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She gazed into emptiness.

She cried.

A teardrop fell on the window sill.


He was hitting the nail with the hammer.

Something stirred him.

The hammer hit his finger instead.

A drop of blood fell on the window sill.


Nikhil Menon said…
he died? or is he on 911??
ANWESA said…
Dude,he didn't die. A drop of blood never kills.
Thousif Raza said…
you stir emotions, you know that..... a very good attempt... :)

take care and keep writing..........
Ria said…
Aah!! Painful....i dont like the sight of blood.
Tulika said…
Ouch :(

Metaphor is stunning.
Priya Joyce said…
is it like...chot unhe lagi aur dard hume hua?
Mayz said…
ohhhh me likes!!!!!!!
Ah.. it pains... in anyway..
Bikramjit said…
did the tear and blood mingle.. was it the same window..

why was she crying :) oooh so many questions come up.. just proves how good the article is .. makes you thing :)
sushobhan roy said…
gud one.. very well narrated.. Liked the way u tried to bring the role of destiny and fate..:) I guess if the HE part is written above the SHE part, wouldn't it sound more apt and carry a much more strong message.. What say???
I like how you put the two pieces together :) nice:)well written indeed
awesome piece!!! disconnected yet connected... weird spooky feeling this evokes
ANWESA said…
Thank you !


Thanks ! Glad you liked it.

@Lil' Priya,
Not exactly. Its a kind of telepathy I guess.

Thanks !


@ DI,
Yeah,it does....
ANWESA said…
Pleased to see your comment.

I tried flipping the passages as you said. Yes,it sounded well. Maybe I'll experiment with it sometime soon.

Thanks !!!

Yeah,I meant it to be 'spooky'. Glad to see that you get what exactly I wanted to convey.
Avi said…
I think he wanted to cry too, but couldn't. He knowingly hit his finger so that the pain could trigger the tears.

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Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. 
Maybe appreciation.
Another journey, another dry spell. 
Will it ever be home again ? 

P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017 


I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.