From The Quill

The canopy of the best flowers was laid. She had walked to it with her parents. Smiling faces. Heavy dresses. Picture-perfect Wedding. A murder happened that day. Sadly, the evidence was none. Neither were the murderers punished. Because killing dreams left no clues. Picture-perfect Killing. ~ Suranya

The heart is most often played with. The mind is corrupted by others. The body used and misused. Then what is it that remains pure? The soul is as deep as the earth's deepest point. It remains unreached, untouched, unexplored. Man has landed on the moon, but in the deepest, darkest corner of Earth, he refuses to explore. A certain fear of the unknown haunts him. Just like the exploration of the soul. How many of us know our own? To dare to explore the unknowns? Souls remain pure and delicate. Committed to ones like them. Rare ones. We hardly find alike minds beyond the earthly bindings of need and want. Souls need no validation, promises or praises like our painted face. It is the soul that makes us who we are. Explore your own and see a world within. Inside you lies a universe of possibilities. Hopes, dreams and Fate. Souls are immortal. They live beyond time, body and places. Unlike our minds, bodies and hearts. Souls are thus more precious than the wealth of the world. Don't...

 If you ever drift apart,  Memories remaining in your hearts,  They will still be that song in your playlist.  If you ever choose to walk away  Never coming in each other's way  If you stop talking, not caring,  Stop by once in a while,  And send them a song instead. A song that would speak of just you two,  What you are, what you were,  What could perhaps be you? A song that would speak your words,  Even if you don't want to say them.  If you ever had something to tell  Let your heart choose a song  And send them your feelings instead. ~ Suranya

 He rises above all, to reach out to her But her touch he could never feel; Her vastness was beyond his reach. So he bowed to her instead, Submitting to her might And send a few clouds instead. The Mountain knew How to impress the Sky As she poured her love In showers of pearl drops. ~ Suranya

Have you ever witnessed how the sun sets?  First slowly, then all at once?  Leaving the world in darkness.  That day left Mewar in darkness.  Because he was no more.  The sun of the Rajputs. On whose death even his enemies cried.  So great was the warrior.  On whose death, his subjects wailed.  So great was the king. That night, when the grief-stricken son  Looked up at the star-studded sky,  He remembered his mother's words.  'Everyone you ever loved who died  Is up there smiling at you.' Two stars shone the brightest that night.  He smiled.  United, after a life of battle and struggles  They had found each other in peace.  Greatest was their Love. ~ Suranya

 In the deepest corner of the shrine I call my soul, I see you. Sitting on a throne. You are the king of my heart, The deity of my devotion Perhaps the love in me, That no one else deserves. ~ Suranya

I wake startled as the uncomfortable dream haunts me. I twist and turn in the soft bed and find no comfort. Sometimes the unreal looks better. The shadow of dreams over the reality of the present doesn't linger forever, they say, but it is a part of me. And my existence. I don't want to part. The shadow moves to and fro as I change direction. But it remains until I enter darkness. And the light of imagination doesn't let me enter the dark alleys of reality. I befriend the shadow instead, just to assure myself. I am not alone. ~ Suranya

There is one thing about Love. The more you know each other, The less Perfect it is. ~ Suranya

 In the darkness of the night, I travel through time And meet you at Eternity. I walk through those corridors, Of the abode you called Home. I explore, I live, I love. The way I always wanted to be loved. I liberated my soul, of a thousand emotions. At dawn, I wake, with a smile on my lips and tears in my eyes. ~ Suranya

 He who loves his land,  The dirt, trees and greenery. The hills that helped in his play  Of hide and seek with the enemy. He wrote poems of her beauty,  He built dreams of her freedom. He counted days of gratefulness  Towards the land and its wisdom. People called him their father,  He called her his mother,  The one he fought for,  Days, months and years. Tired and bruised, he would come home Victorious in his agenda. Freedom always came with a price.  He was willing to pay with his blood. The romantic warrior that he was,  His stories appear in songs and tales, His bravery and morals are an inspiration  His journey and struggles are full of pride. And his name is immortal. ~ Suranya

She had smiled through her tears yet again. His words resonated in her ears. " I can build no monuments to show my undying love for you. Or thank you for everything you did. I am just a pauper, a father to many, a king without a throne." " Your love needs no monuments. It belongs to my heart. Not everyone is meant to know or feel our love. " She had put on a kesar tika. "My feelings for you bleed through me. In my battles and scars. In your honour and my pride. For I am a warrior, and you, my will to return home. " He promised. And he did. Year after year. Battle after battle. Some lost. Some won. Always full of hope for another one. She pushed him for better. Such was their love. It needed no great bards to write their tale. Or a story to glorify their love. Her beauty was ordinary. Her heart, pure. And she a unique soul to his restless one. He had a purpose. She stood by him for it. Together, they built a free state for the subjects they called children....

He had kept down the key and stared at her eyes one last time. She chose to look away. He smiled faintly, shook his head, and walked out with a small bag. She had slammed the door shut behind him noisily. He pressed the button on the elevator and tapped his shoes on the marble floor. It echoed through the empty corridor, and the lift arrived. He thanked heaven it's empty for he won't be able to explain to the neighbours that his wife threw him out in the middle of the night, because he asked How?" to her, "We are pregnant." A sudden replay of the scene made him laugh at himself. He had taken out the car key, hoping one of his friends would be awake for a drink, and his phone beeped. "Stay." He looked up in a reflex at the window of the apartment where she stood, moving away carefully behind the curtains as he smiled. Her phone beeped with "Always" before the doorbell rang.

 He would often meet me at pauses,  Where the lyrics ended and the music started,  Or that blank page between two chapters,  He would often tell me, not in words  But in beautiful silences, unspoken verses;  Feelings are more powerful than actual articulation. He would teach me how things were never meant to be told,  The deepest feelings, strangest dreams and best love stories,  Best remained in the beat of a heart;  The secret of the soul, between yours and mine,  Transpiring through eras, time and space. And He would promise to come back to me,  Every night when the city fell asleep.  For We were such a beautiful, silent magic,  Hidden from the world, yet in it. And I waited and waited since dawn,  For the noises to die down,  For the lights to fade away into dusk,  And again the music played on,  Like a trumpet announcing His arrival,  At the threshold of my heart. And every day I would scribbl...

History is heartless. It doesn't remember a queen whose face and life remain veiled. It doesn't pay heed to the emotions of the thousands who perished in flames. It has no place for the emotions of love unless you build a monument for your beloved. It mentions warriors and kings only in success and triumphs. Not in pain or ill health. All the rest is left for the bards to finish. ~ Suranya