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If you are an introvert, you are likely to not open up. You just keep everything inside like a closed window, which exists, exists only for the sake of existence. Not that it has importance less than any other window in the house. Probably because it was made to be the closed window .It has its beauty in being closed. For if you see, you will eventually find at least one window in the house, which is the ‘closed window’. A window, which is seldom open .A window which when open gives you an untold happiness. You just stare at its beauty, you try to look through the view it offers. A view you never imagined would be different when seen through it. Maybe of the same old building that existed like forever, maybe you have grown seeing the building but looks new when seen through it. 

It is the closed window for if opened it would open you to the view; you would probably not stand to see. Maybe it would show you things that nobody ever thought or would have ever imagined. All you will see is deep and profound darkness. And the darkness is not really scary, but comforting if you have the patience to acknowledge it. Amidst that darkness you will also find, a flower, rare in its own way. Bright and sparkling. Like an unseen specie that you have known forever. The petals so tender and delicate, that probably you won’t dare to touch. Why only you, none would, except the one who owns the flower!


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A little boy sitting alone
I saw him from distant far
He was almost on my own
I wondered who left him distant far?
He was crying I could make out
Wiping his tears he walked straight
In the middle of the road, I wanted to shout
Lost and weird on the way that was laid.
Hey stop! I shouted thrice
'Don't walk in the middle of the road'
I was chanting the sane advice
He ignored and walked as if releasing some load...
I ran and reached him somehow
I finally brought him to the stopping mode
I looked in his eyes and I saw pain
I could sense as his soul began to corrode
He was a little boy and I hope he is fine
He was a little boy I wish I could understand
He was a little boy and he is somewhere
He was a little boy on the distant land!

A Story

The time thus stopped, still
Between then and the now,
Then was forever beautiful
Now is undulating but infernal.

Forever is hence a myth,
Tied between the bygone
And the moments yet to come
Stuck, unmoving and dead.

The rise of an era, indeed
Was not a beginning either,
It was called upon by turmoil
And the sacrifices of all.

Them all, gave up all they could
Left behind what they had,
They managed to flee, evacuate
But couldn't untie the chain.

The chain that was tied
So fast around their souls,
Choked, breathless, unmoved.
They cried, longed, lamented.

The emotions they were bound to
Took a toll on them once again,
The empire did rise again,
Them, all, remained the same!


Well, that ache in the center that apparently has no definite cause or maybe the reasons are too insignificant to be named the ultimate thing; there’s a root cause. It’s mere mind’s play, to decide, to let go and definitely to keep holding on…forever? Maybe, if it existed.
But that ache that is indifferent, an ache that feels new every-time, an ache that we’ve befriended like no other, an ache that is acknowledged and welcomed with smile driven tears, an ache that is nostalgic of moments that were mere memoirs of the bygone days, an ache that we never saw coming, an ache that was an escape once from the reality we never faced, an ache which has now become a necessity, an ache that is a part of you?

An ache,,, A beautiful one!