Words From A Burnt Soul

One day, you finally go away. What I had to do—faded out in front of eyes that searched for you. In absence. In presence. The moon disappeared. The room tightened with silence. And I watched the old you in the rain. “Hold her,” each voice cried inside me— but I let you go. I didn’t know what I had to do. The wind hummed like your voice before it turned harsh. And my heart dug deep just to stay with you. It was too late. Enough. And a wild truth— you were no longer mine. Not even in imagination. Drop by drop, my eyes turned numb. My heart— an old hut where light slowly faded. Only your memory remains, saved in some quiet corner of my mind. My heart still opens— but not for you. All I can do now is live with myself, like a ghost. 

I sit in a room where nothing moves — except my breath and a small memory that knocks like a stranger. The fan hums like a prayer I never learned. The walls don’t talk, but they listen. More than anyone ever did. I don’t cry. I just sit. Like I’ve always done. Like the chair knows me better than my own hands. Some days, I think the light left me. But then a soft breeze touches my face and reminds me — I’m still here. I’m still here.

your loneliness is your loneliness don’t let it sink into black. sit on the chair. there are ways out. there is a light in you. it flickers — but it’s not dead. it beats the black. sit on the chair. the gods won’t offer you chances. know this. you can’t escape the void, but you can escape it while living, sometimes. and the more often you learn to do it, the more light there will be. your loneliness is your loneliness. know it while you want it. you are special. the universe waits to fill you with love. 

I feel nothing — like a hand waiting to be held, but no one arrives. Like a song without sound, a candle that burns but gives no light. Something exists, but I don’t know what it is. Is this numbness, or the space before a storm? I don’t know. But I’m still here. And maybe that’s enough — for today.

The Drunken Man Is a Pleasure Every night, a new arrival. A regret, a memory, a bitterness— some momentary ghost walks in as if he belongs here. Smile — welcome them all. Even if they bring a flood of tears, even if they empty the room of sleep, still, treat each guest with kindness. He might be clearing the stage for some new joy. The slurred voice, the stumbling steps, the shame — greet them at the road’s end, and let them pass. Be thankful for whoever comes. Each has knocked as a companion from the other side.

The day will arrive when I no longer search for myself in the faces of others, when I do not beg the sky for a sign to keep going. I will come home, dust on my feet, silence in my mouth, and there I’ll be—waiting— a younger me, tired, but with light still in his eyes. I’ll say, Come in. Sit for a while. Let the shame fall from your shoulders. Here’s water, warm and still. Here’s rice, simple and soft. Eat like you haven’t in years. I will not ask why you left. I’ll only hold your hand and listen to all the words you once whispered into pillows. Then I’ll take the old notebooks, those pages written in pain, and read them aloud like holy verses. You’ll weep, maybe. I’ll smile through it. And before the night ends, we will laugh. Truly laugh. Not because the world has changed, but because we’re finally together. Sit. Feast on your life.

The agony I came to speak remains unspoken in this night. I have spent my days in opening and closing the windows of my room. The moment has not yet come, the emotions have not found place; only there is the pain rushing in my ribs. I have not seen myself, nor have I heard my laughter; only I have felt my silent shadow cross the doorway of memories. But the match has not burned, and I cannot call myself to sit near me; I live in the quiet hope of meeting myself, but this meeting has not yet arrived.

O Me! O Anger! Of the screaming answers fading into the dark, Of the shattered glass confessing under my trembling hands, Of the night that devours me, the silent moon that watches, Of the storm inside my skull, shards of glass echoing, Of the guilt I press deep, slapping, slapping, Of the breath that burns in my chest, heavy with regret— The answers, O me, so heavy, so hollow, fading— What mistakes did I carve into myself, O Me, O Anger?

Sometimes I lose myself, like snow falling on trees. There is no grip to hold, it just sinks into the sea, cold, quiet, numb. I leave pieces of myself in this room. The room holds my breath, my presence like a scar— it will never leave me alone. Watching the sky at the window, birds fly, clouds move. Light fades, darkness comes, swallowing me in this room.

Bleed me in the dark street, I am your shadow, take the knife slow. Break me in the rain, watch the water carry my blood, let the moon look away. Shoot me in the dream, where I call your name, and you forget. Kill me in the silence, hold my last breath, let it burn your hands. My death not yours, my blood not your emptiness.

Drive away the sun Drive away the moon Drive away the blood on streets Drive away the wind that burns skin I see how light grows like veins I watch how darkness breaks before dawn Strange how light can blind Strange how darkness can heal I will keep this darkness inside me I will guard the light that saves me I will protect the breath that keeps me alive My silence not their words My noise not their emptiness

I will remember the blue shirt in your room, the smell of sweat on that shirt, how you shared your soul with me, and I gave you my shaking lips. I will remember your wet lips, the way your smile dissolved the night, the tea that burned our lips, the music we did not finish, your sari against my face, your breath, my breath, your whisper, my whisper. Our souls curling into the light as if the light could save us, your glances, the quiet, and the way your lips whispered my name like you meant it.

 Inside the dark room, die. Her perfume dissolves in the gloom. Breathe the rain-soaked night. Break her in your mouth. Sit, your bones on fire, like rain carving stone. You wear her scent like a bruise. Slide out, a shadow leaving her behind. Die, and be calm. Calmness is your final wound. Your past was paranoia against calm. The wind tears the full moon from the sky. Let it love you once before you let it go.

I knew I was lone. Something in me said, wait, look up, stay, let it hurt, accept. Then something else in me said, no, keep the cigarette between your fingers, let the smoke hold you like a memory, you don’t have to inhale, exhale, just let your lungs remember. An exhale can carry an inhale, an inhale can carry a beat. Just a heartbeat. Keep it beating. 

The sun set six hours ago, but the clock in this kitchen is stuck in your absence. I stand here, under the flickering yellow bulb, its stutter began the day you left—and it hasn’t stopped. The half-moon hangs in the sky, watching me through the window, feeling me without you beside me. The floor catches the moon’s reflection, staring up at me while my feet leave wet prints. The hum of the refrigerator trembles against my skin, distant dogs bark, digging silence deeper into this room. I walk to the fridge, my eyes pausing on the ring you left behind. The cold bottle of water burns in my hands, my fingers freezing without your warmth. The moon watches through your favorite corner, as I take a sip that cannot touch my thirst for you. The bulb flickers faster, throwing me into darkness where your memory hangs. My breath falters, the last word you spoke pressing heavy in my chest. In this moment, I realize: I cannot breathe you anymore. I cannot even breathe.

The waves kiss the sand. The moon hangs quietly above, its reflection trembling on the water. A father sits on a bench with his little girl. Their feet are in the cool water, letting it wash over them. Nearby, a young couple shares an ice cream, laughing, holding each other close. The little girl looks at them, then at her father. She asks him if he and Mommy ever sat like that. He looks at the moon. “No, baby,” he says softly. She asks, “Why not?” He breathes in the cold night air, watching the couple laugh. “Because Mommy didn’t love me the way I loved her.” The little girl looks down at the water, moving her small feet. “Then why did you marry her?” she asks. His eyes glisten under the moonlight. “Because I wanted to love her,” he says. “Even if she couldn’t love me back.” A wave washes over their feet. She asks, “Then what happened?” He looks far away, into the darkness, into the past. “I let her go,” he says. “So she could be with the one she truly loved.” Tears gather in his eyes...

 I was thinking about you. This room was thinking about you. This bed still thinks about you. Every night punishes me for your absence, every dawn waits for you beside me— but you never come. The day you left, darkness took this room, and it never left. The curtains hang heavy with your memory. The doors you closed have not opened since. I have not felt sunlight, not really, since you were here, letting it fall across our bed. I have not felt the wind, not truly, since your hand held mine, letting it pass between our fingers. Now the wind avoids me. Now the air is empty. I still smell your scent from sixteen years ago, but nothing else since. Where are you? I can’t feel myself without you. I am waiting for you— since that night, 1999, 11:09 PM, when you left, and the clock kept ticking, and the air stayed still. I have grown old in this waiting, the scent of my aging body filling this room, this bed, this air. I am waiting for you, my darling. Don’t let this hope stand alone foreve...

The streets are empty, like my heart. Rain falls on the streets, not inside the houses— just as the rain falls on me, but never reaches my heart. I walk slowly, watching puddles gather on the cold road, streetlights reflecting in them like forgotten dreams. People hide inside their warm rooms, behind their closed windows, but out here, the rain keeps falling, and I let it touch me. I wonder if the rain can wash away this ache, if it can seep into the cracks in me where your memory still breathes. Each drop taps on my skin, asking me to let go, but I am not ready. I let the rain fall, over and over, like the way your name repeats in my mind when I’m alone. The streets remain empty, and I remain here— a shadow under the dim lights, waiting for something that may never come, listening to the quiet rain whisper, reminding me I am alive, even if I do not feel it. And in this rain, on these empty streets, I walk, letting the world move, letting my ache turn into a quiet prayer for the dawn.

Ajay sits on the rough ground beside a quiet lake, eyes fixed on the sunset. The water flows gently, holding the sun’s reflection in fragments that break and rejoin, break and rejoin, over and over, like breath. He watches as the sun lowers itself behind the distant trees, escaping beyond the horizon, leaving a trail of fire in the sky. The reflection in the water trembles with the breeze, scattering light across the ripples. It mirrors something inside him—broken, fleeting, impossible to hold. Ajay does not move. He listens to the gentle lap of water against the shore, the rustle of the wind, the distant call of a bird heading home. For a moment, the world feels soft, like it is holding him. But inside, something aches—a longing for someone who will never return, a memory that has nowhere to go. The sun disappears. The sky turns dark blue. The fragments of light vanish into the water. Ajay remains, watching the water, letting the darkness wrap around him. He does not wipe the tears th...

 It’s been a long time since my lips whispered your name to my heart. Tonight, this heart beats with a strange kind o love — one I’ve known before, but now… it aches for you. The night wraps our town in darkness. Clouds hang heavy above, moody and still. Inside my home, I can’t sit still. I take a towel, cover my head, and step out. The verandah is wet. My slippers filled with rainwater. But I walk — toward your house — guided by the dim torchlight of my phone. I pass the school, and I stop. Rain gathers in little puddles by the roadside. Tree flowers have fallen, soaking into the mud, sticking like memories that refuse to leave. Streetlights flicker — some steady, some trembling. Like my heart. Does yours feel anything? Is there even a tiny spark in you for me? Or is your heart already tied to someone else? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe you’ll never be mine. But I’ll always feel you. I pass by your house slowly, like a snail. My eyes looking your closed doors, but I don’t stop. B...

My Life Is Like My Documents In India, we all have our documents—   Aadhaar card, 10th memo, SBI account…   Proof of identity.   Proof that we exist. But in my case? Aadhaar card says I’m Ravi. Born on 5th May 2004.   10th memo says I’m still Ravi. But born on 19th March 2006.   And my SBI account?   There, I’m Venkatesh. A stranger with my blood. Look at this.   This is my life. Even on paper, I don’t fully exist.   Even in proof, I’m scattered. One name here, another birth there, a different version elsewhere. And that—   that reflects who I am in reality.   And who I am in imagination. In real life, I’m trying to be someone.   In imagination, I’m trying to be free. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just a character with many drafts.   Never the final version.   Never signed, sealed, complete. But maybe that’s why I write.   To find the Ravi that lives b...

I walk the streets of my town, seeing everything around me. A café shop, a fruit shop, a barber shop, a bus stand, an auto stand, a flower shop, a grocery store—each bustling with life. People go in and out, some drinking tea, others smoking cigarettes. The night covers the town in darkness, but the lights we invented illuminate it like gold. Yet, I feel a strange emptiness in everything. Those drinking tea—they’re empty in their taste. Those buying flowers—they’re empty in their need for beauty. Those shopping for groceries—they’re empty in their desire to fill something missing. I feel as though every human being on this planet is empty. I see a girl sitting beside the beach, staring at the waves with a look of loss. I see a beggar sleeping by the roadside, his body curled up against the cold pavement. I see a dog waiting endlessly for someone, its eyes fixed on the distance. What are they searching for? I feel empty too. I write because I am broken. I write because there’s a void in...

Hey Sandhya, I need to ask you something… Are you falling in love with me? I don’t know. But when your eyes look at me, it feels like they’re searching for me. Is it true, or is it just an illusion of my mind? Hey, tell me, what are you feeling inside your heart? What do you feel about me? I’m standing here, drenched in rain, silent, stealing glances at you —  and your glances stealing pieces of me. Before, you used to escape from me. Now you walk freely near me. Is this love? Or is this just letting go? Sandhya, this is not a poem. It’s not even writing. It’s just something I’m feeling when your eyes find mine. I’m a coward, you know. I don’t know what love truly is, or how relationships work. You’re my love. And maybe, in some hidden corner of your life, I am your love too —  not in your bed, but in your world. I am a drifting lover, wandering around you, just to feel your presence. And I don’t even know what I’m saying, or if this is just another illusion my lonely mind is creating....

I cut my neck. I cut my hands. I cut my legs. I cut this body— piece by piece. I cut my thoughts, I cut my feelings— all of them, for you. My soul, it’s fire— burning, aching, needing you. Wanting you. I want to live with you, walk with you, share babies with you, breathe for you, move for you. My soul feels you, my thoughts spin around you, because you— you are the universe. My soul listens to music, searching for you in every note, longing to feel the melody with you. But you remain a ghost, disappeared, nowhere. My soul is dying— for your beauty, for your presence. In my mind, my lips touch your neck, I kiss you softly, gently, quietly. Then— white light hits my eyes, light that slaps my love, cracks my wanting. Darkness whispers— “Come to me, and I will show you the depth of your love, the depth of your ache.” But you can’t grasp it. Because I am that white light— I show, I tell, the beauty of you, and your love. And then, darkness takes me— consumes me. I scream. My voice cracks. ...

 In the ocean of the world, I was drowning, lost in the chaos of my inner self. Then, Sandhya entered my life, not as a lifeboat, but as the sun that dried the stormy waves. She made me want to be better—not for her, but because she showed me what I could be. One day, she brought me flowers. I placed them on my desk, their vibrant colors a reminder of our love. But as the days passed, the petals faded, and my heart grew heavy. Would our love fade too, like these flowers? When I shared my fear, Sandhya smiled and said, 'Why are you afraid? I’m not just giving you flowers. I’m creating a garden—a garden where every bloom tells our story.' She told me how the rose cried when she plucked it. The flower asked her, 'Why do you divide my body and soul?' And she answered, 'Dear rose, if I don’t pluck you, my heart will remain divided. I’m introducing you to a soul who will ignite your beauty like the sun, ensuring the world sees you in all your glory.' As she kissed the...

 IT’S 6 PM. The clouds are dark around me — maybe they’re around you too. Rain is falling on my skin — maybe you’re inside, untouched. The trees sway, the wind brushes my face — maybe that same wind stops at your locked door. My skin is nervous under the rain — maybe the rain longs to touch you. My body shivers — maybe your skin is warm, untouched by ache. I see you… in the absence of you. Your presence roams around me like a ghost. Darkness covers my face — a cage to my eyes. Maybe it’s redemption to your body, to walk freely. I’m walking the road, eyes downcast, but my soul — it’s gazing toward you, aching to feel. And your soul? It whispers back to my eyes — go away. But my soul is deaf. It doesn’t hear your whispers. My eyes blur with longing, unable to understand. Say it louder. My soul wants to know what your soul is saying. I wipe my blurry eyes — Now speak. I sense it — your soul is irritated. But what can I do? I am intoxicated by you. By the silence of your soul. By its r...