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Looking Back

backI never want to, and yet I look back,

I hate it so, and yet I look back,

I know not what I yearn for, I just keep looking back,

I know not who’s looking ahead, I just look back.

Long forgotten, long forgiven,

All the pictures faded away,

But it’s only me, that keep looking that way.

Well, who’d know my plight,

Who’d know why I decide

To let go of all bans,

And just desperately keep looking back…

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A Bit Beyond

As another year steps in, and once again we pretend to prepare ourselves for a ‘new beginning’, to revive ourselves, reform ourselves and accomplish all that we couldn’t, just because the earth has completed one revolution round the sun and will start another, I just want to share a thought, a message, maybe or rather something to ponder about and execute if at all it makes some impact.

All things on the surface,

All emotions on the outside,

All words just as traced,

All shown, nothing to hide-

Could that ever be?

Is that how it is?

 

All pain may not be pain indeed,

Maybe some unnamed joy underneath.

All joy may not be joy indeed,

Maybe some aching secret deep within.

Could that ever be?

Is that how it is?

 

Is life really not what it seems?

Is an illusion the food for our beliefs?

Failing forever to probe within,

Are we forever dangling with blind conceit?

Is there amongst all men, some other bond,

Which we’d probably find, if we looked a bit beyond?

Forbidden Expectations

final

And yet again, we expect what we shouldn’t,

Love whom we mustn’t,

Pray for the impossible,

And again, the broken laws are so palpable.

 

Hoping in the most hopeless moments,

Reminiscing the beginning even in the end,

Cherishing those incomplete memories,

We live on by ignoring so many vagaries.

 

All of it as futile as futile can be,

Yet there continues those euphoric dreams,

For they complete our beings,

They surpass our limitations,

And so, there lives forever the forbidden expectations.

The above sketch is by Anwesha Saha (owner of As The Ink Flows).

A Letter

“The wicked envy and hate; it is their way of admiring.” – Victor Hugo

 

Dear Envy,

 

Ever wondered what this world would have been like without you? Probably not, no one wishes to lose existence. And that is maybe the factor which has taught us to live with all the good and bad this world has to offer. We can’t make anyone or anything disappear, no matter how much we despise them. In fact, at times, we are made to disappear by them. Irony, you know!

Well, maybe you haven’t, but I have. Yes, I have considered your disappearance. Please don’t mind. And you shouldn’t also, for this thought will but remain a thought forever. Fortunately, I have also mused about your existence at the same time. I ain’t that bad, am I?

It pains me to say, but nevertheless, you have been one of the most indispensable and unavoidable part of our everyday life since time immemorial. You bring colour and fervor to our usually morbid lives. How? I’ll tell you how. What you do is, when everything keeps going smoothly and monotonously, you peep in. And lo and behold! You spread your wild tentacles all over the place and strangle the poor creatures. But, fortunately (maybe?), you are kind. Or maybe it’s a god-gifted quality that you possess. Even when your grip gets tighter than ever, your prey is entirely unaware of it. Even as you enter his system, he is ignorant. Peaceful. Then gradually you begin to take over all of him. Now, there’s no getting away No matter how much he regrets, pleads or bleeds, your brutal clutches are indomitable. And in the end, he is all but ruined.

Looking on to the quirkier side, you also do things quite bizarre. You render your prey quite naïve. You make him act childishly. Under your spell, he often does things he would not have done otherwise, whereas, he seldom seems to mind doing them. Sanity takes a sharp turn. Thoughts are blocked and blurred. And reality lies unfathomed behind a thick curtain of pernicious dreams. These are dreams which envisage things you make them to. These dreams dream of a ladder where the dreamer climbs up only and only by pushing the others down, suppressing them and fomenting others to do the same. That’s the ideal you make your prey follow, don’t you? And by the end of the day, he loses the capacity to climb the ladder at all. Sad, but true.

You destroy relations. You make friends foes. You transform innocent souls into shrewd crooks. You kill any clear, progressive element that arises. You leave your prey blinded from all the bliss he could have cherished without you. Bless the innumerous things you do! What could we have done without you! Maybe, half the things that have occurred from time to time would not have existed without you- both the good and the bad. You are the creator of a chequered world where the black blocks are genuine and the white ones, illusions. You are an integral part of mankind. You shape us as who we are.

I am indeed at a loss of words to express my gratitude towards you. You are vital for our survival. The only flaw in you is your health. It’s a pity, indeed, how your health has deteriorated with time. The unhealthier you get, the more toxic your tentacles become. Otherwise, you are the perpetrator of all great things, great men. You are the source of verve and vigour. So, with utopian dreams, I can only hope that you get well very soon.

 

Yours humbly,

Another awe-struck admirer

 

 

To Lie

Difficult it is to find sense

In a labyrinthine jungle dense,

 

How hard it is to take back words spoken,

Harder still to mend promises broken,

 

Garrulous mouths are hard to quieten,

Imbecile brains are hard to enlighten,

 

Difficult it is to make morose souls smile,

Utterly impossible to make the dead rise,

 

Painstaking it is to make minutes pass

When life treats you like a futile mass,

 

Gruesome it is to live the infinite night,

Have a chat with the darkness and combat your fright,

 

It is formidably tough to apologize,

It is but perilously easy to lie.

 

Reflections on a Reflection

The afternoon sun burst into the room. Passing through the light pink curtains, it gave the entire room a dreamy appearance. The house was empty. The silence of the usually chirpy birds gave her a feeling of insecurity. Yet, shrugging off the dread, she removed the towel that wrapped her, and got dressed. She then applied a lotion delicately over her entire body, gliding her fingers smoothly over the moist of her skin.

 

She walked up to the mirror.

 

There she stood, angelically beautiful, devoutly pious yet, blasphemously sinful. Her graceful frame seemed to tell a thousand stories, a little at a time. The roundness of her physique, the child-like innocence radiating from her face and yet, a melancholic tinge in her eyes, made her all the more attractive.

 

She looked her reflection into the eye. All at once, raced a million reflections through her mind-of the past, the present and… let it be. She looked at herself, rather, watched herself. She’d watched herself since a long while, from her very childhood. She’d watched herself grow; grow from a little kid to what they call a lady, a full grown lady. She had watched her own self transcend through the many seasons-the flowers of spring, the snow of winter, the sweat of summer and the bliss of monsoon. She’d watched the many tears, the many pains she had endured. All of them were like messengers from some far away land. They had messages to convey, lessons to teach.  

 

She smiled. The reflection smiled back. But, would it last? The smile? Maybe yes, if she tried. And she did. She did try. Holding on to the smile, she raced her thoughts back to all the lovely presents offered to her, the presents that made her being worth it-the rainbows whose colours were difficult to distinguish but the fact that they were there, gave her solace; the tinkling of anklets as her mother rushed from one corner of the house to another; the sound of her father turning the pages of the newspaper and finally the contented feeling when he’d place it on the table, for now he’d come to her; her younger brother’s monotonous tantrums over the same little things. And just how there’s no end to counting the stars, there seemed no end to counting her blessings. The reflection seemed to be able to fathom that, and naturally, the smile broadened.

 

She looked at her lips and remembered him, the dreams she dreamt about him. She remembered her heart racing every time he would come closer. How desperately she hoped he would be hers, but alas! Yet, she had never let her dreams be shattered. There’s nothing wrong in dreaming, is there? Her reflection grinned, like a child, at being offered her favourite chocolate.

 

How blissful it all is! How marvelous! She carried within her a wonder, a fairytale- some of it revealed, some held back. She wasn’t at all times what she appeared to be. Not always that epitome of strength she was believed to be, was strong enough. Neither were the smiles always smiling. Like a rollercoaster, she had hurled herself to different directions, high and low, yet at all times, like the rollercoaster ride, it was joyous. She smiled all the more.

 

But.

 

But, bless the Devil that lurked in the shadows. Well, can he tolerate smiles? No. Never.

 

Like the harrowing thunder that disrupts the tranquility of the night, there barged into her thoughts the echoes of his voice – the doctor’s voice, kind yet ruthless, “Actually, it’s too late, maybe a year more.”

 

And, probably that explained the silence of the usually chirpy birds.

 

To the World, With Love

Stranded in the middle of no where,
Yet, I could transcend everywhere.
Woes belittled the ever little soul,
Yet, I found a path to lead me back home.

The same old twisted tales,
The same old piercing nails;
My very own clouds followed by rainbows;
Deep in my sorrows drowned, meekly my poem flows.

Another futile promise not to care,
Another dwindling thought sways in the air.
Of bliss and of melancholy,
The stories you tell so artfully-
Giving me faith, rekindling my hope,
Resonating within me, you’re my abode.