A.V

If death was a thing of shops, I would be first in line. If regrets could be weighed, mine would be equal to Earth. If tears were a measure of pain, even the seven seas wouldn't be enough. I could feel a sword piercing my heart, and my breath evaporating. My soul repelled the fireflies, the moon refused to face me. My name shone the brightest, in the devil's list. The worth-less feeling attracts taunts as a black hole. A monster, unworthy of love. Life pierces the, soul as broken glass. Time refuses my, needs and desires. I see blood on my hands and, nightmares with naked eyes.  The sunlight burns my skin, like giving punishment for sins. A.V

I was in the “Ministry of Chai” a cozy cafe around 6 to 7 PM.  I parked the scooty and stepped inside. Ordered an Adkrak Chai and sat down beside an empty round table. Engrossed by my own thoughts, I started reading Mritunjay, facing all the other customers. A couple of pages flew past the eyes, as the chai reached my table. Songs dissolved in the air. As I cool the chai, I see an adult couple mingling. A family in the distance, and a group of deaf people in front. I sipped the chai, and the warmth brought with it the realization of cold. With it came the realization of how silent the conversation of deaf people really is.  From the corner of my eye, I saw how the facial expressions changed. I observed how they interacted. Trying to understand their signs was like trying to catch a moving metro. Even though I had learned the basics of ISL from Youtube, it was still hard to understand what they were conversing about. The body language and the expression were the only things that gave a