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Blind eyes of the night, Half a moon to gaze at, Half a moon to cry for. She steps on broken hearts, Pieces of fierce glass That used to be mirrors. She walks a little too close To the burning walls of hell. The gates will burn too; The fire can no longer contain The wave of iced hearts. She picks the broken pieces Till her fingers bleed, Till those walls turn to ashes. She steps on the ashes, Till they embrace the ground Till one can no longer tell Ashes from the soil. A slow death, she says, Is the cure to all pain. And her last world is  Now ash, soil and blood. She flies to a new world, Of iced hearts and blind eyes. Half a moon to gaze at, Half a moon gazing back.

I hope you still write her letters, I hope tears still fall from her eyes, Reading those letters she never found. And when you look at the letters you never sent, I hope it's her eyes that see the love wrapped, For they no longer need to know the words. But even when words fail to work magic, I hope you still believe in your letters... I hope you still write her letters But I hope you send the letters you wrote..

I turn out the lights And he turns on the radio, And it's almost like a routine The way he approaches the bed And I approach him. We smile at each other With other people On our minds. We start with a gentle peck And then probably a kiss Of feelings close to disgust. He kisses my scars Scars that remind me of wounds- Wounds that he wasn't a part of. It isn't love And we both are in pain, And we make love, A good night's sleep is preordained. I turn out the lights Inside my head as well. "Oh, stop thinking." He turns on the radio And a million thoughts Approach his mind. Tomorrow, We shall not remember each other for I have someone else to go to And he has someone else in his mind. But we'll smile at each other- Smile close to disgust. And we'll call it love When naked bodies meet Knowing not, That love it is not. For our naked souls await To be revealed And a good conversation Was our sole need.

So many years have gone by And age has made both of us A lot older than we used to be, A little wiser than we used to be. And when the yesteryears Enter stealthily through the doors Of a veiled moon and a dark cirrus, We look back at what we used to be And what we have become today. So many years have gone by And I don't see a single sign of you And you see me not in who I am today. I have changed as I should have - I have built a small hut in a new village now. You still are in the city we used to live in. And maybe we'd have been so much happier now, But I have changed as I should have And you, you still have those grey hairs Like the rays of moonlight falling on my face now. And when I have changed as I should have, You still live in the city we used to live in, Looking the way you used to look, And maybe, just maybe, you haven't changed a bit, The way you should have changed.

Of late, I have realized I left too many doors open. I have this habit of not shutting the doors when I should, of leaving some space as tiny as a cleavage. Some doors I have shut a long time back. I didn’t simply shut them; I slammed some, the way only a teenager does when she is angry because her father snatched away her iPod. Some doors I struggled to close, one inch a day. A few of these doors are still left ajar, not awaiting someone’s arrival, but knowing there is nothing to hide behind closed doors. Closed doors – I think it’s easy to close the doors, to hide underneath the blanket of comfort, to pretend there is no world outside. Of late, I have realized easy is no fun at all. I have been trying to unlock the doors I shut eons ago. The rusted latches refuse to comply. Some doors I closed a few years ago, are giving up trying to stay shut. I look at the rooms these doors protect – mostly empty, devoid of the life they once used to hold. Was it only after the