He Prey, I pray.


I prayed for him, he preyed on me

What can a sweet girl do expect spreading love around?

What can a bad girl do except spreading legs around?

Somewhere in between she lost herself. A sane girl praying for love altered into an insane preying on lust.

While their lips confessed the love, his fingers evoked the lust.

She dripped with the river of oxytocin while he drenched in fountains of dopamine flush.

He dressed up to go while she still stood naked.

With rusted scissors she tried to cut the string.

If you’ve been wondering the art is as original as Aafreen.


Divulging the asymmetry


Life is a long journey, strode slowly and you might see your grave tomorrow.


Standing before the mirror she incessantly shifted herself from left to right, examining her profile. Her silky side fringes made her look prettier from the left. Also there was something with the eyes and that nose which looked perkier from the right, a displeasing feature.

How magnificent is it realising the same damsel in such stark contrast. But life is all about asymmetry. Nothing’s perfect.

It always used to perturb Aafreen, how vividly her thoughts changed seeming to capture far set poles. The mirror made it simpler to comprehend on the asymmetric dwindling thoughts she had. Part of her wished to be in frolic merriment kissing all the thorns that come across until she found her red rose. While the other part, the distraught one, warned her of the blood and misery it brought kissing the thorns. Part of her loved the hustle. It could take away the perturbating thoughts and worries. She wanted to dance upon all the sad music, while the contrast in her wanted to be silent. It just wanted to introspect. To just do the righteous thing. And the other moment it was all about impulsiveness and daring.

Her conceptions on life were oxymorons. Once she believed it to be a long one yet being carried away later by it being short.

She wanted to be voracious and she wanted to be anorexic. She wished to find her love and she believed in solitude. She had a cluster of friends and she still preferentially sat all alone. She wanted to be wild and part of her was tamed. She sought sex to be merely pleasure and then it was the tangling of souls. She was a whore, she was a nun. She wanted to cry aloud but she wished to be rationed. She wanted to be mad and she wished to be sane. Her brain was her enemy. It could never transfix. Should she be happy or be sad?

Which was the better her? Who decides? Is there some universal truth or we just believe our perception of truth?

To know more about Aafreen follow the previous blog :

The un-vermillion ROSE

The un-vermillion ROSE


We had a vision though

now we’re dead roses…

Roses don’t lose their fragrance that easily. It remains even when that love turns putrid. Even when the one who bent down his knees that day, doesn’t even send for you today. Back to the day you had shed those drops of salty water wetting your eyes in the utmost happiness, to the day you still shed the water with an exception of being more saltier and more continuous than before. From the day he said you were his cherry, to the day he tasted. The rose had witnessed it all. Another Laila Manju tale but thorns took over.

Today was the commemoration day. She crushed the maroon serene Rose into fragments until it became powedery. Unloving is hard.

There was no whining but the eyes were blood shot and a tear fell rolling down the ruddy cheeks to find its way to the dead rose. And the musty scent found its way back through her tears. The dead rose saw life again. It took her back. Back to rewind. Back to him. The same old love.

Interrupted. She looked for a dustbin and stuffed the petals in. The fragrance had to die since it was reborn somewhere else with someone else. The last souvenir of their love was crushed. She was little slow while he had done it long back with the orchards she gave.

It hadn’t turned black yet, but now it seemed no less seeing his strawberry hold those vermillion ones which he once promised it to be a cherry thing. It was supposed to be exclusive. If not then it had die. Maybe Aafreen now preferred the thorns more. Atleast no one would take them away.

The rose was two years old and dead. Aafreen has more to her story. Read it all.

Previous blog :


The Delerious Verity


She blinked her eyes unvieling the golden glittey eyelids. Her cheeks were ruddy and words so honeyed. She held my hand while others resented. We catwalked fifty yards to reach the pool. We dipped our tender feminine feet into the lull water and it began…

She wasn’t Aafreen she was Fulki…

It was the New Years eve in an opulent farmhouse. Everyone was invited and so was Aafreen. She wore a candy pink blackless mini with a front deep cut perfectly exhibiting her beauty midline. The glittering piece of choker neckpiece made everyone especially the girls gleam with envy. The heels made it tough to walk past but she carried herself avidly looking a perfect paragon of beauty. It’s relief that the inner ugly pangs don’t show upon your face. Or else the makeup would also fail.

She modelled towards her gang of classmates with booze in both their hands. People were warm to her yet there was something repulsive. She smiled fictitiously through their gossips and those chiche truth n dare games. It was becoming travail to pretend. Pretend being a gang on the outside. “Show your sashay dance moves”, she faintly recollected herself back to the wooping coteire and saw the bottle flipped towards her. They were cheering her with whistling and hooting. It felt like a wimp trapped in a mired situation. Those brown eyes of hers had turned majority black with the dilation that followed. She wasn’t here. She couldn’t dance to them. She had a perturbation to just collapse right there avoiding all the attention.

A sudden pat on her shoulder turned down the cheering a while. She turned around to see an unfamiliar face with the semblance so enticing that lead the peeps in awe. “Would you mind me and Aafreen shash away for a while until you play another round of thrilling dares”. She winked while she held my wrist so tight that there was no way to swaddle. ‘This was all so engimatic. How would she know my name, my dare. Who was she?’. Was she secretly hearing them from somewhere or was she an old acquintance who’d grown up to be unbelievably pretty? Aafreen walked in her catanoia and just before she was about to trip over a broken bottle of beer, she held her. It was the first time their eyes met. “Don’t question just come along”, and then she blinked her eyes unvieling the golden glittey eyelids. Her cheeks were ruddy and words so honeyed. She held my hand while others resented. They catwalked fifty yards to reach the pool. There was an unsaid rapport between the two, both dipped their tender feminine feet into the lull water. This was what pin drop silence felt like, being able to hear the wind brushing through the leaves, that chirping of cicads. It wasn’t awkward, it was perfect, it was peaceful. Silence is beautiful.

You don’t have to always speak to be understood. There are words in silence. They both knew they were in pain. Maybe their meeting was destined. No one spoke. The water had everything to say. It was blue. More blue than she’d ever witnessed. How shockingly real that blue also indicated the melachony. We’ve been taught that ‘Waters don’t have a colour and glum doesn’t have to stay’ its just until you go a bit deeper to peep in that there’s Blue. Blue’s all over and it stays in the deep, as a monarch of the bodies of the ones cut back from life. 

There were ripples and the pool and words on Aafreen’s lips. She opened her glooming heart to her. She talked out her anxities. She spoke of the demons within who held her back from life. The ruse of her friends and those hard to profess unlove stories. That meaning she hadn’t found and that remoteness shrug around. She said it all today and awaited the sympathy to follow while she was hearing Aafreen calmly until she felt silent. The chirping cicads were loud again.

”I’m Fulki and i’m dying in some days.” She had finally spoken and said it all. They fell silent again. She was dying in days. Who was to kill her? Was she terminally ill while she looked best in spirits. Was she killing herself? Why was she killing herself? Is that the end to pain? Is there peace in death or is she cursed to die?

A scream coming far away from the path (which now looked like a corridor) broke their silence. There was a girl in her pyjamas shouting at Aafreen. “Why would you sit at this hour of the midnight on the balcony ledge? What if you fall? Why would you sit alone?..”. ” Atleast answer me. What are you thinking? I’ve looked for you everywhere are you’re here in your own paranoia.” It was her roomate. Was Fulki invisible to her? But Fulki was still there staring at the ripples with those glittery calming eyes, slowing fading from life. The pool began to fade and the water being to seep in abyss. Just the Blue remained. It always did.

Her roomate held her hand and walked her back to their hostel room. She slid Aafreen into her sheets. The candy pink pretty mini had turned to a comical nightsuit. There wasn’t any farmhouse neither a gang of peeps, for it never existed. There was no FULKI left but those words still echoed ‘I’m dying, I’m dying’. Why was she dying? Would she really die?

“Sleep you frenzied brain”, came a voice from the adjacent bed.

It is hard to profess the truth while all she withnessed was so ostensible…and her eyes shut.

Fulki- spark, the bright light of the sun. Yes, she was dying. She was dying within her and yes she was withdrawing. Withdrawing from life. The brightness in her life was fading with each day. Countable were the reasons to stay, innumerable to just vanish away. Away into the blue. The blue that of the sky.

The World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates one suicide in every 40 seconds. Millions of Fulki die each year while we still verse it to be delusional. THINK.

Know all about Aafreen. Previous blog :
smelling the putrid life

Smelling the PUTRID life


Live as if you were living already for the second time and as if you had acted the first time as wrongly as you are about to act now.


It was 4:05 in the morning and there wasn’t a speck of light in the room. Neither the light nor the purpose. It wasn’t the alarm since the phone lay on the table switched off. No, it wasn’t the noise, not even in birds at college dared to yodel at 4 a.m. While the world slept she was awaken. Maybe she just didn’t drowse or maybe she couldn’t.

After tossing and turning around a fifty times each after a five minutes gap, she finally gave up and sat awake. Glaring through the dark desultorily in search of some light, some meaning. A meaning she could live for, a meaning to suffer for, a meaning to exist.

Like she was sailing in the blue waters. But there weren’t the oars. It was a vast sea and she just sat there waiting to drown. Until she had an oar to propel towards a direction she would just wait for her death to come and splash upon her. Maybe that would’ve felt more alive than it was now. Even if she wanted to jump off the boat and end her dull lifeless life, still she couldn’t. Because even the ones who wish to go to heaven don’t wanna die to get there. It takes a nerve to cut a nerve.

It was the first time she was crowded with the fear, the fear of internment within the high walls she’d built for herself which rendered her life so dull so monotonous that it made her question her living. She had to purpose. No purpose to carry it forward. Every gossip every outing was just a push while the happiness to her turned out like a renegade. She no more enjoyed the company. No more songs could pacify her anxiety. No more lovers no more rumpy pumpy. What was it all for? Wasn’t life just repeating itself in cycles over and over again with faintly new characters but the almost same endings. What was she meant for? Was there a meaning or was she merely waiting to be buried? Was she really making friends or were they just add ons to the grave mourners? Would those books ever usher her or would they keel with the final viva? Was the sun always turning into the moon or was there ever a breeze? What was the meaning of living?

Aafreen didn’t know what was she living her. Her life had no meaning. She knew she couldn’t continue long this way. It was getting duller each passing day. The days had turned longer than ever and she was haggard repeating same things on and on. ‘Until when?’ Life was no more a pleasure. It was getting effugent outside and poignant inside. Unlike the days before today she had no desire to go and attend the classes which meant nothing to her. She fought back the hustle and got ready. It was college time and that vindictively strict teacher wouldn’t mark a ‘P’ for being late. (thriving and stressing for a ‘P’ while forgetting essence of life). Aren’t we all the same? How rarely do we think of the elucidation of life? Why do we stress on little little things while we let our lives rot away?

It was a no masscara no lipstick day. Perturbation made her scruple over the invertrate she followed. Nothing made her happy. She was just bound to it. The class had commenced already while she hurriedly joined in. Today’s lecture was on “Types of clouds”. The vindictive professor kept blabbering continuously, “The highest clouds in the atmosphere are cirrocumulus, cirrus, and cirrostratus. Cumulonimbus clouds can also grow to be very high”.  Yes, she was listening. Listening to her heart, for the first time. Of all the types of clouds, today Aafreen just knew ‘Nimbus-the hailing clouds’. When the Nimbus get saturated with dust and water vapour they rain and hail and snow. Aafreen too had reached that culmination and there was no way holding more. It would certainly burst if not rain.

She wanted to end the affliction of musing. When she couldn’t figure what to live for, she wished to die. Dying at once better than dying each passing day with the realisation that you’re useless. She didn’t die that day. Nor did she cut herself. But she half died. She needed help. She needed a meaning.

We all do while we ignore reflecting upon the ultimate meaning of our lives and join the heard of sheep waiting to be slaughtered.


Adoring ruefully…

Shall i compare thee to a summer’s day?

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d

But thy eternal summer shall not fade…


“Should i call you bhaiya or what?”

It was a beautiful summer’s day and the begining of the fall season for Aafreen. She was in the library returning the textbooks she never ever flipped. She was reminded of the zeal with which she had issued those books, impressing herself with her dedication at the very start of the third semester. She had to nail it this time. But. It was a phase. Everything was a phase in Aafreen’s life. Each hobby each interest and even the people had become a phase which lasted not more than a fortnight.

Aafreen loved the new moon while people adored the full moon. New moon was a hope that meekly this satellite would grow to light and a promise that darkness would lessen each day. Everything in her life complemented the fourteen day cycle of the moon. She would find a meaning for life and work upon it rentlessly, begining with the utmost ecstacy until the full moon. But the bitterness with which it would eventually fade away haunted her when she started with anything afresh for she knew it would soon be gone. Life like a moon is tough for it’ll always fade away to darkness no matter how hard you put in. Aafreen was star crossed with it and there was no way out. Unknowinly her name ‘Aafreen’ , in Persian meant moonlight. The doomed moonlight.

“The fine will be accepted only by paytm” said the librarian. She had uninstalled paytm after some issues pertaining the app verification. There was a young man standing right beside her waiting for his turn. There was no point of requesting the librarian so she confided to the lad to help with the digital transfer while she could return back in cash. He just smiled. There was something wierd about him but she had to bear.

After it was done, he struck a conversation asking those casual ‘where are you from’ ‘what’s your year’ kinda questions. She reverted back to him with no intention of falling in love with this senior. That’s when the bhaiya question came in. They laughed it out.

He said she looked beautiful but she’d turned away towards her hostel already.

He texted. He flirted. She reverted. She flirted. After one and a half year in a college in Delhi she had become well versed with the species called ‘fuck bois’. Who knew this casual texting would become so precious for her one day that she would go on repeatedly reading those old conversations and repenting the time now. He invited her to his flat where he stayed with several others from the same college. They all belonged to Mumbai the big city.

Was it boredom or was it lonliness, was it adventure or whatever it was but definately not the attraction that took her to accept this offer.

He’d already got Budwieser bottles waiting to be opened. They talked while they had their Beers emptied. First, then second, then the third and she’d been drunk enough that she couldn’t manage going back to the hostel. It was dark already and the college rules didn’t allow very late drunk entries. She was worried but couldn’t gather the strenght to even stand. There was numbness in the room. And then she whispered faintly, “I have to kiss you”. until he could reply she had already held his collar pulling him towards her embracing his lips. The time seemed have run infinitely but they kept kissing.

”I’m so sorry for having embarassed myself but it was just the alcohol. I’ve never kissed anybody other than my boyfriend. I know how deperate it must have looked. I’m so apologetic.”

She texted him right after she reached her room. He was genuine enough to have left her back to her college. True to her words she’d never been this desperate. Her phone beeped.

“But babe i thought it was just perfect.”

And the flirting continued but she decided not to see him again.

He texted everyday. Sometimes she ignored and eventually replied to him but made excuses when he asked about coming to his flat.

It was Saturday and she went out with a friend of hers to the popular Immigrant cafe. It was the nearest and also there was a band performing this day. Aafreen stood with a drink in her hand for there was no place to sit. The performance began and she was dumbfound by whom she’d just seen melodiously playing the guitar. It was him. She smiled at him and he just passed back the gesture. All the time her eyes kept gazing at him. He noticed it as well. No, it wasn’t the alcohol that’d fixed her eyes onto him. Instead it was the music he played. Not that she was very fond of music but that day she became.

Later after the performance he texted her to come outside while he waited for her. Butterflies were dancing tirelessly in her stomach. She found him standing at an isolated corner. He asked her something but she was barely hearing him. Her eyes were transfixed onto his. Then he lit a ciggarette and smoked it while they talked of random things for five minutes and then went inside. She left soon after.

Later that night he drunk dialled her. He emarked with a ‘hello’ she could never forget. His voice had become so palpable that Aafreen felt herself swaddling onto his voice. Though he wasn’t light coloured neither had a repertoire which could be appreciated (a heavy smoker) but there was something. Something so subtle to find yet Aafreen now knew what love had offered her. He was brown, tall, hair shabbily decoracted covering most of his left forhead. Also he was skinny which was impending enough due to his puffing habits. He wasn’t the kind Aafreen ever dreamt about but voodo had occured already.

She couldn’t hide what she felt and it took her half the night recalling and remodifying the events in her brain. Serotonin and Dopamine were flushed once again into her veins and she couldn’t believe if love could happen twice. But it did. She woke up the next day waiting for his text.

He didn’t text.

She couldn’t take the reality, afterall she had imagined way beyond already. She didn’t get out of her bed the whole day. She waited for him, thinking of all the possibilities of what could have possibly been wrong. Only in the evening after recieving his text she realised the wrong that had befallen her. Yes, there was love but it hadn’t come complimentry. It was she alone who had into the abyss. She never tried consulting a girlfriend about this for she knew how people just mock at your emotions. She misses having a best friend sometimes and keeps jotting long letters in her secret diary till it calms her. Humans tend to have this feeling of confiding every happy and sad (mostly) moment to their loved ones. There is certain anxiety until then. Those pages were what she could trust the most with her feelings so she kept writing her love story.

There is a phenomenon named “Paradoxical intention” which signifies that if you think too hard about having something in a desirable way, what occurs as a result is the total opposite. Same happended with her. She tried had to unlove him after he started missing out days and then weeks between his consective texts making her realise he was done. It was raging inside to find how everyting so beautiful just flipped to be dejected. There didn’t go a single day when she didn’t think of him. But did he?

He texted sometimes to ask her out only to ditch her later. She used to whine heavily everytime he did this to her yet forgiving him each time annhilating her pride. He asked her for pictures. Pictures you wouldn’t send your friends or family. Aafreen replied that she never did pictures. “But i am more to you babe”, he said. And what do you expect from a girl madly secretly loving him so much that she couldn’t refuse any longer. What she was deign and she had it in mind but fear makes you do everything.

Fear of losing the leftover few incoming messages which make you feel alive once again. Fear of never being able to see the face, the eyes you adore the most. Of not being able to ever hear that palpable melody of his. Love takes you far beyond quelling all you limits, testing your austerity, your patience. It makes you realise how much affiliction you are capable of bearing staking your dignity. You feel you are infalliable in love and there’s nothing above it. Just like a mystic vanishes himself, his life into the absolute, similarly does a lover for their love. We’ll all have this maddness with us until we find someone to exhibit it for. All those love songs, those quotes, those couplets become ostensible when you drown in this mystic pink river.

Love is the strongest of all the emotions that can change the meaning of your life. Aafreen dressed up everyday with masscara on her lashes and the red tinted lipstick, in a hope to pass across him. She never missed any party for maybe deep down she felt magic still existed. She knew he would’ve never loved her back for she was a mere muse amongst the hundreds of muses he had at a time (stalking helps). But what is it which still kept her waiting, not accepting the truth?

They are together this day embracing each other while she holds his face and he slips down her waist. Their lips touch each other and an aura of love forms around. Still the time stops for them. Each moment he thrives for more of her. He never misses a day without her. She gets bundles of those Love you texts from him to which she still blushes. Everything is still so warm and intense.

She still dreams all of it while he’s still clueless of their love story. She still loves him today though ruefully.

Bleeding surreptiously

Take me to a warm place with no memory.

Aafreen (2 days after birthday)

It felt numb. It wasn’t fun anymore. The herb was pacing through her blood, ironically rushing the heart beat while the heart grew insensate. That vivacious her was vanishing into a quavering voice while she barely spoke a word. Looking at the mountains, the perfect scenic beauty any lodging could have; she felt engimatically sad.

It was her birthday and there was everything she had wished for. It was the perfect trip she had planned months ago which incessantly gave her anxiety attacks. But today was her day.

Why is the destination not as sating as the journey?

She liked staying quiet. Dreaming and thinking. Each thought was a hate. Hate- the people felt for her. How they just wanted to exploit her innocence to make her wild. And the wild are hunted.

Thoughts interrupted and..

He held her by the arm. Tightening his grip over it. Was it just the cuddling he thought of? He pulled her closer sliding his hands into her top. He now held her by the waist. Was it not her breasts that he wanted to grab?

While she struggled to figure out what went on her right side, there was a tingling on her left foot which arouse uptil the calf muscles when Aafreen felt a second hand trying to pull her on the left. He was a to be best friend. Just before coming at this place she had confided to him. To protect her. To keep her safe from all the howling growling beasts hiding in the faces of bearded humans.

There was a raging battle in her mind. No. She didn’t like the touch when it went down dominating her to see what shoud have been unseen, to feel what wasn’t for him. She turned to the right. The left was left.

Was there love in love making? It never seemed to her. Not before not after.

While he aroused her touching what he’d desired for long, the left one watched. There were two distinct sound she could hear from the left. The clicking and the fapping. NO, she hadn’t worn those netted socks for you to stare. She just wanted to be pretty. And now her prettiness was being manhandled for the sake of lust and pride. Pride they’d carry with for what they did to her.

He wanted to hear her scream. The left one. Was he filming it or was it for the fapping? The right one followed the desire. To make her scream. They talked in whispers but she heard them all. She didn’t scream. She did not let him accomplish. She saved herself but she was late to stop him while he had touched her innocence already. He would boast it to hundered others. That gynander looking hooman who once had been a daily chat buddy consoling her of her depression had finally managed to touch her.

How better it would have been if you could just erase somethings. Erase some people.To never look at them again with those same memories.

They drank heavily and smoked incessantly. It was her birthday and they gave her their wishes.

She hid everything so perfect and accepted for it wasn’t the worst.

Two cotton swabs drenched in blood and it still didn’t stop. Her ears were bleeding. The earrings had sharply flared an infection through her piercing. But she still wore them all the time. She hid the blood with the veil of earrings for no one to see. People liked the earrings gleam through her ears but would they’ve ever gussed what’s hiding beneath those stones? Would they’ve liked to see the soarness and the blood those earrings cause to her? No. It would only disgust them and scare them away cause they’ve always loved that gleam and not those ears of hers.

The bleeding didn’t go away in one day just like the lecherous incident. It would bleed for the forth coming days until the blood finds another way. She was discussed and debated. ‘She’ was just the two lightly fatty tissues and a wet fapping hole.

Could she forgive herself for letting them?

They vividly narrate ‘her’ to others while she leaves the reality everytime to prevent those sobbing eyes. Every night she sees someone in blue starting at her with folded arms. He just stares at her while something holds her back from speaking. She sees him. Others don’t. The delusions are paving their way mystifying the reality. Delusions are real. They come to those who’re done. Done with the time zoned reality. She’s escaping. Escaping her own way.

While in reality still hides her pain as she hides those bleeding ears.

P.S: Link and connect. It says a lot.

If ‘t be true birthday wishes cometh true then taketh me to a warm lodging with no memory

Know more about Aafreen. Previous blog: https://livetheslip.wordpress.com/2019/01/19/the-delerious-verity/