Love is a curious thing, I believe. Amidst the world full of hookups and breakups, some people like us still believe in the old school magic of the term. It is something that makes the world go. It is something that makes the world beautiful. Lack of love festers like an infected wound. It breeds cancer of the heart, the mind and the soul. But what is love? I am not wise enough to know. I can just write what I feel. For me, love is companionship and protectiveness, conquer and surrender, worship and forgiveness, critique and creation at the same time.

A choice is the hardest thing to make. The choice is the only thing we are left with. All of us, no matter what is left with choices. What to do and what not to do, what to think or not to think, and most importantly, To Be or Not to Be. For me, I have made the choice. I cannot say it had been easy, I will not say living with the choice is easier still. But for all I know, this is my choice, and I am going to stick to it. I am not much of a talker. In fact, I barely can express myself when I speak. But I can write out what my heart wants to convey. This is an old piece, written in one of the darkest times of my life. Dedicated to the one who got me out of the darkness and is fighting the same darkness now.

We live in a time when children are raped and adults find justification for such a heinous crime. The Gods remain silent when a child is gang-raped in a temple for a week. And yet, we fidget around and find flaws in our mundane lives. We hold love in the narrowest possible definition and the crudest of light. It is the love that makes us selfish, the one that belittles the humanity in us. We live in the illusion of freedom, and thereby forsake the accountability and sense of responsibility that comes with independence. And yet, there is a love that can create heaven under the sky. The love that can drive someone to be better than yesterday, till he reaches the best of his potential. Such a point of goodness that can practically be called 'Godness'. I still hope.

A girl loves a man. And for that, she was punished. Tortured to death. But she was not afraid. She didn't feel the pain or fear. For her, death meant freedom. She was happy to be free and be with the love of her life. It is a love story. A narrative written in a poetic way. It is a story that has happened so many times history and would happen again. This is also my love story.

These are both poetry and prose. These are mere observations shared with eloquence. I find them witty and sarcastic.