#diptych
Silence and Darkness -
If silence, at all times,
and wherever needle points,
had consumed the voice,
what a world it would be...
If darkness, all the ways,
of all the years, all the days,
had been scattered across,
what a world it would be...
nor light, neither noise, no worries indeed,
neither would there be left any need,
be it betrayal by the eyes,
or ears listening to the lies.
nor does the one that respires,
differ from the one, that expires.
If each drop of a rain,
and of sand every grain,
were in silence, immersed,
and in darkness, dispersed,
what a world would it be...
Noise and Light -
ever since I had first seen,
had I been hearing, ever since,
nor a day, neither night did I,
un-bothered by, ever let it fly.
I remained glaring, back at the light,
remained yelling at noise, did I,
remained I, closing ears and eyes, shut tight,
caged in my own despise, was I,
until once I, did realise the fact,
had I never once, ever thought of that,
it was the very noise, of the cacophonies,
and it was that very blinding light,
which had cradled my ears, with melodies,
and painted pictures for my sight,
which poured the essences,
and made me alive,
which guided my senses,
and kept me alive.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 8:53 PM UTC
The Chair Remembers – A Diptych
“Even empty chairs hold stories.”
Part I. On Betrayal
I found your absence folded neatly on the chair,
creased with care,
as though you’d rehearsed this leaving
until it learned your hands.
Nothing was broken.
That should have warned me.
The room stood intact,
complicit,
holding its breath like a witness.
Your warmth remained—
not as comfort,
but as proof
you had taken what you wanted
and left the rest convincing.
Even the clock refused to argue.
Time, it seems,
understood the arrangement.
You didn’t vanish.
You withdrew.
A clean incision.
No blood on the floor,
only the careful geometry
of what was no longer mine.
Your name stayed behind,
balanced on the edge of silence,
waiting to see
which of us would lie first.
I touched the chair.
It knew more than it said.
So did I.
This is how betrayal survives:
not in noise,
not in ruin,
but in the tenderness
with which someone
decides to leave.
Part II. On Ambiguity
I found your absence folded neatly on the chair,
as if you’d learned
how to leave without waking the room.
Nothing was broken.
Nothing asked to be forgiven.
Even the air agreed
to hold you a moment longer
than it should have.
Your warmth stayed—
not pleading,
not kind,
just accurate.
It told me you hadn’t fled.
It told me you had decided.
I want to call it betrayal,
but the word keeps hesitating,
like a key
that almost fits.
You took only what was yours.
That may be the wound.
Or the mercy.
I still haven’t chosen.
If leaving was necessary,
it was because staying
had begun to ask
for something untrue.
The clock resumed its duties.
The chair accepted the weight of me.
Everything continued
with an ease
that felt practiced.
This is what love learns
when it can no longer stay:
how to touch the world
without remaining in it.
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 1:55 PM UTC