He’s fading,
So is the smile on my face.

Gradually, I’ll start reporting to work on time,
Preparing one less cup for the morning tea,
Counting one less person for a movie.
Over time, I’ll be back to wearing greys and whites,
Loving the monsoon but getting irritated of the rains,
Reciting how my day went to a blank paper and pen.

Soon, I’ll stop lying to people about where I slept last night,
Forget how it felt to be cuddled to dreams,
And pick your perfume over sedatives to help my insomnia.

Eventually, I’ll get used to a new life,
Laugh with a different set of people,
And never smile the way I used to, just at the thought of seeing you.

But a writer’s heart never forgets,
And no one would know that ‘I’m missing you’,
Maybe because last page scribbles aren’t meant to be understood.

—  garimaobrah

Once I sat there.
In the quiet, in the peace.
I saw all that was and all that will be.
A second where everything was clear.

And after that second my sight got clouded. And I returned to the course of the day. Wishing for that moment of clarity to return once again.

—  Annedi Bergsma

despairing of any chance for redemption
we cry out with our words into the darkness
these things we write are our silent howls
dreams flying away into the void

but as we lie broken on the ground spent
we glimpse an answer from somewhere else
others’ cries flash by our hanging heads
and we look up with wonder and catch one

suddenly, there they are surrounding us
a clamor of quiet black and white voices
and we come to realize that we are not alone
we are never alone as long as we have words

Words to live by!