tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984685405273823272024-03-05T18:54:45.232+05:30Girl meets WorldPoulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-498468540527382327.post-69260888890382887862012-06-18T21:11:00.000+05:302015-10-08T16:13:34.487+05:30Your song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We're miles away.<br />
<br />
But, that doesn't stop me from thinking about you.. Or thinking about how this is going to end.<br />
Or, if it isn't. That ray of hope still lives, I guess?<br />
<br />
I don't know if any of this would change if we didn't feel like unfinished. It's just.. the feeling of not being over lingers on.<br />
<br />
I don't even know when I'm going to see you next. Or what I'm going to tell you.<br />
<br />
Maybe, I'll tell you how beautiful your eyes are. And, how I really wish we walked more. And, got lost.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'd tell you how, when you held my hands, my heart actually did a little sky diving.<br />
And, how momos will always remind me of you.<br />
<br />
I'd tell you how you make me want to tell you stories. And, listen to lots of yours.<br />
<br />
And, how it takes all I have to not tell you that I want you.<br />
<br />
Maybe I should have hugged you for longer than I did. And, gotten you drunk.<br />
<br />
Maybe I should tell you, how when we were together that day, I could see no one, except you.<br />
<br />
Maybe you should have held me more.<br />
and,<br />
Maybe I should stop looking for you wherever I go.<br />
<br />
But, maybe all of this won't matter.<br />
<br />
Because eventually you're just going to be a memory I'll try hard to not remember.</div>
Poulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-498468540527382327.post-80282469719637493322012-05-02T15:21:00.001+05:302012-05-02T15:21:48.734+05:30Untitled.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Teenage first timers. <br />
One shady bar. Little after midnight. <br />
Sneaking in hushed voices. <br />
<br />
Dim music and loud lights hitting the eyes. <br />
With excitement in the air, noisily they sit. <br />
Glasses of alcohol arrive.<br />
Hesitation undermined by curiosity they drink. <br />
<br />
And, as it hits them,<br />
<br />
all they are left with is..<br />
<br />
burning throats <br />
and<br />
fake smiles of approval.<br />
<br />
xx</div>Poulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-498468540527382327.post-20170483235474060402011-12-10T19:37:00.004+05:302015-10-08T16:17:48.024+05:30Breaking Norms, retard style.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We don't have to be all co-ordinated. Yellow and orange un-matches perfectly.<br />
<br />
You don't have to buy me flowers. Sharing a vada-pav does the trick.<br />
<br />
We don't have to walk hand in hand, blushing and singing romantic songs. Nirma Washing Powder will be our anthem. And, we'll dance to it. Like retards.<br />
<br />
You don't have to like my pimples and my clueless mess of a hair. Be angry on them like I am too?<br />
<br />
We dont need to kiss each goodnight. Pillow fights shall be our routine.<br />
<br />
I'll mess up your hair and you'll tickle me. Or vice versa.<br />
<br />
No, fancy restaurants or sitting sophisticatedly. Roadside junk food is all we need.<br />
<br />
You won't take me to the movies that much, but come with me on eating expeditions?<br />
<br />
We won't go partying in high heels and tight clothes. Instead we'll just watch trashy movies and Modern Family in our unflattering pajamas.<br />
<br />
We will always eat on the bed. And, spill food everywhere and on each other.<br />
<br />
And, then have pizza and cheesecake dates.<br />
<br />
You don't always have to waste your money. Let me make my wallet sad too.<br />
<br />
We won't need long phone calls or texts. We'll be just fine.<br />
<br />
No, we don't need any of these.<br />
<br />
But,<br />
<br />
You'll need make me laugh. And, be there.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnb3weObETgRwcRTYaagBiFgDqfBG8ZZRx4z7oG1bMlH2OHTrAB0fLvvhjhGAdNMcwBtOlrk7zGeOe59c2YF0F3cZT-DbDFZVT_2xxeCrzK6_8fRP4WSfUPLWCVAYuK414D0oLKvkM3s/s1600/206717_1870870661826_1542925400_1927119_3641771_n+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnb3weObETgRwcRTYaagBiFgDqfBG8ZZRx4z7oG1bMlH2OHTrAB0fLvvhjhGAdNMcwBtOlrk7zGeOe59c2YF0F3cZT-DbDFZVT_2xxeCrzK6_8fRP4WSfUPLWCVAYuK414D0oLKvkM3s/s320/206717_1870870661826_1542925400_1927119_3641771_n+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
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Poulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-498468540527382327.post-5763641372939534222011-10-16T01:08:00.001+05:302015-10-08T16:19:02.126+05:30Breathless.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In a childlike bewilderment, she marvelled upon his unlikeness.<br />
<br />
Unlikeness from the rest of the empty people in the room.<br />
<br />
The rest of the people with their baggage and weird proclivity.<br />
<br />
<br />
But, him.<br />
<br />
He was just.. something else.<br />
<br />
A refreshing modification to her otherwise monotonous life who gave her enough reasons to beam about.<br />
<br />
A smile breaks thus, on seeing how effortlessly he would be swallowed up into the crowd and yet emerge distinctly.<br />
<br />
The more she scrutinized him for signs of deficiency, the more he would surprise her.<br />
<br />
And, they shared laughs. Lots of them.<br />
<br />
And, some stories.<br />
<br />
<b>And, suddenly the emptiness in the bottom drawer began to fade.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Poulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-498468540527382327.post-76650617906246181112011-09-26T21:55:00.001+05:302011-09-26T21:55:54.515+05:30I think I'm happy.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Our eyes meet just for a second.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And, then they depart.<br />
<br />
Depart, simultaneously</div><div style="text-align: center;">As if it's rehearsed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">As if they have been doing this since years</div><div style="text-align: center;">As if they share a bond.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But, they don't.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Neither do you and I.<br />
<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4b3aszqexP2X0xJoHravlNzNqq8-UnNH8KWPtZS1f6TAUbTn-e6FLMGPxg2WM7PFRHpxkzuooyAgBKRZHpx-uuwoeDbZMlB8WYV2xX9E1gkpxXuYscMuXqrF1tONtgc8dDh_9z34FmYQ/s1600/Lovesong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4b3aszqexP2X0xJoHravlNzNqq8-UnNH8KWPtZS1f6TAUbTn-e6FLMGPxg2WM7PFRHpxkzuooyAgBKRZHpx-uuwoeDbZMlB8WYV2xX9E1gkpxXuYscMuXqrF1tONtgc8dDh_9z34FmYQ/s320/Lovesong.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
</div>Poulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-498468540527382327.post-31540228917532913862011-08-09T19:54:00.000+05:302011-08-09T19:54:52.568+05:30All I want to do is write fiction.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Amidst the clatter of half baked conversations flying around the room in rapid proportions.. She sat by the window enveloped in the silence of her world.<br />
<br />
The waiter came by the table to ask for her order.<br />
Hearing the voice of another human seemed alien to her. It took her some time to come back her senses and then dutifully, she gave her order in a singsong voice and quietly sipped the glass of water and threw a glance all around her<br />
..<br />
Happy people. Sad people. Angry people. But, most importantly there were conversations. And, smiles.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://cphotography.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/_dsc5817bw_newtable_sm.jpg?w=900&h=600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://cphotography.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/_dsc5817bw_newtable_sm.jpg?w=900&h=600" width="320" /></a></div><br />
She swallowed in the snippets of conversation from each table.<br />
She stared away in the loneliness. Looked out of the window some more breathing in and out the silence all around her.<br />
The silence that made her want to scream. Scream so loud that everyone present gets an earful of it.<br />
The silence was just too loud.<br />
<br />
It was going to be harder than she thought..</div>Poulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-498468540527382327.post-72842353409156486052011-07-26T16:04:00.001+05:302015-10-08T16:12:15.050+05:30'Why did you leave without saying goodbye?'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
She stood there with the blue umbrella as if she owned the world.<br />
<br />
Stood right there over the pavement in the sensitive chaos of the evening with drops of rain washing down the streets and drowning away the unbearable quietness of the road.<br />
<br />
<i>'Would it wash away her pain too? Would it give her freedom from the hackles of being caught up in a life that hasn't been her own till now?'</i><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
She wondered with amused eyes looking ahead. Looking ahead to the future.. the freedom that came with it.<br />
<br />
Beside her a train of people went along. With their umbrellas protecting themselves from the rain.<br />
<br />
Not even letting a drop of rain come in contact with their body.<br />
<br />
She laughed to herself. <b><i>'What are they scared of?'</i></b> She thought.<br />
<br />
It was time.<br />
<br />
Eighteen years of sheltered protection. She could wait no more.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.marcscottonline.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/20071022024218_blue-umbrella-in-the-rain-700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.marcscottonline.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/20071022024218_blue-umbrella-in-the-rain-700.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And, just like that she threw away her umbrella and let the drops of rain adorn her body.<br />
<br />
Looking up to the sky.. she closed her eyes. And, felt the drops of water trickle down her face and give her freedom. And, some more<br />
<br />
A smile curved her lips into undefined glee.<br />
<br />
Lonely the umbrella stays. Neglected beside the pavement. All alone.</div>
Poulomihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03354123801418311129noreply@blogger.com11