The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

I hear whispers as I walk to the lake, An ancient story of a girl being dragged, Into the deep waters by two welcoming hands. I turn back to discover the whispering voices, Only to be met by layers of air, reeking of silence. The whispers grow loud, describing the girl now, How her lips used to be so moist in places Where the hot tears fell and How her smile makes people wonder If she had lost her sanity How she used to make people forget their miseries, As they dwell and reminisce in her tragedies. I shush the voices as I near the lake, For I chose stillness over companionship, As something told me only then she'll let me Listen to her voice, her story. The voices continued yet, telling what she did to people She has left people stay isolated in their rooms, She had left them moaning, crawling and crying. It was as if a curse had been lifted and passed on to us, To cry the tears, to indulge in the solitude, to spend sleepless nights, That was promised ...

The frequent trips to the terrace at night was something to look forward to. The view wasn't marvelous but once you have had  a glance at the night sky, you wouldn't be disappointed. The two apartments opposite our building had few tales to tell in its silence. And for those who were eager to listen, they heard a murmur of wonder, habits and uncertainty.    The man with the cigarette reminded me of two people. My grandfather would always hid his pack of cigarettes from me, although I never really know the reason why. Whenever I find him smoking or discover his secret stash, he would let out a stretched 'ayyo' and has a look of despair and regret on his face. I would scold him childishly. But  I was always confused. Was it the face I made? The one I learned from my mother when she finds dad smoking. The look had grown on me. But the meaning of it hadn't crossed my mind- disappointment? What about the days when she lets him smoke when he has had a rough day? Her ...