Skip to main content
Saving You
My thoughts will never meet yours, for my level of tranquility never matched with anyone's. I find peace in ways you can't.  Your depths and skies are not of my universe. Yet, we all are unique. And therefore I am just like you, because even I, am not like anybody else.
It's like we've crossed paths often. Like we're in a maze, and the only direction we go is forward. And there, from the corner of my eye I can see you making your way out from your own direction. We've crossed paths, number of times, but never have we stopped and looked at each other more closely.
Are we scared?
Because in my mind you're all the things I want in me. You're the last picture of which I am the pieces. I almost want to run back, grab you and say stop. I know you. You don't know me but I know you.
And I can fix everything you want me to. Because in some or the other ways, you have fixed me.
What will you do then?
Some reasons aren't worth saying, are they? Curiosities, they're not killed, they're hushed.
How do I say I can save you? How do I say that I can see your way out of this maze?
.
.
But I can't. You don't even know I exist.

And you're so close to all the answers, while I'm stuck in a loophole. 


- अनुश्रुति अधिकारी (Anushruti Adhikari)

Labels:

Comments

  1. Bhaskar DhakalMay 14, 2018 at 11:48 PM

    This is why I love how and what you write. This is exactly what I need and cannot weave for myself. And when I read you, my thirst is quenched. Thank you for such beautiful pieces.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The undecided being Our tracks were never made. We will never make them either. Paths aren't  created for others to walk on. And no one, I swear no one will ever walk the same path that you have. Our lives are as vast as this land. Our paths will be just the same way. Do you make your path to walk on? You don't. You don't have a path. You don't build one. You don't follow a trail. Life was never about having a path. Life was always, always about getting lost. But life was never about losing your purpose. It was never about looking at your past or future. Life is, and will always be, about finding peace. The true meaning of existence, of becoming a human. Why do we spend hours trying to figure out what is wrong with us? Why don't we stop in the middle and realize that life is just a part of the existence? That mistakes are not worth sobbing over if we don't have much time? Do you know how close you are to death? Do you realize how morta...
1 comment
Read more

The Moment, The Lifetime

Imagine an age, an era, cramped into a single moment. We're bridges and buildings, burning, falling, rising, touching skies then falling again. Nothing remains forever. But the remains are forever to stay. It's an age cramped into a single moment. It's in one moment, which you pick up your pen. Inside you, you dust off the corners of your brain, search for the right words, the right depth, the right freefall. For that spot on the paper, which will be the beginning of your story. Blink, blink again, or close your eyes altogether and feel your soul searching, picking, and scratching in your flesh to find the right idea, the right treasure. Drink. Drink while you still can, drink everything you see. Drink the emptiness of the glass, the whiskey bottle, there is still some inspiration wandering. Drink the smell of your ink; drink the feel of the paper against your palms. Drink the passion of the love you just made. Search for more. You're still thirsty. Yo...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Price of Emptiness - Part I

Kiss your shoulders. Raise your hand and suck on your wrist, to know how it feels to be loved. Wait for the goosebumps, then slowly let them rest on your cheeks. Noone will know what happened. The day ends, the light rests on the hills, just like that girl's head rested on the boy's lap, you know, just a while ago? And when they closed their eyes the night was declared. Will they ever know? Clickety-clack. Your heels have made their last noise for the day. The room is just how you left it in the morning. What will you do to see the chair, maybe a little on the left? Maybe a few strange and warm wrinkles on the bed?  You're home. Someone needs to know that you're home. Your heels made noise. Someone needs to hear it.  You burnt your dinner. You wore your sweater inside out. Your socks don't match.  Noone will ever know.  And the only sound that will drown the noise of you chewing, is the sound, the terrible shreak of you, acc...
1 comment
Read more