Redhya

In a quest to know ourselves better, we often travel so far away from ourselves that we no longer know who we actually are. Perhaps, the man’s search for meaning set about soon after the fear of survival dwindled to the least of his concern, and he had enough time to think about the cycle of life and death. Therefore, while lounging on a recliner inside four walls with his stomach filled and penis gratified, he contemplated the meaning of life. Thereupon, this confused, curious man decides to go on a journey full of perils to seek the meaning which is often sympathetically mentioned as purpose. Pursuing something that can define his life, the man fails to notice that his journey has become an escape from people, who make him realise that he is merely a weak human, during sporadic encounters. Moreover, so certain of discovering the meaning, he deviates from the path to enlightenment time and again. Despite that, he makes constant sacrifices and gets back to the perilous journey and kee

Imagination is one of the most fascinating words in my life. I can’t imagine my life without imagination, can I? It's a paradoxical statement. When we imagine, we start with a layer: the first layer, the seed, or the thought. The person, who is imagining, can imagine by being on the same layer, or he could create a new layer. Isn’t it wonderful to bounce on every layer of imagination until we reach the highest layer? After reaching a new layer, you are only going up and up, and far away from the root which is the base of your imagination. It is like jumping on a trampoline, and who doesn’t like to jump on a trampoline? Some may say that it becomes monotonous after some time, because you’re just aimlessly jumping on a trampoline and it is purposeless too. If this occurs to you, it means you still see things as they exist in nature and don’t think deeply about them. Create layers. Don’t see things for the sake of seeing things. Look deeper into things and events, for yo

“I, the body with senses incessantly listening to the cosmos, want happiness. And when finally happiness is evoked inside my head, I ungratefully wish there could be more of it.”   Weirdly lying on a tattered sofa at a corner of my room, I was dwelling on psychology, especially human emotions. Imagine a hairball. Intertwined with manifold strings regarded as emotions, of all entangled strings, happiness was the one that intrigued me the most. Almost every human on the earth gives priority to happiness, and why one shouldn't. It’s not immoral. Besides, one whose pro-attitude gravitates to accumulate happiness should undoubtedly keep it above everything else to experience pure joy. As a result, the aforementioned shallow insight begs the question of how much happiness one needs at a time. Pondering the answer to the question, then and there, I posited - “to experience the state of infinite euphoria is what conscious beings long for”. I went about untangling the happiness string from

hey girl! are you there? i’m worried, and i’m looking for you everywhere – behind the drapes, under the bed, and especially in the cabinets filled with fancy glassware, but not inside my head, girl. Phew! i’m tired now. just in case you change your mind to end this race and to be mine, i’m sitting by the backdoor of our house and writing a song for you, hope it gets complete by night until nine. something i want to tell you. love yesterday of mine. make love to me today. and i swear I'll love you tomorrow in every distinctive way. love me here. love me there. love me more when I’m sick, and I can’t go anywhere. love me through thick and thin under a roof or in open wind. darling! wrap me when I’m cold. put me together when I’m in pieces. hold me tight if i be scared. put your skin on me when I’m completely bare. you know, girl! sometimes, i imagine how adjectives fight with each other inside my head to be with you. i imagine you. i write you when I’m not with you the world is a bor

while scrolling through your feed on instagram, an innocent jealousy messes with your head when you come across a few beautiful pictures of some old friends. unwillingly, you like some posts, skip some, however, ignore the most. Finally, you bump into a plain but nostalgic poem – “some old friends” “no one reads these days!” tired and stressed out, that’s all you can say. sighing, you fall facedown onto your bed, throw your phone away, put a messy cushion over your head, and take a nap to escape away rhythmic tremors earthquake! bloody no! it’s your phone, idiot. vibrations, they certainly disturb your soul in a dreamy state, don't they? in your dreams, you were probably in heaven drinking wine with sultry demons. you check your phone with no emotions, “mother!” you keep the phone silent and flipped it over; it make you believe that you fortuitously missed some more calls. still lying on the bed with a restless mind, state of jactitation, you feel an ineffable agit

was it love or the cheap liquor, i’d bought reluctantly, compelled you to unbutton my green, cotton shirt and tossed it away in that messy room? that uninteresting night, behind those dark, heartless clouds, that moon was desperate to be seen and narrated by an emotionless poet to their lover. you made the night blush. the moon glistened more as my cold fingers stroked your right ear. under the dim yellow light, you lay upon me. as I rubbed the phallus, under the space-coloured blue pants of mine, over the tender clit under that cute, tight pyjama of yours. you pushed your pelvis into my groin that shiver in your voice later and those electrified, tiny hair strands around your neck - how can I forget? i’d be lying if i said that it hadn’t gotten me off. i was provoked to feel, breathe and explore you. somewhere it was hilly, and somewhere it was beachy on you. i thought you’d be impressed by the way i unhooked your brassiere. but your wits. ha-ha! you questioned, “who taught you?” i

fuck! i miss you. no! i don’t want you back. but i really miss you. i wish i could reread those deleted midnight chats to live with you again even if it exists until the next tick of the second hand. i hope - someday, after getting drunk, when the party’s over and you’re all alone, you call me. pouring your heart out, you moan - i still love you. a beautiful summer day and some warm sun rays let me begin with some bittersweet moments we shared together, because some are interested in our history. i hadn’t been in a relationship before. i was ‘i’ all along, thus ‘we’ was something new to me. you made me plunge into the beauty of the moon and taught me how to see constellations. listening to love songs for hours and hours, we sat under trees and watched stars twinkling. you hated goodbyes. young and mindless, we were full of lives, we spent summers being crazy and restless. every night, on calls, your voice would arouse me. the absence of logic; the influx of emotions i’d feel a sudden