bang.

It smacks you in the face and leaves you gasping for breath.
Every sound is as insignificant as it is noticable,every hushed expression as tragically pathetic in the light of your own mind-storms.
A terrible coldness,calming and wintery,resides in the depths of your shallow heart.
Alcohol strings it out till your exhausted, photographs are too painful and hence not worth the time to put up and garland,opulently,on your dusty laden bookshelves.
You stare dumbfounded,(and sometimes,dare one admit,without emotion)at rows of melting candle stubs marking the memorial of someones death.
Today was the memorial for an ex-NIDian, a pg girl who left college to pursue fashion.She killed herself,and Im probably one of many who dont know why.
Last semester was Bobo's memorial,his was an ending you choose not to fathom because you end up feeling like youre drowning yourself.
Again,candle stubs have this impact.
They remind me-of what?-I cant tell you,it seems to elude me.I question too much.I would start to hate the sound of laughter,and avoid reading the daily flurry of articles on the Mumbai terror attacks.
They say Bangalores the next target,in 37 days. Im hellbent all the more on going home this month. One would like to spit in the face of these so called activists, and challenge fate that extra bit.

"Dare I disturb the Universe?"