Et cetera (2025)

05/09/2025

I stood before my death knells – those very bells that once rang in my new beginnings. Their lustrous waists glimmered under the spring sun, and a cool, melodious breeze brushed against my ears. The clapper gently kissed the lips of the bell, and their joined harmony soothed my aching soul. The beginning I longed for never truly began.

My far-off town was devoid of emotions and divided by society’s creatures. I wanted to grow and live a life of real, civilized people. I came to the city in search of something that surpassed every moral value these mortal beings held – wealth. The divine harmony rang every evening as I stood outside, praying to the Master to bless me with a life untouched by even the smallest sorrow. My folded hands held all my wishes. As they opened like a blossoming bud, the lines of destiny drifted into the air like the fragrance of roses – only to merge with prayers soaked in vice. Each strike on the bell was in vain,
and my prayers screamed to be heard.

On winter nights, I curled beneath tattered blankets, shielding myself from ravenous moonlight. Every ray pierced my skin, and through bleeding pores seeped the blizzards. Each morning, my frozen flesh
trembled with pain. Clad in deep red linen over its shoulder, the bell struck on – ignoring me. Sitting outside my Master's dwelling, I saw every ring driven by greed – more money, more security. They
swam in the filth of ill-gotten riches, crushing fragile hands like mine, just to ring the bell first. The city was merely a polished reflection of my broken town. I never had any respect or power; however,
I had lost everything. I was ignored like an ill-forgotten patient of an asylum.

Wearing the same sacred cloth, I tied a noose and hung it over the bell. The voice that once uttered prayers was now bound—but would soon be released from this deceitful world. I removed the support; my body panicked. I seized control, and let go. With every swing, my body struck the bell, sounding the loudest call to my Master. At last, I was heard.

Caption:
Pic: .chicken

12/08/2025

Spiraling through, the hardships of life, one can never know if they will succeed or not. Each step taken with caution, each move with the possibility of collapse. Days, weeks, months, years, decades and even their entire life goes by without comprehending, the passage of time. On the journey to reach the zenith, one can never know, when the trail terminates. When will they be compelled to take a detour, or worse, go back to the starting point, and begin again.

If not forward, then they must at least go backwards, to not stay stagnant. And what if then, it is like getting sucked into a vortex with no way out, where the depths and darkness, are beyond the realms of reason. Each step becomes a plunge into the unknown, into the abyss of uncertainty. Engulfed by the shadows of fear and doubt, of insecurities and anxieties, will they ever be able to get out.

If one were to relentlessly, climb again, no matter the number of times, then they, are the true warriors of life. They will conquer all their blues, and reign over skies and seas. Rather than succumbing to melancholy, they view failures as opportunities for growth, hence serving as an inspiration to others. Their embodiment of serenity and stability provides a steady anchor amidst life's storms, while their wisdom guides them to navigate challenges with grace and resilience.

Caption: .x_xh
Pic: .chicken

13/06/2025

The roses spread their fragrance in the dim moonlight, blooming gracefully under its care. Yet, their beauty recoiled from the soft touch of his wife’s hand, as if they carried a venom, masked by sweetness. The water in her eyes flowed into every chamber of his heart, flooding his mind with her angelic reflection. The singing cherubim filled the night with their melodies of love, filling the air with a pious gleam. But in that mystic night, her image gradually blurred in his fickle mind, like a
distant memory slipping away.

The knock on the door came just as the clock struck midnight. The wife kissed her lover – the man she called salvation – and whispered for him to hide. Forced into marriage by family pressure and
societal norms, she longed to start fresh with her pariah lover. Their plan was simple; kill the husband and let the loan sharks bear the blame. The wife faked a smile and turned to open the door.

A thorn pierced his fingers, as he clutched the roses. These roses were his final offering of love; a gesture of surrender. His tainted blood trickled on the red petals, blending seamlessly, hiding its
impurity. The stars blinked faster than a restless heartbeat. In that darkness, he saw a vision: himself being devoured by loan sharks. But the image quickly faded, replaced by his wife – radiant, wealthy, distant. He needed money. Hidden among the roses was a pistol, loaded with a single bullet.

Deceiving himself, he told himself it was her fault – his ruin, his withered dreams, his helplessness. The music of love turned to a sonata in darkness. Every piano key decided the destiny of the wounded hearts. He had to satisfy his hunger for salvation. And for that, she needed to die.

At midnight, his hand trembled as he raised it to the door. The pistol felt heavy, its cold weight sinking into his palm. Tears blurred his vision as the knock echoed like a death knell. The latch turned.

[To be continued in the comments]

Writer:
PC: .chicken

08/04/2025

A Cathartic Release

Living here is a difficult dare.
Shall we too rise from our forgetful sleep, climb up the tree, and watch the stars?
My wishes ask, keep one still spot for me in your heart.
For these dreams outgrow the brain’s decay.

I worrily dwell in the possibility of a black hole of them.
Each day, the same faces painted in monotone,
Monuments of ageing intellect.
Sometimes only gormless wit
But when another New Year morning arrives, we tell our babies about life’s sweetness.
Yet you lay in its deep Illness.
Barely thriving but even more,
bravely alive.
Watching your tears’ luscious edges,
crying of forgotten pursuits.
Nobody realises their pain bare.
You cannot leave a barren field, but thankfully you can forge there.

So in today’s prayer, I asked for myself, not for Hughes and Plath or forgotten lore.
Distinctly over the sky, I see bibliomaniacs where they studied Ptolemy and Galileo.
I decide to celebrate the advent of my spirits. Again.
This time, even lost scientists hum celestial songs,
Their whispers of reason still echo where I belong
Divine sense is truly exhaustive prettiness.

Caption by -
Picture by -

22/11/2024

I sit here at night, writing this piece with a candle flickering beside me on the verandah. The once heavy rain has now diminished to droplets, carving rivers on the roof shade, leaking in gentle beads. These stars falling before me are even more enchanting than those embedded in the night sky. Maybe, if I stretch my lethargic arms like never before, if I put in a little more effort, I could hold them in my hands. And so, I did.

I reached out to grasp one star, only for it to dissolve the moment it touched my hand. It seeped through the creases of my palm, slipping away, extinguishing my initial joy. For now, it bled through the coarse soil, erasing my touch, my presence, and the very evidence of our fleeting interaction. Yet, the droplets continued to fall, and the cadence of a weeping sky echoed in my ears. I turned my attention to my candle, my luminous companion, flickering in the darkness, as if in sympathy with the disappearing stars, offering a small, constant light amidst the night’s deceptive beauty.

My burning friend is now entranced in a dance with a moth. I was too absorbed in my thoughts to notice at first. The dance has grown more intense, the wanderer seemingly in a trance, unable to take its eyes off the glowing beauty, yearning to be closer, to bask in its warmth. And as they finally kissed, the traveler ignited, burning brightly, adding a final flourish to the passion of my fiery companion. It lasted only a few seconds before it was all over, both for me and the drifting wanderer.

Caption by: .x_xh
Picture by: .chicken

17/09/2024

the soft hum of the hospital machines filled the room, she lay still, her frail hands resting
gently on the once crisp white sheets, now tainted with use, disease, and the attempts of
masking those stains. She understood that this is how life is meant to be lived. You fill yourself
to the brim with whatever the world demands from you, and when it spills over, you spend the
rest of your life attempting to conceal those blemishes, until you realize they’ve become too
comfortable residing with you. She didn't mourn what her life could’ve been or even what it was;
she was content with how she had lived it, knowing she had given all she had to offer. Now, she
simply no longer wished to live it at all.
Her muscles had stiffened, robbing her of the once powerful gait she had and made her
permanently resigned to this bed. Her lively features were now perpetually frozen in a look of
quiet resignation. She felt more like a burden with each passing day, her once vibrant presence
reduced to a helpless weight. And yet, despite the pain, she didn’t feel regret—just the desire to
pass on, to let go. Her eyes, although deeply sunken into their sockets, were the only windows
to the emotions she could no longer easily convey. Speaking had become increasingly difficult,
her voice growing softer and more monotone, each word a struggle to express...
Continued in the comments

Writer:
PC: Amreet

18/03/2024

The warm lights emanating from the signs bathed the streets in mesmerizing hues, casting intricate shadows on your face. Each shop beckoned with the promise of a new pleasure that money could acquire, tempting you to enter every one of them and buy every single thing your eyes could spy.

The sweat on your palms glued mine to yours, and as I held your hand, I felt the dirt trapped beneath your fingernails—dirt you collected when you fell from the swing. I had only looked away for a moment. Why did you want to kiss the ground so painfully?

The rumble of distant passing vehicles reverberated through the street, punctuating the end of your curious questions with the calls of street vendors hawking their wares. Amidst it all, I could hear the faint squeak of your pretty pink shoes against the pavement—the same ones you wore on your first day of school. They seemed so tiny. Why haven’t you outgrown them yet?

The tantalizing aroma of freshly made food from nearby restaurants wafted through the air, accompanied by the unmistakable scents of oak, spice, and something darker and more elusive. My gaze fell upon the bottles lining the window, their glasses glimmering with the golden sunlight captured within. I needed another drink.

Leaving the bar with the purchased bottle in hand, it slipped from my hand and rolled onto the sidewalk. Retrieving it, I drank the last remnants of the sun it contained, adding to the fragments I had already consumed. Something within me felt finally complete, whole.

I can no longer hear your squeaky pink shoes, the only pair you own. The dirt from the pavement sticks to my hands harshly. I miss the weight of your tiny palms already. Perhaps another bottle of sunshine would bring you back to me.

(Continued)

Captured by:
Caption by:

06/03/2024

Agreement becomes a nebulous concept to broach. Must it have ended this way? The way he deceived himself into soaring higher, only to be tethered by the weight of a sorrowful spirit that could never find true release.

Nope, there's no other rationale as to why I chose that particular silver-coated ring adorned with beads. As I attempted to open it, the beads slipped and fell. He glanced at me, maybe finding amusement in my naivety. The shopkeeper, with faint wrinkles, asked, "It's alright, Gudiya. You can select another one. I'll fix it." One could glimpse the adversities he put up with while crafting these three rings, each possessing its own distinctiveness. He gently pushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear and placed the ring in my ear, remarking, "These look perfect on you." I beamed and exuberantly demanded, "Chachu, please wrap these up!"

Desperate for this promising trinket, he had left me in this dark, dank room. I stood there bare, naked for the unperturbed innocence. Bruises of desires, yet no regrets about what I went through when I was 16? They said he was a lawyer. The soft fur of his beard brushed against my cheeks, reminding me of the intimacy I was beginning to resent.

How come he thrives while pursuing what he believes is superior, growing stronger, and skillfully deceiving the world, while I end up labeled as a worthless and selfish individual?

Restlessness has become synonymous with my being. While others trample over me, oblivious to the pain they inflict, I growl in frustration. Yet, he continues to believe he can glide through life unscathed, like a child narrowly avoiding a tumble with each turn. He remains gentle, kind, and respected, especially in moments when I found myself mired in disgrace.

You know what? She would never regret whatever she brought into existence. These perilous hearts, ambiguous smiles, and the relentless closeness shared between them— for her, a bond that holds no desires. But her unapologetic hands yearn to break free from the cages of mistakes and ungratefulness.

Captured by:
Caption by: .gwfkxzhf

25/01/2024

An angel was built with years of drudgery and nonstop grind. To grasp a piece of heaven, or at least catch a glimpse of it. The sculptor chiseled the marble, giving form to wings and all sorts of things. To stand above all, yearning success and fulfilling it all, aligning with every human mindset, a reflection of sheer determination and brimming pride. He serves as a representation of turmoil and sacrifices made in the grand pursuit of success.

Now that the task is done and the suffering has ended, another wave of misery awaits. A cycle of loneliness and solitude. For now, the first drops of rain, and the first rays of sun all fall upon him. Raindrops carve tiny rivers on him, or are they tears falling down his face? The sun casts its harsh light on him, forcing him to endure it all until he falls asleep.

Another obligatory role of this position is to look down on people, observe their anguish, and do nothing to help them. Because if he needed to, he would have to step down from his throne. Hence, I pose the question: What good came from this celestial perch, once considered a symbol of triumph?

Captured by: .chicken
Caption by: .x_xh

28/12/2023

Mama, I must make a phone call to Hell.
I must tell the Devil that his demons have invaded mankind once again.
The greed for power and blindness to compassion run rampant.
Forced to kill. Shoot on sight.
Show no mercy.
Mama, mama, I'm scared.
Is Father going to be alright?

The amber shades in the sky,
flicker unnaturally.
The fire and smoke signal a certain demise,
cruel and unfair.
This city is burning to death.
The incessant sirens numb my ears.
The waves of anguish erupt as the dust settles.
Stifling enough to choke on but I won't die so soon.
I must live to see Father come back.
I must make that phone call to Hell.

The Devil says that mankind must drench itself in blood again,
to remember the importance of peace.
Prayers are uttered on blood-soaked sands.
Families are broken apart under collapsed buildings.
And these horrors are forgotten by the world as the days pass.
In the grand scheme of things,
all deaths will be seen as unfortunate losses.
Sworn to never be repeated again.
And repeated as soon as the weight of consequences fades away.

Mama, I must make a phone call to Hell.
I must tell someone about the atrocities I've endured.
There is no meaning to our suffering,
if someone doesn't remember it.
But reality hits me in the face.
My agony isn't even worth a single sentence in the history books.
Facing an insignificant end, here I am.
Like an ant trampled on by accident.
Abandoned.
Dead.
Forgotten.

There is no Heaven or Hell like the stories say.
Neither exists out of our reach.
Heaven is the life we don't value until we lose it.
And hell?
Hell unraveled itself in my neighborhood.

Captured by:
Caption by:

28/12/2023

Mama, I must make a phone call to Hell.
I must tell the Devil that his demons have invaded mankind once again.
The greed for power and blindness to compassion run rampant.
Forced to kill. Shoot on sight.
Show no mercy.
Mama, mama, I'm scared.
Is Father going to be alright?

The amber shades in the sky,
flicker unnaturally.
The fire and smoke signal a certain demise,
cruel and unfair.
This city is burning to death.
The incessant sirens numb my ears.
The waves of anguish erupt as the dust settles.
Stifling enough to choke on but I won't die so soon.
I must live to see Father come back.
I must make that phone call to Hell.

The Devil says that mankind must drench itself in blood again,
to remember the importance of peace.
Prayers are uttered on blood-soaked sands.
Families are broken apart under collapsed buildings.
And these horrors are forgotten by the world as the days pass.
In the grand scheme of things,
all deaths will be seen as unfortunate losses.
Sworn to never be repeated again.
And repeated as soon as the weight of consequences fades away.

Mama, I must make a phone call to Hell.
I must tell someone about the atrocities I've endured.
There is no meaning to our suffering,
if someone doesn't remember it.
But reality hits me in the face.
My agony isn't even worth a single sentence in the history books.
Facing an insignificant end, here I am.
Like an ant trampled on by accident.
Abandoned.
Dead.
Forgotten.

There is no Heaven or Hell like the stories say.
Neither exists out of our reach.
Heaven is the life we don't value until we lose it.
And hell?
Hell unraveled itself in my neighborhood.

Captured by:
Caption by:

10/12/2023

Exuberant yellows tiptoe through the casement,
Warmth caressing the air,
While the amber-lit walls scream grace.
Like a young daffodil peeking through its sepal,
blossoming out with elation.

Tinge of dimness hits up as orange glazes,
Passion's pyres ablaze, illuminating the screen.
Bold as the roaring tiger hunting prey,
Like a mended dawn after night's embrace,
Emerging undaunted, an unwavering sail.

The tender breeze lifts up the veils,
Pink hues murmur sweet love,
distinct and hushed.
Like the tender whispers of an azalea,
Innocent hearts bloom, cradling purity.

Blue commandeers the stage as the sky releases its color,
Self-doubt hovering high, clouds of contemplation and sorrow.
Philosophical musings, grief-ridden yet profound,
A deep prussian blue abyss, contemplating its own depths,
As tempestuous whirlpool unraveling the morals within.

Blending all the hues, the royal shade unfurls,
regal violet sneaks through the window, quietly bold.
In shades so deep, Violet pirouettes, imagination flights,
Like a fragrant lavender garden, elegance takes its heights.
Dreaming beyond along the self discovery.

Captured by:
Caption by:

Et cetera

05/09/2025

12/08/2025

13/06/2025

08/04/2025

22/11/2024

17/09/2024

18/03/2024

06/03/2024

25/01/2024

28/12/2023

28/12/2023

10/12/2023

Address

Telephone

Website

Alerts

Contact The Business

Shortcuts

Share