Sunday, November 20, 2011

The Blind Violinist

Inside that mid night subway train
Heard a broken hearted lover play
Plucking strings so they could echo
Those mediocre tunes of utter dismay

Trying to fix her broken pendant, there she was
With her winter scarf wrapped around her neck
Remembering romance of yester nights
Hiding scars of bites and pecks

Dared he, began to play Mozart
Symphony fourty-Molto allegro
Entered E flat major in a haste
Not affecting the smooth flow

Lost in the sanctuary of sins
In that deep state of half asleep
With dreams resting on her eyelids
Of Starry les nuits à Paris

With a half soul, yet giving his best 
Lost in the melody with eyes closed
With a name of past love engraved
On that dusty broken violin's scroll

Her station Chester was next, they announced
She got ready to depart the train
Eyes on the door, heart somewhere in Paris
And walking dans central city in the rain

Lost in thought she walked past him
Her scent so familiar, J'adore it was
"Abby", screamed he, the blind violinist
His wounds still unprocessed and raw

"Mistaken you are", she replied impolitely
Doors opened, wind distributed her scent
He apologized for mistaken identity
Yet memory of past sorrows did augment

Of days full of hopelessness
And nights full of uncertainty
His lover's secret Ménage à trois
Away from his blind sight, a place so privy

The doors closed behind the woman
As she witnessed the train leave
Her pendant broke, landing in her hand
On it was the name engraved Abby

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Dorian Gray

In his limpid stillness he stands tall proudly
References made about his distinct beauty
Basil, an artist, secret admirer of the boy
Romantic soul, fearful yet half full of joy
With feelings unexpressed of admiration
Of illusive kisses, desires and temptation
Says Basil,"You have a part of me Dorian,
But you do not care for my pure affection",
While the boy with a stone heart and vanity
With heart breaker qualities and no sympathy
Asks the sinful artist that as his life begins to unfold
To let him stay young & let his painting grow old
"Let it take upon the punishment for my sins,
Allow it to suffer on my behalf somewhere within",
Enters Sybil, the local theatre actress, playing Juliet
Sparks grew, his name got engraved on her heart's slate
Rejection came when he failed to recognize any art in her
She died of love then and there which caused a stir
A life he spent in guilt, helplessness, yet with pride intact
Portrait aging, resembling evil, with beauty subtract
His divided existence based on absolute lies
A life then spent on edges of frailty and vice
Years passed, the evil grew more within
The darkness took over and purity forgotten
He became a murderer, killed the very artist
Who made him famous, a moment not his best
Debauchery took over, daily trips to the opium den
Remained intoxicated in the east end of London
His deal with the devil became over whelming
Fame, vanity, wealth all seemed unappealing
So he turned to the portrait he hadn't seen in ages
Saw ruminations of an unworthy wicked savage
He then stabbed the painting deep in the heart
Destroying the image, Basil's best work of art
As the soul deceased, so did Dorian
His face resembling a horror film villain
A life time spent on the tendrils of immorality
He paid the price of his venomous vanity

Saturday, October 29, 2011


In bed next to her thought, I lay awake
With a certain degree of fringed insanity
And a pillow so damp due to these cries
Those call out a tale of her destructive vanity

In half written love notes, there was a quest
To witness my heart's own sweet dismay
The dramatic sessions of truth in her betrayals
Popped bubbles of vulnerability, just to play

And to make me walk on the path of fear
Built from the debris of her everlasting lies
The bubble still did not burst, must I add
Even post witnessing shades of her disguise

Femme Fatale, during those dark rainy nights
With hands so soft, eyes so black and lips so red
Blood stream soaked in whiskey, appearing nude
With rain drops scattered all over her bare back

Minus the struggle, the pain and restlessness
Serpentine murmurs held me in imprisonment
Soul wrapped in cringed desires, she claimed
Creature of the night left me in abandonment

In midst of impending chaos and what's now done
Ascertained, there are no heroes in this tragic story
Well wishers there are in masks, waiting to slaughter
Demonic characters from my past, will never be sorry

Defeated today, I've never felt this stranded
Lost count of all our irredeemable sins
Tried to block echoes that bring me misery
Moral noted, evil prevails hence she's won

Friday, September 30, 2011

About Love

Get rid of the silent mode
And finish that half prose
The one with our little secret
Before somebody starts to dread
So walk through this perfumed sea
Holding hands, just you and me
Like some absolute mad lovers
In this Autumnless October
Know how peacocks dance
Carefree they get, at every chance
Do not doubt how it could be
Just close those eyes & come to me
Let's build walls of our very own essence
And a roof of love that's innocent
So please accept this soliloquy
Of a broken hearted lover's plea

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Tumors & Voids

Almost terrified of discovering the consequences
Of what nightmares unfold behind those dark eyes
Some clouds of grey being smoked all day long
And hysterical laughter followed by endless cries

With fragile state of mind, wish I could hold on to him
As it gets secluded at times in this glittery old darn city
Admirable lips, speak of nothing but ache and angst
Battles he has been fighting now since some eternity

Hands so soft, he rests on that cherry finish table
On the one he taps out the tune of sheer loneliness
Wish I had the chance to hold on to them for good
With lines that speak the tales of utter emptiness

Flickering hope I can offer if not anything else
Songs of endless joy we can pretend to sing
Wearing a mask would hide a bit of ugliness
So buckle up tight and let the play begin

With indifference behind and laughter to follow
Starry long summer nights under midnight sky
Let the healing process be at its brink, I suppose
And all the harmless games with absolute joy

So when it comes crashing down, just grab the ashes
Or hold on to the mould of our disasters combined
Glue the debris all together in every way possible
With little pieces of now and then, all intertwined

Cuz even the best place in the world means nothing
If the layers of past ashes simply can not overlap

Monday, September 5, 2011

I Can Almost Reach You

In hope that He will grant you just one more day
I ended up folding a thousand paper cranes for you
We'd create a few last minute blissful moments
With glowing fluorescent light passing through

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Self Contempt

Drawing myself closer, coming slowly face to face
To incidents of the past, should I actually retrace?
So I know as to where did begin this phase of depression
In need of a second opinion, though I trust my own discretion
Seated on a red couch in this damn confession room
The shrink wouldn't feel the hurt, I somewhat presume
Profess your pain to me, says Mr. "I know it all"
"There will be no drama", I said, so I will not ball
Its hard as I suffer from the disease of the intellect
An everyday struggle, often resulting in a disconnect
With the inner circle as well as the entire galaxy
My triumphs now resemble some doleful tragedy
As a woman, it is expected you are melancholic
A hint of rationality is often considered hyperbolic
An example of Ophelia & Hamlet is often given to me
Of her unexplained sadness and his complete insanity
I'm told often, this is how it is all supposed to transpire
Stay attractive, act needed, this is what we require
So I frequently analyze that famous Mona Lisa smile
Seems nobody studied that sheer expression of hostile
The rate of this metamorphosis has no possible measure
Though it can be stopped, to life if I were to surrender
He scribbles on, for ten pages as the narration goes on
From what I did the night before, to where I was born
Gives his final verdict, "all is well", says he with a wide grin
Tells me to start all over and let a new chapter begin
I leave his downtown office, passing by an accident site
Wishing I, instead of the victim, had seen the tunnel light
In these tall glass buildings often I see my own reflection
Of unconscious vanity, longing, suffering and rejection
There is greed of knowledge, it is at times never enough
Was forced to choose this path, in the absence of love
Unknowingly the heart is beginning to turn to stone
Imprisoned soul with dreams shattered, I now walk alone
Have to keep breathing, got to wear this pain like a medal
For I'm the one, the so called creator of this sinful devil

Thursday, August 25, 2011


In the archives of thy lonely mind
Destruction began many ages ago
Pretend of calm on the periphery
And absolute chaos way below

But to experience the sorrow again
You'd supplicate lasting an eternity
Re-living afflict, dejection and illness
And re-tasting all of its diversity

An element of vanity you carried within
That mirror certainly hated thee every night
And late hours, spent in pure admiration
While the body laid awake in destined fright

'Hide your love away', in Lennon's vocals
Dancing bare feet to it, you moved slowly
It's Beatles night tonight, they said on the radio
'Love will find a way', continued the melody

You shocked my being with current of that body
So I got to witness the true madness within
How you let your lonely self befriend my pain
For all I cared, took me for a manic spin

Do not let the spirit divide this time around
Close all windows and lock all the doors
How long will it fight, the poor soul that is
Let it drag around outside the four walls

There's that face so familiar once, I recall
Supplied with excessive pride, for years to last
With the shadow I'd now keep outside my door
Of that atrocious ghost from my modern past

Sunday, August 7, 2011


Days spent in the confinement of solitary
Words spelled backwards often involuntary
Oblivious to horrible tragedies all around
Mother do not cry, father do not drown
In sadness now intertwined with this story
Of less bright days for which I'm so very sorry
An empty playground during recess it so seems
Think no one will respond to these silent screams
Imaginary patterns drawn somewhere in the mind
Wish you saw the rare beauty that often unwinds
Instead the gruesome world just sees the chaos
Witnesses the yelling and offers grams of pathos
Perspective it is that stands segregated from them
Some poke fun, give honorary titles of stupid & dumb
But mother do not get sad, and father just pretend
That I'm special and strangers will not understand
Just for today take rest and do not research any cures
Ignore all colorful fliers and all the flashy brochures
With open arms today accept this ill fated realism
And embrace this disorder, or my so called autism

Monday, August 1, 2011

The Bastard Of Slovakia

Surrounded with unopened letters and notes
From the missing father of her unwanted child
With probable chilling facts they hold in them
Of a childhood spent in absence of beguiled

Amidst the dusty dark feel of the great war
Two lovers united & surrendered to temptation
Greed soon became birth of desire mixed in lust
While the backseat got dominated by frustration

Behind the jumped fences would lay young love
Their bodies nourished with severe ecstasy
Accompanied by the sea of roses in the garden
Ignorant to possibility of a sudden tragedy

With crossed boundaries somewhere way behind
The two lovers departed on a bittersweet note
Oblivious she was perhaps to her first trimester
Was left behind in a village somewhat remote

During the scorching summers of Sliac
Came along a new born outside a wedlock
With reputation on the line and no one to help
Her every second spent in absolute havoc

With the great war then at its worst peak
The last letter came soaked in his own blood
She left the nameless child at a local orphanage
Her lover's souvenir she soon got rid of

On the train to Bratislava accompanied by his letters
The chance of her lost lover's return, slim to none
For conceived he was in a rose garden, my child
However no one did ever promise him one

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Bitter Sweet Release

Here on the old white cotton sheets
Did lie a widow dressed in black
Her present flooded with memories
While love lays peacefully under six feet

In between the unwritten verses of tomorrow
And the cacophonies of unforgettable yester years
In the midst of the silent chaos around her
There lived a widow in deep sorrow

With lingering unsung melodies
Of love, laughter, passion and grief
With dry tears on the cheeks
There lay a widow in ecstasy

The sweet surrender to hurt and aching
Red was found swirling away in her palm
Along with the glass dagger which was next to
The bed on which a widow died in mourning

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow

Take a break from this busy life of yours. Dim your lights. Lay down. Put your ear phones on and hit play.

Close your eyes...

Need I say more?

Rest In Peace Amy.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Lonesome Sea Fairy

Once belonged somewhere deep in the sea
A place that used to be her not so sweet home
Shelter it was next to a hundred year old wrecked ship
Mermaid she was and that too a very well known

Disentangled her long gold tresses all day long
Owned a comb made from pearls, her dearest possession
Beauty she was, uncrowned Queen of all the oceans
With such eyes that too became sea world's admiration

Royalty at its best minus an actual throne
Oblivious to the world outside her diminutive domain
Unknown to mankind and to flying creatures in the sky
Stranger to soil and sand, in the ocean she remained

Ruled by the sea serpent who owned every inch of her
Slave to her master, trapped in the tides of the sea
Twirling for his pleasure unable to escape his sight
Often experienced melancholy and wept silently

Always curious to explore sea world as well as
She wondered how it would be on the outside
Getting her curls entangled in the sea branches
She often pondered somewhere deep down inside

Floating through her sea heaven one night then
She had what some might call an epiphany
Looked outside towards the midnight twilight
Her tail dancing to night's dusky symphony

Desperate to reach out, she escaped her prison
Laid on the wet sand appreciating the galaxy
Concluded there is no going back to the trap ever
Feeling for herself, her sincerest apathy

Lying on her stomach in hopelessness and grief
Staring at her dispirited little reflection
Her curls in snarls courtesy of the absent comb
With the new found world, her striking disconnection

She once belonged in the deep sea they say
But got caught up in the web of lusting speculation
Isolated on land and unable to return to the sea
Got lost somewhere in her own translation

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Chimerical Romance

The bridge that binded the two ends
Where they once used to stand
The one that united those two lovers
Somewhere right by the bend

As the moon light scattered on her raw body
He felt the weight of it on him as well
As she moved in closer and felt more intoxicated
Engrossed in her tresses he loved the lavender smell

The warmth of the moment was quite enticing
The realization also came sinking in after a while 
Sadness was subtracted from then onwards since
He had filled his laughter in her cries

The kind of things she whispered in his ears
That she wants to feel the touch of those hands
And he did just that regardless of the fears he had
In the midst of all those ifs,buts and ands

A moment where they saw the world in each other's eyes
The sun taking a back seat & the moonlight shone on her beige skin
Where it was only night with no sign of sun rise
Holding her tight he was immersed in the sin

She whispered, I know the fear that's been bothering you
Where the earth cracks from underneath your feet
I know that feeling, believe me I do
The fear in which everything seems incomplete

But I am all bound in the spell of your love
Tonight as the soundtrack of lust plays
I am flying somewhere with the clouds above
Can't keep track of my nights and days

The darkness then came creeping in uninvited
As he drew circles with his index finger on her bare back
He was now breathing her scent in and out
Slowly changing the direction from circles to tacks

And as the dawn begins to break the two lovers return
To a place in which she paints tranquillity and he thinks of hunger
Where she sings of passion and he writes of lust
Where she plays with sin and he fights a battle with surrender

Just soon enough the earth beneath them cracks and...

She now paints in madness and he now writes in blood

Saturday, June 18, 2011


In his ciudad natal de Barcelona
We share a small townhouse on the street
He paints with acrylics all day long
In his wrinkled clothes and bare feet

All three of those reside somewhere in him
Passion, lust and their friend greed
Women too visit him often must I add
To surrender to his daily needs

I too admire him from across the habitación
Some days our eyes too converse
His stare sends shivers down my spine
In his aura I'm religiously immersed

He has never sold a single painting ever
They all rest against the molded wall
He did donate a couple however
They hang proudly somewhere at city hall

Every night a damsel arrives
Through the broken back door
Oblivious to my commitment towards him
My love he usually tends to ignore

Ironic it is as years pass by
He gets old as I stay young
About my beauty references are made
For I am the greatest all others amongst

Many years have gone by since then
He is as old as one could get
The women stopped visiting too
All the blondes and the brunettes

In our ciudad natal de Barcelona
He lays on his death bed in front of me
I live in a portrait he once made
The name you see is...Amelie

Monday, June 6, 2011

When Love Is...

An Attraction
In was a busy train ride
He sat across from me that night
It was magical as our eyes conversed
My station was here but I was too submersed
I was indifferent as to where he was from
He seemed carefree too hence our love was born

The boyish grins, the sparkling eyes
The sweet surrender, nothing to hide
Tension, heat, submission, passion
Touching, stroking, pleasure, addiction
Body meets body, eyes meet eyes
Midnight oil burns, body temperatures rise

An Obsession
You were meant to exist only for me
So I shall decide what these lips should speak
I crave for thee from the bottom of my heart
I'll remain hungry for your touch till I depart
I am the moth and you're the flame
Day and night, I breathe your name

Try to forgive me Lord as I no longer bow to thee
She's become my faith and my spirit you see
I try to pray but unconsciousness takes over
She my God and she's my lover
I follow her silence blindly at night
At the end of the tunnel, she's my light

A Disease
Sink into my blood and flow into my veins
What is pleasure if not soaked in pain
Everywhere I go your memories follow
The heaviness, emptiness and the hollow
Tonight let your thoughts be my ecstasy
And let this deadly storm outside be my pathetic fallacy

Pain, inevitability, hopelessness, anger
Defeat, insanity, suffering, surrender
When our bodies touch, I am born
And when we separate I lay there and mourn
Tell me, in love as to what the difference is
Between being dead and lifeless

A Deception
Your love was a hoax it was all a game
You walked away from me now who do I blame
The lies, the broken promises, the torture
My heart is in a million pieces since your departure
The void you created will remain forever
You won't be forgiven, not now, not ever

A Dream
In the midst of this solitude
Falls a moment of gratitude
Where you and I are on a swing
Enjoying the cool breeze in spring
I wake up next to you in an hour glass
Where love sprinkles upon us for eternity

Nothing But Love
Through the back door of this thing called life
Let's escape to the world of pure fantasy
Just you and I walking through heaven
Let's build our home with abstract walls of love
And chimes being the only instrument for now
Let the winds compose the song of love tonight


Monday, May 23, 2011

Bittersweet Adrenaline Rush

Inside that beige tent of life
True nature of these bright colors lies
Here I am in a borrowed candy floss costume
Hiding away the pain with scent of my cheap perfume
In old ripped pink ballet shoes
Perfectly complimenting my cheek's hue
You the world are here to poke fun at my act tonight
Others I must add are here to merely write
About the petite thin chested dancers, the lions & the colors
Though some think we're not worth their precious dollar
Now here comes the adrenaline rush
Entering the brain with a gush of blood
With the lights dimmed, the act finally begins
The performers in the beaded costumes come flyin' in
Amidst this chaos my task is to walk on a thin rope tonight
Wondering isn't that what I have been doing all my life?
With my head held high I walk on by
On a rope that's as high as the vanilla sky
With juggling glossy balls up in the air
Lost in my own friggin' despair
Walking nervously half way through
Slipping almost saying my adieu
To this stage, to friends and enemies in masks
Distracting myself, thinking of the wine cask
Hidden somewhere in my home's basement
With engravings of love, I'm getting impatient
Perhaps its resting by the old cherry finish book shelf
Somewhere on Jewel street in my hometown of Philadelph
I stumble again, my fear exposed to the world
Caught up again in the circus whirl
About five feet away from my destination
Don't think tonight I won the crowd's admiration
My solace drips through my sweat, its that real
Like my wounds and scars that just wouldn't heal
Holding on to my desires in my so called butter fingers
Never been this fragile, help me oh Lord dear
The enzyme of hope that runs through my system
Of lovemaking nights and what I can become
Instead of a sad circus act I perform night after night
Time will change there must be something more in life
Almost there about two feet away
Breathing in the air of my own dismay
Trying to find the balance I now lack in life
This tainted reputation will not be revived
The crowd changes its mind and cheers me on
Away from the limelight I'm a bit withdrawn
Some of 'em say she lives the life of pure fantasy
I say let their screams be my pathetic fallacy
Taking my last step finally reaching the end
The end from which my tomorrow shall begin
In state of mourning staring down at the crowd from above
They reciprocate with applause, cheers and love
So this is my fake world of lions, magic and fame
With exotic dancers, glittery costumes and ragging flames
A life lived on extremes with happiness subtract
And that's the story of how I became a circus act

Thursday, May 19, 2011


Vague memories haunt
Of the girl she used to be
With placid blue eyes
She's now a faint memory

Splendiferous soul & outlook
With long black glazed hair
Hands softer than snow they say
And eyes filled with such despair

With a tainted reputation
And a name like Bella
Her infamous midnight escapades
She was no Cinderella

Occupant of the largest suite
In a brothel down the street
With crowds of customers to her name
On the same old white sheets

With admirers round the clock visiting
She pleased almost everyone
In and out they came and left
With a part of her existence

With a predator like hunger
And undying thirst for passion
In surrendering to the visitors
Layed her real satisfaction

Age caught up soon resulting in
Her sweet demise courtesy of the disease
Yet to the frequent visitors she'll forever be
That exquisite damsel from the streets

With the brothel demolished now
Her scent remained there for a while
But to the local residents she'll always be
That girl with a broken smile

Sunday, May 15, 2011


The plethora of reasons she can give thee
But shouldn't speak of them no sire no
The craving for forbidden fruit does not subside
As she's starting to hit a real low

Thick grey clouds of sin take over
Desire and hunger all submerge into one
The soft ripe juices of passion flow in
Aching for a touch, she's come undone

Brushes were all picked out from before you see
And the shades have also finally been chosen
The strokes are a bit subtle on the paper
As she paints her very own Saint Ambrosian

The pleasure is mostly soaked in hurt hence
Screams from the captive cells of her mind
Trapped in her own conspiracy theory tonight
She's somewhere by the bridge's bend

Obliviously struggling to find the lost solace in
Astronomical unknown noisy crowds of the city
Losing a part of her existence every minute
Wandering around like a goddamn gypsy

Her parching days come to an end ultimately
And a dash of relief eventually takes over
Pinching herself just to make sure you see
That she's finally met her real lover

Embraced in the arms of her very own stranger
With love floating around in every inch of her space
In you must I confess, I find my real Zen
So there you go Sire, I now rest my case

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Certain Things Only You And I Know

Here's the thing... Its a big city. With lights and big malls. With highways and fancy cars. With busy restaurants and exotic menus. With trains running every 30 seconds and with people walking countless miles. That's the thing with big cities. We work our asses off. But when the day comes to an end here's an other thing about big cities... it sometimes get very lonely. Its true. You and I both know when that happens.

But here's the thing... when that happens I turn to you. I have no other choice. Even if I did have a choice I would still turn to you. Because you understand me so damn well. I don't know this is really off topic but I feel that sometimes when you have too much going on a feeling of emptiness sort of takes over. Its ironic but it happens sometimes. You and I both know when that happens.

Here's the scary thing.. I think I am losing my touch. More than that I feel like I am losing myself. The fear of losing myself is eating me inside out. And there's nothing I can do that would reverse the effect of this feeling. I feel ugly. I look ugly. I don't know what I am saying anymore. I start from one thing and end at something totally unrelated. It has become my thing. Its true. You and I both know that it has been happening a lot lately.

I am sitting in your terrace. Here's the thing though...Its funny no one really uses the word terrace around here. Its strange. After all it is a strange city. With strange weather. With strange buildings and strange street names. With strange cars and strange people. Its a city of strangers. I don't know. I feel like an outsider here. Its strange. You know that feeling. I think you feel awkward as well. So its good then. You and I both agree that this is a strange city.

Here's the thing with life. Its quite content. No complaints. Between working crazy hours and running to evening classes... its all good. Burnt out some would say? But its okay. Cuz who isn't burnt out in such big cities? I don't know anyone who isn't. And I know a lot of people so that says something too you know. But here's the thing though... in the midst of living a busier life than ever... you and I both know this for sure..

We were much happier when we were absolutely miserable.

Its true. We both are such complicated paradoxes. And that's something You and I are for sure.

Aren't we?


Thursday, February 17, 2011

It Doesn't Have to Hurt

So here I am at 2:30 in the morning in the midst of a working week thinking that you should have stayed. You know life gets complicated at times and during those times you wish you had a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on and perhaps a friend to talk to. All because you get trapped in the web of life and it gets hard to break through.

Have you ever experienced when the train is at your station and the doors close right before your eyes and because of all the crowd its almost impossible to get yourself out of it. Its not a nice feeling I have been feeling that way lately. Its hard to explain. I don't know as to where I am going with this but I still think you should have stayed.

And no I am not a victim of love. I am not someone who is here to tell her sob story to the world. Because that's not who I am. I don't believe in sob stories because everyone of us has a damn story. The sixty something year old man I see everyday in the bus who often wears a 2500 Hugo Boss suit has a story. The homeless guy who begs in front of Forever 21 at Yonge-Dundas Square has a story as well. I just don't know their stories but that doesn't mean they don't have one. I don't know why I started writing about people having stories when I simply don't know them but I started this post with a single thought which is that I really think you should have stayed.

Its been a very harsh few months. We all know that life isn't fair. I know that. You know that. Even all the Bliebers around the world know that because Bieber didn't win a single Grammy. Not that he deserved to at all. But somehow we need solid reminders of that every now then. That's life. And in life people come and go but with some people you really wish that they had stayed. 

Its funny that I had this reoccurring dream last fall. In that dream I would bump into you and give you a tight hug but before any words get spoken my dream would end because I would wake up feeling nostalgic. Feeling sad. Feeling loved. And feeling happy. All at the same time. But I always wondered as to what it is that we would have said to each other.

So I had the same dream last night. And again this time no words were exchanged and yet thoughts were. You and I suddenly became mind readers and without saying a word we were able to tell as to what exactly was going on. Yep I knew what you were thinking.

Yep. this is it....

Sure its unpredictable as hell but love doesn't always mean pain. You hear me? It does not have to hurt as bad as it did. It doesn't.

Hence the after thought... You should have stayed. Because love doesn't hurt.


Sunday, February 13, 2011

On This Valentine's Day....

Here's one of the most heart breaking love letters ever written:

Wednesday Morning. Kentish Town, 1820

My Dearest Girl,

I have been awake this morning with a book in my hand, but as usual I have been occupied with nothing but you: I wish I could say in an agreeable manner. I am tormented day and night. They talk of my going to Italy. 'Tis certain I shall never recover if I am to be so long separate from you: yet with all this devotion to you I cannot persuade myself into any confidence of you. Past experience connected with the fact of my long separation from you gives me agonies which are scarcely to be talked of. When your mother comes I shall be very sudden and expert in asking her whether you have been to Mrs. Dilke's, for she might say no to make me easy. I am literally worn to death, which seems my only recourse. I cannot forget what has pass'd. What? nothing : with a man of the world, but to me deathful. I will get rid of this as much as possible. When you were in the habit of flirting with Brown you would have left off, could your own heart have felt one half of one pang mine did. Brown is a good sort of Man - he did not know he was doing me to death by inches. I feel the effect of everyone of those hours in my side now; and for that cause, though he has done me many services, though I know his love and friendship for me, though at this moment I should be without pence were it not for his assistance, I will never see or speak .to him until we are both old men, if we are to be. I will resent my heart having been made a football. You will call this madness. I have heard you say that it was not unpleasant to wait a few years - you have amusements - your mind is away - you have not brooded over one idea as I have, and how should you? You are to me an object intensely desireable - the air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy. I am not the same to you - no - you can wait - you have a thousand activities - you can be happy without me. Any party, any thing to fill up the day has been enough. How have you pass'd this month? Who have you smil'd with? All this may seem savage in me. You do not feel as I do--you do not know what it is to love - one day you may - your time is not come. Ask yourself how many unhappy hours Keats has caused you in Loneliness. For myself I have been a Martyr the whole time, and for this reason I speak; the confession is forc'd from me by the torture. I appeal to you by the blood of that Christ you believe in: Do not write to me if you have done anything this month which it would have pained me to have seen. You may have altered - if you have not - if you still behave in dancing rooms and other societies as I have seen you - I do not want to live - if you have done so I wish this coming night may be my last. I cannot live without you, and not only you but chaste you; virtuous you. The Sun rises and sets, the day passes, and you follow the bent of your inclination to a certain extent - you have no conception of the quantity of miserable feeling that passes through me in a day. Be serious ! Love is not a plaything - and again do not write unless you can do it with a crystal conscience.  I would sooner die for want of you than....

Yours for ever

John Keats

The story of John Keats and Fanny Brawne is one of literary tragedy. Keats, a leading poet of the nineteenth century, produced such influential works as Ode on a Grecian Urn and the epic poem, Hyperion during his short life. Keats met Fanny in November of 1818 and fell instantly in love with her, to the dismay of both her family and his contemporaries. The couple became secretly engaged soon after. However, in the winter of 1820 Keats became very ill. He was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Keat's health progressively declined and in a final effort to save his own life, he moved to Italy. In 1821, at the age of 25, he was laid to rest. Buried with him, close to his heart, was an unopened letter...from Fanny.

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Sunday, January 30, 2011

Letters of Hope and Love

I know I haven't been here in a while. I was here and yet I was somewhere else. Sometimes life takes over in such a way that everything else has to take a back seat. Perhaps some of us don't know how to balance our lives the way we should.

I know I haven't been here but I have written so much since then. I wish I could share it all with you. I wrote letters. Of love. Of hope. I wrote them with strength and courage. I wrote them with life and fulfilment. I also wrote them with a hint of fear and despair. But I couldn't write them with a pen hence there is no proof that I wrote all those letters.

But I did... and then you know what I did with them? Do you really want to know?

I slipped them in the envelope of time and I buried them in the darkest corner of my past. You can't find 'em because I can't either.

I could have written the letters with colorful crayons. I could have painted nice pictures for you. Perhaps I could have included those poems of love I used to write because I didn't know any better.

You know I could have written about politics. About current events. About fashion or about movies. I could have written about planes crashing into buildings or about the death toll in war torn countries. I could have written about the economy crashing or poverty in the third world.

But I chose to write about love. I ignored it all and chose to write about love.

I could have...I should have.. I would have...

But I didn't.

And that's the truth.