IRIDESCENT.

I write. I write about the stories of 2 am tears and drained eyes at late hours; about the thoughts that refuse to wash away with the torrents that come raining down my face; about the stars up there which once upon a time twinkled upon me, as if they wished to come down and descend onto our earth – but later realized that they’re better off where they are. They were smart enough to fathom that even though things looked beautiful from afar…everything was uglier up close. I cry myself dry as I write away my agony, downing my misery in magnums of alcohol until my lips are numb to the taste of the last remaining drops from the now-empty bottles. I surrender myself to the pain that threatens to engulf me, as I cry myself dry at the same spot I’ve been faking a smile every single day. I write. I write about the memories. Distant…fading. My parents died in a car crash when I was only a few months old. My mother had shielded me from the full force of the impact, giving up her life s

The dream felt like a confused memory, The silence an oppressive gloom. The fate of the world rested on my shoulder, Few hours for the world to go "BOOM". My mind was a vacuum, An overwhelming sense of emptiness. My heart caught in my throat, How do I overcome this apprehensiveness? Every teardrop is a waterfall, Each word a gash on my heart. I've strived so hard with my blood and my sweat. I've struggled and endeavoured, I've come afar. But when I have to face it, The final moment of truth. It strikes me and I fall behind, In front of me, He stood. A towering figure of purity, Making me feel instantly calm. As if the world around me had just paused, And then He took me by one arm. His presence, a welcoming comfort. His grip, steadying me, yet firm. And I welcomed Death with open arms, And died a noble death I deserved. I fell like a fallen warrior, As Death laid out His dominion, And watch from a land that I knew not existed, As

His wrinkles speak of decades of blood, sweat, and hard work to earn the daily wages of Rs. 169 to provide for himself and his family.  The t-shirt you see him wearing?  Unwashed for weeks, it's been around for years because he can't afford such "luxuries"...he has his children's sustenance to think about.  When was the last time he took a day's vacation?  Hell, he can't remember. Sick days meant waking up early, slogging all day to the best of his capabilities, and earning lesser than that Rs. 169 per day because he just wasn't good enough. He blamed himself for putting his children without food for one night. He blamed himself when the floods would wash away his mud house every year. He blamed himself...because people around him suffered and he was unable to fix it.  A year ago, he received his first funds from the Government of India to build a concrete house for himself. A year later, for the first time in his life of 67 yea