It all starts with a thoughts, which intentionally or sub consciously snowballs into something worth reckoning!!

A Story about the woman who fell in the eyes of the Society and yet took the rush of her life into the peak of being alive in herself!! She lived like no other cuz she lived rather than just surviving life!!

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Gallery  —  Posted: September 15, 2018 in Adventure, emotions, Fictional Romance, Novel
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Hello Everybody,

Glad to announce the launch of my debut novel in Amazon in Ebook and Paperback format, available worldwide now. This has been a wonderful journey so far and it barely matters, if they sell. As a writer if I could change one day or one thought of one person in this entire planet, its a job well done for me.

 

The Secret Diary Of A Daughter 

 

The Secret Diary of A Daughter

Also free copies available for reviews. Please mark an email to me at abhishek.izy@gmail.com for your free copies. An honest review would be very helpful!!

Cheers!!!!!

Gallery  —  Posted: September 14, 2018 in emotions, Fictional Romance, Novel
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Remember That Night, Baby?

Remember that Night baby? It was so crazy
You walked into the terrace, draped in the sheet
The blues of your eyes, glittering so hazy,
You looked so tight, you walked so lazy.
And as I lay wondering beneath the stars.
You kissed me so full and the night was ours.

Remember that Night baby? The wine got you drunk
And you were so high, and so inviting can’t deny
You danced your way to me, so touching close.
Ignited, you hugged me and I could hear your heart beats
Smiling like a mermaid, mischief trailing your toes.
I kissed your red lips. And the Night smiled and it froze.

Remember that Night baby? Midnight maybe?
When you looked right in my eyes and promised
In the backdrop of the skies, our silhouettes blended
The Millennium was over, and we hit the sunrise.
We embraced so warm in the cold of the night.
Now those promises are all lies and you can’t stand my sight.

Remember that Night baby? Like no other night.
Those times when we didn’t cry and had no fight.
But now I look at your photo, framed above my fireplace.
It looks so out of place, and pain hits right on my face.
I know you are out there happy and maybe that’s my solace.
So forget that Night baby. The night which has lost its trace.

Remember that Night Baby?
It’s alright, Baby.
The Night has died, baby!
So let’s not fight, Baby.
I ain’t your man no more.
But I guess you’re still my lady

Prisoner of the war

Cuffs cuts through my wrists, eyes blindfolded.
I walk amongst the deads of the Collosals.
Nations have fought, and a Nation has fallen,
Miles away in the burning desert of the death,
The line of control has been re-written in blood.

The blindness paints itself in the blinding pain,
The rugged of my boots sinks in the hot sand.
Somewhere a broken transistor crackles in chaos,
I walk at the nudge of the rifle at the shoulders.
There is a blade still dug fresh in my thighs.

The War is over or at least I deduct it is,
Suddenly the deafening sound of missiles has ceased.
The bomb last night threw me unconscious.
The pool of blood I sank in, dried on the earth.
Next I remember were the blindfold and a broken arm.

I had heard war time stories at the campfires.
Of numerous prisoners of war who never returned.
And I heard of horrible experiments I might get into.
Maybe I would never know if we won the War,
Maybe I will never see the daylight ever again.

Do they know if I have been alive all this while?
Will my wife receive the pension to stay alive?
Does even my Nation still exists, I do not know.
As I walk into the place where no God exists,
I know I’m walking into the most lonely place.

Hey Dad

Posted: August 17, 2016 in emotions, Nostalgia
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Hey Dad

The Winter in the Hills are lonely, Dad.
Only if you could warm my little palms in your hand.
And talk me stories of faraway land, till I sleep.
I wish I could just pretend to sleep in your arms,
To feel your good night kiss, as you tuck me in the blankets.
The Winter in the Hills are still lonely, Dad.

It’s almost December time. Cold chills my frail bones.
My friends and their families have already flocked to plains.
Every Evening, Mother and I await watching the dusk.
The Sun slowly sneaks below the hills behind the thick fog.
And tiny lights from the valleys spread the dull sparkle
Only if you were there, you could take us to the Plains.

Did I tell you how perfect Mother has been?
She grew me into this wonderful young girl.
She walks with me through the winding lanes
Till the Church, the open wide white benches
Often we sit there and talk all about you.
I know your smile, Dad. And your dark brown hair
Mother still blushes when she describes you.
The Winter in the Hills then feels so warm.

If you are up there listening to your little girl.
Dad, not all is gloom here, I must tell you.
Yes, Mother is in fifties and has grown old now.
But I have taken up the responsibilities.
Together, we are making up quite a pair.
Looks like brighter days are just around the corner.

Here is a secret I want to share with you, Dad.
I have finally found a man to share my life.
His manners, his smile and the twinkle of his eyes
All reminds me of you. I hope you’ll like him too
One day when he becomes a young daddy,
He will be just like you, loving and caring.

Well, now your little princess is going to sleep.
Her eyes aches of tiredness and the cold,
Will you stay awake and watch me till I sleep.
It makes me feel better to know I’m loved.
And when I’m asleep, slowly walk into my dreams.
The Winter in the Hills will feel warm again.

The Children of no one

Posted: August 17, 2016 in emotions
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The Children of no one

As the faints of dusk grows, the neon and hazel lit,
Those dying orange of the sky, the bubble moon standing by.
Rises from wrecked damp houses, the critters of unknown.
Their heads like tiny bulb and clumps of brown dirty hair.
Battered faces, those sparkling eyes in the infected lair.

Call them rotten degrade, born lone, the mistake of trade.
While they hunt for garbage cans, their mother lay in moan.
Hormones pulsing hard, this city of mannered wolves.
They come, they pay and lay. Skin sold cheap here, who cares
Next day, another day, people change, moans stays.

The lovely trinkets at the city fair, the pink & blue balloons.
They sell, their voice so meek and frail, of hunger and despair.
And when the city sleeps, they shivers in the traces of fire
The homes they have, is of trade, of passion, lust and desire.

Next morning they rise and wipe the ashes of their clothes.
Muddy tea and a bun, they are ready for the day.
The work at cleaners, the gutters and garages. They earn.
Their Mothers sold in market, for father they never yearn.

The houses all infected, the diseases, sweat and sore
Few die of killing sickness, few live to witness more.
Their eyes all sunk in bones, the smiles they never saw
And the lives of such hollowness, all it does is grow.

The tiny breathing puppets, a mere ghost in existence,
They are story of survival, ignorance and persistence
In brothel all their lives, their mother in a money run
Carved out of a night’s trade, they were born to no one.

My December Love

The sun rays falls on her flawless skin,
Dust dancing in the illumination.
Those lil pink lips, a tease and a pout,
The thick liner on her eyes.

The morning of The Winter, the thick fog unrested.
Warm arms around me and the firewood burning.
The smell of her, like a lost flower of the Medievals,
Those shoulder length hair, cascading down and wild.

The morning coffee, the newspapers flutters beside.
Cold breeze at balcony, the cozy she and I.
The kiss so soft, melting at the slightest touch.
The slight taste of the skin, the lip gloss and all.

Little boats on the rivers, as we sneak through the windows.
Lit lamp post, fighting though some quality fog
Cold drops on the window glasses, dripping slowly by
The vapors of coffee, her lips soothing it with smile.

Last night was night of love, so sang the souls of ours
In the rustling of winds outside, we hug each other
The darkness of night, her eyes still so comforting
Felt world never existed, nothing beyond her arms………..