Welcome to ‘The Pocket Diaries’ a global platform for every talent, a suburb for passions palpitating beneath the thick layers of necessities and indeed an initiative to unfold innumerable hidden talents forth you.
A peculiar concept to bring your dreams to existence by providing you the very platform you always dreamt off. An opportunity to publish your works worldwide and indeed an
endeavour to provide you a ‘mysa’ in this contemporary incessant world.
Four words, one catastrophe.
You see love is a wrench,
It’ll lure you in with
honey coated lies,
It is a vicious cycle and
once you’re trapped,
It will bring you to your knees,
Begging for time out,
Love is like two way lane,
Our one tracked mind
doesn’t work in that way,
You wish to receive the
love you’re sending,
But reality is often disappointing,
Love is like plants:
You’ll never know it’ll eat you alive,
spit out your heart,
And leave you all immobile.
Just stop, okay.
Stop counting the days since he last messaged you. No, stop thinking about how he hasn’t talked to you since 5 days. Stop staring at the blackboard and start listening to the professor, your melancholy isn’t going to help you with your grades.
Take a deep breath,
He has draped your love with feigned ignorance, stop checking his last seen. He’s not going to reply to your messages.
No, the sunset is not gloomy today, or the night is not quieter. It’s just the smell of cigarettes, not his. Don’t be a wreck.
Take a deep breath,
Sometimes being stiff, rigid and relentless doesn’t make you strong rather love, tears and hardships do. Sometimes the person you love , hurts you. Sometimes, an unexpected thing just happens and turns your life upside down. Sometimes, you can feel so full that you might be overflowing with joy and happiness. Sometimes you can feel so empty , it’s like you are caught up in a world of perplexities , loneliness and darkness. And sometimes no matter how hard you try to push away a thought, it kind of just stays in the air. Sometimes you know everything and still know nothing. You could be standing in the front of truth , a truth that can hurt you deeply , & is capable of shattering your heart into a million pieces and still not know what to do. Sometimes you just want someone to hold your hand and say,”stay!”. But you see, that’s how life is. Life isn’t a garden with roses, bougainvillea’s , daisies or orchids rather it’s a battlefield. Life breaks you, it makes you suffer, it punches you in the face, it makes you breathless, it gives you pain. Life isn’t one word , rather it carries with it an infinite sea of words and phrases. Life is a lot of things. Life is pain. Life is ecstasy. Life is misery. Life is contentment. Life is heartbreaks. Life is darkness. Life is suffering. Life is a million things but most importantly ,maybe, life is just a delusion.
moving on is not as easy
as they show it in movies
Months after ‘us’ turned into you and I
I cry myself to sleep sometimes
and you probably smoke all your memories
Too stubborn, aren’t we?
we just can’t take that goddamn phone and
call each other
You know, one of these days
I miss you a little too much
alcohol may or may not have been
involved in the process
So I made you a list of things
I miss the most about you;
your smell, you running your fingers down my
spine, that 9:10 local & platform one
There is a humongous possibility that you may criticize me, to the point of where we shall rather call it, crucify me for what I am about to utter. But I plead you to try and understand what I say before the rant is launched.
“I have seen all the works that are done under the sun. And, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. I communed with mine own heart, saying: “Lo, I am come to great estate”. And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in such wisdom is much grief, and he that increases knowledge, increases sorrow.”
With contemplation, we non arguably agree, wisdom is but the prime virtue. And in accordance with Ecbert, such wisdom brings much grief. This brings in the fact that this is rather a loop of grief and wisdom. Where attaining wisdom gives rise to grief but wisdom itself, on the first hand, stems of grief. Creating the eternal loop with no bars on increase in knowledge or pain.
But what I bring to you is a different tale. Where grief is spoken as pain and wisdom, after all, is the sum of emotional and intelligence quotient of a man.
As to what it appears, pain is in a symbiotic relationship with both the intelligence and emotional quotient of a human being. A relation where more is the pain fed, more does the value of quotients rises. But, what makes this relation agathokakological is that pain feeds but only on the human spirit. And by eating the spirit gradually it strengthens the emotional and intelligence quotient of the very body the same spirit resides in. Hitherto creating a scenario where your spirit is consumed by the pain you carry which in turn increases your ability to reason as well as to understand your emotions more efficiently.
To link it to the more common examples in our world, we are well aware of the many stories of how the greatest of men who walked upon the surface of this planet, from inventors, to artists, to investors, to athletes had one thing in common in all their stories- ceaseless suffering. But unlike the eternal loop we talked of, this truth fits into our reality as well for there is a bar up to which a man can live.
This creates a limit upon both the wisdom and grief of a man. This limit is what we call spirit. The day we cease is the day when our spirit runs out, when pain runs out of food to consume. This day our ability to develop our quotients ceases. Our wisdom, our knowledge stands stagnant at a point, out of pain to consume to grow further. And hence, when the heart and mind get stagnant and the spirit runs out it is then that the body stops to function any longer.
And so I conclude to you, suffering is imperative for great intelligence and emotion as well.
It started with a whisper, a crackling whisper of resistance. It spread across regions, infecting the oppressed. It became the sound of the voiceless to fight for their rights. It moved people to stand up, it compelled them to raise their arms in solidarity, it burned in their hearts, it fired up their minds. It had slept soundly for centuries, showing up now and then. But this time, this day, it gained strength. It gave hope, embers of persistence. It made us speak, something we chose to ignore. But now, it resides in our resolve. It made us realize the world of inequality and injustice that we live in. It made us aware of the crumbling pillars of democracy. It opened our eyes to face the emaciated poverty-stricken strata, labouring on barren fields. It made us hear the wails of malnourished children, the victim of diseases. It made us feel the agony of traders and small businessmen. It made us smell the burning stubble.
It made us alive, ready to fight back. We, the people of India, stand tall, one for all and all for one.
This change started with a whisper, the crackling whisper of dissent.
In a heartbeat I was thrown to the ground, beaten with iron rods on my head, my blood splattered on the pavement adorned with paan, red all around, saffron to be precise. In a heartbeat, the land I was standing on sunk into the ocean, taking my little hut on the mangrove with it, as the water level increased to a frightening height.
In a heartbeat, the internet shut off, rendering me incapable of communicating with my family, telling them that I was singled out and abused for being an alien in my country, unable to go back to my land and wander in my own Switzerland. In a heartbeat, the fish I loved to observe was there no more, dead in some forsaken corner of the Yangtze River.
In a heartbeat, my words started to reek of my religion, people around me looked at my clothes to ostracize me. In a heartbeat, I was going to die, the air in Delhi was not conducive for pranayaam.
In a heartbeat, I was devoured by beasts in the garb of teenagers, too shaken to protect what was left of me. In a heartbeat, I was slapped by my father, for going out into the streets to protest.
In a heartbeat, the drug I had taken made me forget my worries till death. In a heartbeat, my house was burned in front of my eyes and my father was taken by his long hair, stabbed multiple times.
In a heartbeat, so small yet profound, I ceased to dream, sleep, laugh and live. In this heartbeat, the world that was mine ceased to be.