Yaman Kalyan

Sigh No More

A small parting gift to a best friend: she has been there with me through the thick and thin and I couldn't express my gratitude in any better way. All I know is that I will miss her in the days to come. She is the woman who always stands my inspiration. 
I will miss you so much. So very much. I wish you all the best.
These two years have been some of the best in my life, and I have you to thank for so much. 

I cherish the beautiful times we shared, including that day we took a long walk under the stars. You showed me what life was all about--friendships, happiness and in little post-it-cards that mean in the world.
I'll remember. 
Always,

Palmistry

I had streaked the winds here with a certain telling, and although I didn't quite know if that meant good, I had carried tales here, to forsake to the elements with the knowing that only tells. And I took a walk to taste the sultry air of an evening that had confused itself for night. In the tensions that heaved in the toxic air, a few murmurs were heard. It was meant to be a special day, after all. 

He gathered himself prematurely and walked with the early scientist stubble, chin down, staring intently at the phone. Messages came and went--which he did not confront. Amusing old man, amusing.

The unsullied evening passed without comment and leaves scattered themselves in an ineffectual rivering of thought. But we let it pass because meek enthusiasms never hold their ground. It was the purple-grey hour of after the sun.

Disturbances affected the stillness of an almost night. Shuffles. Borrowing Squirrels. Scampers. But my life was unhurried as always, and the evening witnessed the silence--of a composition.

And who am I to burn that wood
Who am I to burn it good
if with lousy gripe, if I could, 
Who am I to burn that wood?

And I inhaled the thunder of essential discovery: simple things. Like Chai. Like a toppling ice-cream you try to recover, like news.
Like living.
For small, flimsy moments that mean much, that time is considerate with. 

And in between the letters that littered my mind, the calm that spoke it's wisdoms, the time that had been lost, I found with myself another story.
Of another time.
of another day.
And blurry pictures.