Him.. the fallen one

And he so knew the tale, the crooked smile and handsome trail,
Of fallen angels and soulful mystics,
Wandering and swirling in quietude rhythm,
There I saw him waiting, beyond the worlds of wrongdoing and right-doing
Beside the lake of piety, with the forbidden fruit in hand,
In his beloved purgatory-


To the Self and all that means…

And she believed in the feeling and the fact it could move mountains if it were real. Love in all its forms was what she always sought. She could see herself falling for humanity and God’s creation beyond gender, cast or specie. Even after sharing her love with all the creation, she had the same amount left in store, left to be shared further. She could take care of the souls around, nurture them and still not feel empty at all. Nevertheless, something was missing deep down. She sought the answers and tried figuring out the bit but in vain. All seemed to harp the same old tune of being alone and not getting committed in a socially acceptable bond for good. Her quest seemed so futile and meaningless at times that folly would call it her kin and insanity would claim her meandering thoughts.

She did have episodes of self discovery during her life’s continuum. What she couldn’t have was the contentment of discovering it all. She craved for the reflection of her soul in others’ but all she could see were bits and pieces of herself scattered meaninglessly here and there. Once, she tried forcing it. She thought love could happen when sought with full intention. How much more preposterous she could be.

Stating her life’s course and all its lessons would be a tiring old tale. What matters is if she ever felt what she yearned for. She did. Quite recent.

She could see all in that one image. Her future, her hope and the all too real feeling. That very instant, she decided to keep whatever she could take from that moment and not ask for more. She might never feel the same what she did then. The wait and longing and the feeling of losing the truest reflection of your soul, all at once, all that and much more was there, in those eyes. She may remember that for long. She may never have that again. Nevertheless, she won’t regret not meeting her soul-mate ever as she did have a fleeting glimpse today. She needed to wait for the soul to appear again and stay for long. She had to wait a while more perhaps.

“The glint of light on broken glass”

The Daily Post

Not only did Chekhov dispense great writing advice, he was a sharp dresser, too. Not only did Chekhov dispense great writing advice, he was a snappy dresser, too.

In college, my writing professors shared a constant refrain: “show, don’t tell.” I had a hard time grasping this nuance of writerly advice until I discovered a quote by Anton Chekhov — a Russian physician considered to be one of the greatest short story writers of all time:

Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.
–Anton Chekhov

For me, reading this quote made “showing” “click.” Not only does showing make writing far more interesting to read, it’s free of that boring clunkiness — that perceptible weight telling hangs on innocent passages of text that make them drag for the reader.

Often these “showing” parts make you swoon and sweep you off your feet. Consider this passage from one of my favorite novels of all-time: The Shipping News

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