That’s all it is,
The relations we keep,
The words we speak,
The promises we keep.

That’s all it is,
The brotherhood,
The friendships,
The partnerships.

That’s all that remains,
The dream,
The passion,
The love,

Rendered useless,
without hope,

In the end,
It’s always about you.


Swept Away

Swept Away

Two innocent eyes,
staring up my face
Horror reflecting of off them,
As the water slowly covers it’s face.

I look down upon the kid
White skin, blue eyes, black hair.
Oh! So sweet they were,
They had to perish!

The water slowly wets my hand
As I pushed the kid down,
The horror increased, eyes pop
Tries to scream,
A bubble comes up.

I laugh at the vain attempt.
Weakling, that’s all he was.
I look down upon the face,
Now empty, lifeless.
I could feel the life getting swept away

The majestic, grand river,
innocently used.

The Cold River,
takes his life away.

The Reunion

Trrring trringg…Trrringg Trringg

Oh for God’s sake! Who is it? Do you know what time it is? It’s almost midnight, you idiot!”, a very sleep deprived and grumpy me shouted at the door. It really was almost midnight and I hadn’t slept for 48 hours. It had been very busy at work. Some amaetur had cleared all the bank records and we had to submit the report and start to recover the records from scratch. It was like hell.

Trrringg tringgg

I’M COMING! Do you not have some patience?!” I shouted at the door. I opened the door. And there he was, my dear friend Frank. A mixture of shock, anger and happiness all surged through my body.

Come in” I invited him inside. I prepared some coffee and gave it to him, watching him as I did it. He had changed physically, a lot. We sat on the couch and waited for the other to speak. For a long time we remained silent. No one spoke. “So he is still the same” I wondered. I finished my coffee and kept the mug on the table. He had already done the same. The Game of silence continued. We looked at each other. A small hint of smile was visible in his face, which slowly grew into a grin and finally emerged as a big laughter. I laughed along, got up and hugged my best friend.

Even though it had been seven years since I had seen him, we talked like it was only yesterday.We laughed, we chatted we talked of our lives seven years back, how simple it was, how lively it was. Even through the laughter and chatter, I, his best friend noticed he was troubled, he was sad. I thought I’d ask about it later because now was the time for rejoice because it was the reunion of brothers. We drank, we partied, we danced, we sang, we laughed, just the two of us as though we were still young, we were carefree. It was sunrise when we finally rested.

Too excited to sleep, I made some more coffee and we sat on the porch hoping to see the sunrise. We drank in silence, and I looked at him. Even though he had changed physically, he still was my friend, my bestfriend. I had to ask him, it’s a bestfriend’s responsibiliy. First, I needed to break the ice. Even though we were bestfriends, we still hadn’t talked for years. It’d feel weird to ask personal questions straight at once.

So how’s life?” I asked.

He fell silent. I waited for him to answer. It was as though he was in deep trouble. A tangled strings of thoughts he was trying very hard to untangle. He looked at me with sad eyes, “You remember seven years back?” he asked.

How could I forget. “Of course” I answered. “I’m here to give my anniversary gift.” He said.

I was dumbstruck. My mind raced down the memory lane. Seven years back, when we were still in college, when life was carefree. He had fallen in love with this girl from college, Allie. They both were deeply in love. People were facinated by their love story. Every one praised them and they were the most popular couple in the college. Allie was a lovely girl and every one became friends with her at once. I wasn’t surprised how fast had fallen in love with her. It went on for a while and after almost six-seven months, when they were both deeply and madly in love, Allie decided to introduce Frank to her parents. When her parents met Frank, they were “Disgusted” as Frank described to me later. Allie’s parents were country folks and were still old fashioned, they had to find the boy their daughter is marrying sastisfying and unfortunately in the case of Frank, they didn’t. This led to them being seperated for a month but since they both were equally stubborn, they decided to go against her parents wishes and marry. And who would they look up to in the most needy time but me, their bestfriend. I had to help. So I did but I swore a promise that nothing like this would ever happen with me again.

But at the day of their wedding, Allie got cold feet and ran away to her parents. We were all astonished. After a week we heard the news that she was married to a rich country guy. It broke Frank’s heart so badly that he left and I hadn’t seen him since. I heard that he sent Allie anniversary gift every year although I never found out for sure.

And here he was, seven years later still hung up on the girl who left him at the altar. Anger and pity surged through my heart. “Why are you still hung up on Allie? It has been seven years my friend! I’m starting to think you are crazy! Move on! I’ll find you another girl! I can not find a word to describe what you are now!” I said as I grabbed hold of his shoulder.

He removed my hand, and turned towards me and said, “ You don’t know the word? It’s love. Caring about soemone beyond all rationality, wanting them to have everything they want no matter how much it destroys you. It’s love! And when you love someone, you don’t stop. Ever. Even when people call you crazy and roll their eyes, even then. Especailly then! You don’t give up. Cause, If I could give up, if I could just take the whole world’s advice and move on and find someone else, that wouldn’t be love. That would be some other disposable thing that is not worth fighting for. That is not what this is!”

He looked away, his eyes tearful. What was I supposed to do? Should I help? Should I help him find his girl? But I had promised myself that I wouldn’t go through things like this again seven years ago. I couldn’t break my promise just because a person who was my bestfriend seven years ago returns. No. I just couldn’t. So, with a heavy heart, I turn away from him and said slowly, “I can be of no help then Frank. It’s better if you leave.” I could feel his eyesight on my back. The betrayl and agony he may have felt, but I had done what I thought was right. I waited until the door closed behind me. And I sat on the chair and looked at the sun, and with a piercing feeling in my heart, felt guilt rising through my veins.

The Teacher’s Gift

It was raining heavily outside. The heat of the heater and the hot coffee kept me warm inside his house. I was waiting for him, my music teacher. I studied the room to kill time. It was a well furnished room, the floor was carpeted with very good fabric, few paintings were hung on the wall. The ceiling had been painted white with a large Piano in the middle. On the other side of the wall there were few items on show. One of the items caught my eye, it was a small Harmonica. The edges were tainted, the designs were faded. Compared to other items on show, it was worthless. I was pondering over the old Harmonica when he arrived, finally.

In entered a short man with a guilty smile branded on his face. He was in his early forties. He wore a small Goatee on his chin. He hurried and shook my hand. We both sat down on the couch. I looked at his face; lines covered his forehead, he had a smile on but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was a sad man, I figured.

“I’m sorry I am late. the rain was unexpected, delayed my schedule”, said he.

“That’s alright. I had the company of very unexpected characters” I said gesturing towards the old harmonica on show.

“Oh that! It was a gift from my singing teacher when I was a child.” he said with a smile.

I was astonished by the sweetness and the melody of his voice. Even when he spoke, it was as though he was singing. His voice was almost…magical.

“So, you’re here to learn singing. I must say, singing is more than art, it can’t be taught unless the person is dedicated. You can not back down once we have started, on this I must insist.” He spoke with such passion. He spoke of singing like it was the only thing he wanted. I can swear I saw flames in his eyes.

I agreed to his terms and conditions. He finally relaxed. We shifted to the floor. He ordered his butler to bring him his Harmonium. It was not a surprise when I saw how grand the Harmonium looked. He pressed some notes and when he was satisfied he turned towards me to start the training.

Before he could speak, I interrupted,”Could you sing a song for me first?”

I know it was rude but I had to hear him sing. He smiled and agreed to sing one of his own songs. He payed some notes and then sang.

It was something so beautiful that it cant be expressed in words and makes my heart ache because of it. I tell you his voice soared higher and further than I had ever dared to dream. It was like a little beautiful bird flapped into my life and made all the troubles dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, I was free. It felt like I was flying above the tallest cloud but at the same time was diving in the deepest ocean. The sound of his voice made me feel like a little bird learning to fly. It was mesmerizing.

He finished singing, I was still immersed in his mystical voice. It was a very soothing experience. I praised his voice and told him how grateful I was for being taught by him. We then started learning.

After an hour of continuous vocal practice, he ended the class. We agreed to see each other again tomorrow. I left his grand house. It was still drizzling, but I had a lot in mind to care about the rain. His voice was so amazing, so beautiful. It had grabbed my heart and my heart will never be free unless it hears the voice again. I wanted to go and hear him sing again but I convinced myself to return home.

By the time I had dinner, the urge to hear him sing was overwhelming, I couldn’t resist it. I had to go. So at around 10 o’clock, I got dressed and left for my teacher’s place.

The guards had seen me earlier the same day so they let me in without any question. I went inside and went to his room. He was about to sleep and was surprised when he saw me.

“What are you doing here this late?” he asked.

“I want to hear you sing again.”

He looked astonished and satisfied at the same time, “I’m sorry but you’ll have to go now. I’ll sing for you again tomorrow.” He said.

“But I have to hear you sing now, it’s killing me”

I cried.

He refused and asked me to leave. Suddenly, the craving towards his voice became anger towards his refusal. How can he refuse, after all the distance I covered on foot, after what I said, after I cried? He didn’t deserve that beautiful voice. I did. I deserved his voice. I would steal his voice and take it as my own. After all the person who bore that amazing voice had to be responsible, he had to present is voice when demanded. He couldn’t handle the responsibility. I had to be the better person. I had to do the world a favor. I had to steal his sound.

I looked around, the old harmonica was there on his bed beside the pillowcases. there were a bunch of paper cutters and scissors on the bedside table. I took the paper cutter, the sharp edge gleamed in the light of the grand bulb, this person did not deserve such wealth.

He tried to escape me, tried to push me. But he was a small man, tiny man. He couldn’t overpower me. I grabbed his head ripped his mouth open and held his tongue. He was trying desperately to escape but all was in vain. I pulled out the blade and cut it. He screamed and the sound wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t mystifying. Instead it was irritating and horrifying. My work was done. I had stolen the sound he didn’t deserve.

I looked at the old harmonica on the bed and thought, just like my teacher had been gifted the harmonica by HIS teacher, I had also been gifted by my teacher, only mine was much more valuable.

Ryan Boss

A fly buzzed in his ear. He tried to wave it away but the fly escaped his hand and sat on his cheek. “Stufid Fly” muttered Ryan as he woke up from his slumber. He checked his surroundings. A very small room with dingy floors, a lone couch sat on the corner of the room, he remembered it was a gift from someone important; he hadn’t bothered to remember the name. A dusty table with Newspaper that was months old. A very old and small TV sat on the table too though he hadn’t watched TV for as long as he remembers. And lastly the small, groaning bed he was sleeping in with stained and faded bed sheets at the end of which was the same fly that had awoke him.

“Same shit, new day Ryan. Everyfings’ the same.” He said to himself.

Ryan Boss was a kind but very poor man living off the streets and any kind of work he could get. People in the village of Chesterfield thought how could such a good boy suffer such a poor fate. People believed that he was a son of a traveler who had crossed this village years ago and left Ryan here. Ryan however thought different. According to Ryan, his last name was not an ordinary name. He was named “Boss” because his family were important in their time and he was their only living heir.

Fantasy of a poor man, that’s what it was. Nobody knew who he was or where he came from or who his parents were. And nobody really cared after all these years. They know him now as Ryan the poor guy, Ryan the kind guy who will help them. People liked Ryan. Ryan would do the work and help the people eagerly too because they would give him food and good drinks, who wouldn’t do a little work for good food and drink?

Ryan got up and walked out of his windowless room. A bright beam of afternoon sun shined in his eye. It felt good, like a ray of hope, like a sign that something good was coming his way. “Baah, every day the same sun, every day the same feeling. Nofing’s coming my way.”  He said to himself, a broken man he was. He no longer hoped or wished. He had accepted himself for who he was, a poor man Ryan Boss who would help people to earn some food. He sighed a long sigh and walked away.

The day was pretty much same. He walked round the Village twice. Scolded the kids who teased him, played with other kids in the park. Harvey the coffee shop owner gave him a cup of coffee and a bread, his dinner was done. He thanked him and went off. He asked if anybody wanted help but like always, nobody did. “People hafe started to work themselfs. I’m gonna be hungry for daysss then.” Thought Ryan.

After all the walking and playing, he turned to the street that led to his room. He noticed something different, it was quiet. The street was always busy but today it was quiet and it was a different sort of quiet, like a disciplined quiet. He kept moving but the thought never left his mind, “where were the people?” He found the answer to his questions right outside his room. Almost all of the people in the street were gathered in front of his door. No, in front of a man sitting in front of his door.
“Ahh, Ryan Boss. So long it has been.” Said the man standing up.
“Who’re you?” asked Ryan as people made way for him.
“Ryan, my dear old Ryan. I am Charles, your godfather. We are the Bosses. The only family that has noble blood of the great Assassin Sir Jeorah running through their veins.”
“What? Yeah right.” Smirked Ryan.
“It’s hard to believe but it is true son. Your father was a assassin before you and his father before him. It runs in the family son.”

“oh yeah?” said Ryan. “Then tel’ me my de’ar Godfather, where are my parents now? Where is my father?”

Charles heaved a sigh, “I didn’t want to say it so fast but…” he looked at Ryan, “your parents are dead my boy.”Ryan felt a hard punch pound on his chest. Even though he expected that, the blow was terrible.

“James, your dad was killed by the government by treachery. Your mother, Emma died in the incident too. I was out on another mission that’s why I am alive. I hid you here and went on hiding myself. You were left here because we had to run from the government, but the moment to announce the world of our presence is here. Common let’s go.” Said the man and he opened the door to Ryan’s room.

A fly buzzed in his ear. He tied to wave it away but the fly dogged his hand and sat on his cheek. “Stufid Fly” muttered Ryan as he woke up from his slumber.

What a man’s heart holds…

People say a woman’s heart is a mysterious place. They may be correct. But a man’s heart is no different, perhaps it’s even more “mysterious” than that of a woman’s. A man’s heart dwells on deep, scary and hurtful thoughts. Behind the strong, muscular cover, a man is a troubled soul, experienced with everything life has to give; love, happiness, friendship, hate, heartbreak, betrayal, treachery, everything. People see a man as a strong, fun, humorous person, but oh! if they knew. If only they knew what lies beneath the strong body, i wouldn’t be surprised if they fall on their knees and star crying pity tears.

There’s a famous quote, “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.” It is relevant in this  topic. Try to see underneath the mask we men wear because even if the surface of the ocean seems pretty, the bottom is prettier still.