Deep within.

The unabating cry
Of an outlying cricket
Invades the stillness
Of a monsoon night.

Sweet cacophony
Fills the airspace
Quietly summoning
A mellifluous cloudburst.

Hounds of melancholy
Strengthen their shields
And sharpen blades
In perpetual obstinacy.

In the distrait ambit
I see a flourish too bright
Like stars caught
In a cast net.

A breath of damp soil
Plunges into my nostrils
Leaving a dewy freshness
On my curved lips.

A cry breaks the tranquility
Of the morose nighttime.
My soul awakens to the
Plea that I realise has come from
Deep within.


Flash fiction


Pallid sketches of twilight dance on the frontiers of his face. The creases on his wrinkly shirt murmur despicably as they stick to his withered body. He crawls closer to my feet. I’m no drunkard’s mercy .I scoff.
I look up towards the sky. The moon was at its fullest tonight.
I see an overview of the houses that sat with their torsos clinging to each other. They mock at my loneliness.
Somewhere in the neighbouring streets, dogs howl wolfishly.
I look down at the man gathered at my feet and imagine his wife sitting by the window in anticipation of her husband as she puts her children to sleep.
The stars of the sky camouflage as sunlight creeps with the first breath of dawn. I dim out. I’m a street lamp and my work is over for the night. I close my eyes as the city comes to life.

The clock.


The ancient clock ticked in a sneering demeanour. Sweat trickled down his forehead in a haste. He could hear his heart beat atrociously against his ribs.He was afraid that it may cease owing to the silence promised that night.
He was lying on his four poster bed attempting to sleep, draped in a thick blanket. Somewhere far away an owl hooted bluntly.
He stretched himself towards the light switch.

Click. No power.

Falteringly, he clambered out of his bed, the floorboards beneath his feet shrieking willfully.


He dragged himself towards the arched window.
Empty Darkness.
He tightened his night robes around him and gulped in some air. His mouth tasted bitter due to the dryness. The coldness of the floor penetrated through his bare soles as though seeking vengeance.


With an immediate reflex he squinted towards the clock.
It was gone.

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The conspiracy


The quiet shimmer of the night- stars,
Leaves me thoughtful and aghast;
The soft whistle of the winds, cold:
Knitting its own melody ,untold.
The silence I just can’t fathom, so coy;
That solely gets me captivated,  oh boy!
The night engulfs me , but with mysteries;
I have another day spent,
But I’m left insatiable amidst the secret conspiracies once again!