Wreeto's diary

The cold breeze of late November The old dusty road deserted... Disgrace With the beggar begging grounds Concealed excruciation behind every face The winter reminds the morns of summer.. Torn pages of hope rots and weeps, you can’t even hear Smiles like creams plastered all over you Soporific memories make fun of your fear … The sky never answers the “why me?” Despoiled puerility searches for you at last The new born, in your womb still hopes, dreams But to you, chocolate tastes like lust … - by wreetojyoti

For the last few days, I had noticed a star at the north west of my sky Today I couldn’t find it out there... gone! Never really wished it to stay though. The place was lonely, the North West (well from my location). Good for it. It blinked, sometimes steady. Difficult to predict the color.. red, blue, or white .. Twinkled brightly, sometimes dull, like the smile of a confused man or the temper of a baby. Each day I tried to place it under any of the constellations.. never really could I decide. May be she found it by herself … The North West .. much darker …. Today …….. - by Wreetojyoti

Drenched crows, the abnormally self coiffed mango tree Waters splayed through the window shed, then the glasses till it reaches my gloomy thoughts I don't like the rain, neither the rain likes me My maneuver to wash off the past, the rain spoils it all.. all dampened again. The captured kite beguiled by the branches died as thousand drops pierced through its body. The rain reminds me of all the unanswered replies that should have at least countered a "hello". They never got in. I don't like the rain, neither the rain likes me. Still when it rains, when the sky fades, the water-drenched branches turn darker and darker the procession of the raindrops advance down the shed                                                                                  grills, glasses my eyes face the sky and whispers "I waste fewer tears than you do". I don't like the rain, neither she likes me. - by Wreetojyoti

Slowly, my lips touched her forehead. She looked at me as the leaves face the sunlight, as the moon faces Earth. I could feel her warm breath on my cheeks—her hair brushing against my shoulders, as if trying to weave me into that very moment. The sweet scent of her presence enveloped me like an endless loop. Her smile spoke volumes, leaving me in awe. Time ceased to exist; the entire world paused. Amidst lives filled with sorrows, hardships, desertions, and pain, this elusive moment stood out. She buried her face in my arms, and in that instant, I felt richer than the wealthiest man alive. The world existed right there, between my two arms. As her lips met mine, an unexpected surge of tears shattered the facade of strength I’d worn. You see, I’ve often thought that as a man, I’m the weakest creature on this planet. Easily swayed, easily impressed, easily fooled. Reality, though glaringly obvious, remains elusive to us dreamers. Dreams are born only to perish in the next heartbeat. Emo

My house used to have all it’s corners open and vast. I could see the old wireless tower of the police zonal office. The old banyan tree of the south road and the Doordarshan tower in Golf green. They used to make me think “wish I could fly, and catch those red lights over those towers, though papa said that they had some large volts of current passing through them. I didn’t use to believe him” But now all these apartments, flats houses stood tall as some giants of the fairy tales. I felt like the old lady of the 50’s who never got her chance to step out of her limited boundaries ever since she got married to that rich Brahmin when she was just 15 years old. How she might have felt frustrated, sad, about her life. About that cage she spent her whole life looking outside through the window. Still now when I spend my leisure walking on the roof, all these memories and thoughts linger into my mind. Lucky these people spared the North-east corner for me thus I can still keep an eye on th

“It is a complicated case of Hydro-nymothorax”. My mother almost fainted hearing that from the doctor not because she knew about this sickness before (though she’s an anthropology student) but what else can we expect hearing that sort of a name!. the doc continued “It’s an illness where the diaphragm of the lung gets cracked due to heavy weight lifting or being hit by something very badly and by the continuous healing mechanism of the white blood cells, which really doesn’t work though, creates a fluid which slowly gets inside the lung filling it and thus malfunctioning the respiratory mechanism of it (now of course lung is not a water container). He should get admitted in the hospital as soon as possible or it’ll get worse” now mom fainted completely. The cabin was quite clean though! But something made me feel much more weak, much more sick out there. I went to the veranda. The Victoria Memorial was slightly visible

The best part of the day for me starts when the world outside the windows of my room slowly seems to erase out into some dark silence. It makes me feel as if a soldier struck with an arrow straight into his heart suddenly stopped mourning his pain with the inevitable belief of never seeing his family again, never touching his wife or his son back at home, and closing his eyes forever. This is about one night, one cold winter night. I had finished my dinner and was sitting in front of my computer. All the rooms except mine, were dark and … black. I had a tough day and was feeling really tired. I took out one of my old collections from my CD case. It was Kenny G’s best. It's been months since I heard this album. The reason is I’m afraid of this type of music. They pull out my true self. The weak, emotionally retarded self of mine. I hate him. But something, I don’t know was different on that night that made me indulge in this mistake again. Maybe some other weakness of mine. I opene