it’s the right thing to do, to the little that I owe my identity to this stupid world, I was happy to propose. Happier to run over the more such events. But there were restraints from our families on the bounds of time as a dimension, we wanted the spirits to bind and run away to God. Surreal? Yes, that is the name of the tree that we spend some time with.

Maya is beautiful. Magical is Maya. And I would leap around the karma if it was not for the universe to hint my way home. Through a pair of eyes that spoke more than the pair of her lips. Just thought, I would let you know. It has only been a few days, but I am leaving soon after fixing things that bound my spirit with her’s.

I am Keats, after all.

Indian Lilacs