Thought Jukebox

War clouds gather, here comes the rain.  War never changes. War loves courage. War loves passion. War loves peace. War loves piecing macabre tales, end on end, and death after death. War loves retelling survivor story after survivor story, forgetting the guilt, the hurt and the anguish of unchained memory. We are, after all, in so many ways, just prisoners of war. Prisoners, you and I. Enslaved. (Though not of the same wars.) And everywhere I go now, I see prisoners- prisoners of hope, prisoners by betrayal and prisoners by choice. The ropes that bind the fragile wrists of one are ropes that rescue another. While the non-combatant reads between the (side) lines of War, The Pacifier realises that this is War in all its forms. This is loss in all its forms. War loves patience. War loves endurance. War loves loss. Loss- when you lose something you thought you’d never have to live without. Loss- when you lose something you fought so hard to...

(A/N- Because life is my muse, and I am the one that translates its grief to art.)  This is a story, but it has no ending. I am a storyteller but until now, I’ve let someone else write my story. I’ve let someone else map my beginning, middle and end, Write the message so that all I had to do was click ‘Send’, I’ve let someone else tell me about the life I should live, I’ve let someone take what I was not ready to give. This is my story and here is the beginning. Once upon a time, someone told me that we were excerpts from a story that hadn’t been written yet. It was one that I hoped I could write someday. For it only seemed fitting that a story would create for me, A world I love more than this- free from the ‘labyrinth of suffering’. But, Reality destroys the fairytales we believe in, And this was no exception. Like a stream of lava trickling down the rocky boulders of what Life tried to build, It engulfed all in its path, word-by-word, chap...

A Letter to Anyone who feels like they want to hold on to something that Life wants them to let go of. "Oh, the pain. The pain. It always rains. In my soul." - John Green, Paper Towns.  Dear Reader, When you want to hold on to a dream or a love for anything, and you feel like the world wants you to walk away but you want to stay, I know how it feels. And I think everyone does. I know you feel like the X you drew on a map so many years ago, seems further than ever. I know you feel like you cannot appreciate yourself, no matter how hard you try because your efforts do not seem enough. I know all these things because I know the look in your eyes, the look of tamed frustration of holding on to something that does not want to be held on to. I too understand what it feels like to burn with the fiery desires that man possesses and get burnt. I too understand what it feels like to have that heart made of firewood have its flames doused by the suddenly ever-pr...

panic room //  a secret room in a house or other building that is designed to be invulnerable to attack or intrusion. (A/N- My first blog post in months, and all for very good reason. Boards, Entrance Exams (or their lack thereof- I'm a Medical Aspirant, you see), turning 18 and dealing with the fact that the most constant thing in your life, (apart from family and friends- with degrees of variability in the latter/former as well) is coming to an end-  SCHOOL . I could go on about the hundred things that changed my life in the last few months and the emotional turmoil that one goes through when change happens; but in the end the only thing that matters is what kept me from writing about them. What kept me from turning to my safe-house.) All my life, I've turned to words when I experienced grief, anxiety, anger, love and happiness. Words have always been the light that guides me home. Home to me. Home to the part of me that isn't lost. And ...