He was the sadness of a rainy sky pouring down on the dark wavering ocean. With every echo of the thunder and lightening he made himself and the others realize that he was still alive, but the strong seas only reeked of death within. Just like the waves crashed on the sandy shores wanting to be heard, to be held and to be touched, he tried his best to hold on to happiness. But then again the waves had swept him away from his happiness, taking away the weathered rocks, which were now tiny grains of sand, with him. His memory is fading but the storm is still brewing inside. He can’t recall what happened at that one time but he still feels those emotions that show up so unflinchingly.
Just like the grains of sand, the ocean would deposit on some other shore he too gave away pieces of his soul to strangers in a bid to find something that he lost. But the storm drifts away only to meet sadder skies and lonelier horizons.
The shells on the beach were enamoured by the rising tempest. A cold breeze would hit them every time his waves crashed on the unsuspecting shores. Little did they know that he was ready to destroy everything that admired him. After all, destruction had always been easier for him.
belonging to the oxymoronic tribe of liberal indians 