Siblings who had solace in the presence of each other, get trapped in the web of fate and luck, embark on their saga how they battle through the game of destiny called life, shielding each other from any problem hurled towards them.
This twenty seve...
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Worst part about broken things and relations. No one likes broken things, broken relations. They try to fix it, but the question is, until when? Once they get tired, exhausted from the weight of the wrecked, things get thrown away and relations, they are deemed to be vanished.
People pretend, they pretend as if nothing like it ever existed, and if it did, the brush it off by saying toot gaya. It broke. Two words and things are forgotten, relations are moved on. As if it is the easiest thing to forget and move on. If it is anything, it the hardest thing to do. But people, they are hard, they do it. No matter how many years it takes people forget and move on.
Broken things, broken relations, no body talks about it, no body thinks about it. How it is? Why it is still here? They ain't cared for, they are just forgotten, they are just left somewhere, left to die. Wouldn't it be better if they just killed it?
Left to die, they cry, they suffer, they scream, they beg, they die, they don't come, they don't care, they laugh, they ridicule. Better to kill, they shout, they scream and they weep, and they finally sleep forever. But they, they don't kill. They don't want blood on their knifes, they don't want burden on their shoulders either so they leave.
They leave to die. They leave to die.
"She shouldn't be here."
"She should leave as well."
"He should have had taken her along."
"Send her somewhere."
"She should have died along with her."
Knees fall weak, they hit the hard cold marbled floor, a whimper leaves my lips. I sit straight, hug my knees. Head dipped in the depths of my legs. This was my life, left to die. It wasn't their intention, they were forced, they were helpless. What about me? I was unwanted, abandoned, unloved, uncared. Broken and lonely, why I had to think, why no one thought of me? Sole person, who does, they are taking him away. Why? Why?
"Jab bachana hi nahi hai, toh maar kyun nahi dete woh?" I whispered to myself.
Maybe they were correct-
Strong knocks on my door. With the back of my palm I dry my face, run my fingers to brush my hair. Open the door. "Bhai," intensively my arms wrap around his torso, head hits his chest softy. Expensive smoke and perfume don't fail to make me feel safe. I weep silently in his safe embrace. His fingers work softly on my hair, luring me in a stage of drowsiness. Seven nights later, I twist and turn on my bed, I fail to sleep properly.
