Quill, Write Ups

Ahoy! Yes YOU !!!

Excuse me… Yes youYou got a minute or so, just to slow down a bit of your scrolling speed and unfold the brilliant truth before yourself.

So now, since you’re here I’ve got something special to tell you. You see other than being homo sapiens and a set of some fundamental features, we’ve all got one more thing in common. 

Some refer to it as goals, some as dreams, a few call it ambitions too and a few also refer to it as targets. But, irrespective of the fact that they range from living an american dream, or running a corporation of your own, getting the job you always aspired of till the point of mastering your paint brush strokes, producing a bestseller or simply finding the true love of your life… they vary from everywhere to everywhere.

Now, you might be wondering what is so special about it, we all know it already… don’t we? But, oh my sweet friend, what you ought to know is the major difference which separates it from being an ambition forever or dream turned into reality. So brace yourselves up for that difference is.

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Exactly… that is the very difference which separates the fabrications from reality... Not getting it? 

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This hunger you had, to know more, the mindset of not throwing the towel in before you get to the answer, putting the extra effort and being consistent in it, even as small as scrolling for ten more seconds has indeed made the difference, the difference ninety nine percent of people fail to realize. The difference which separates the great from the good, champions from winners, achievers from even the toppers and indeed learners from skimmers.     

 

Uncategorized

Happy Birthday ArtMan

Happy Birthday ArtMan… We may not be the first ones to wish but indeed will be the last ones….

The man with brush guns and colours as bullets, a grenade of 3D drawings and indeed the Armor of graphics….

The man with finest sketches, the man with perfect strokes, the artist we love, the ArtMan we know…

The Pocket Diaries wishes you happiest birthday…

Uncategorized

______ Children’s Day

https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hsnbrHYd_EY/Um6TN2v6oWI/AAAAAAAAFU0/ujbp3kzfA1Y/s1600/eBay+005a.jpg

On this felicitous Children’s Day, other than cheering you a wish, I place forth you a humble request, rather a plea to free the chained child in you.

The child tied up in chains of misery, locked in the name of one’s ostensible social image and crumbled under the workload.

The child, who’s morsels still try to escape through your dry tear glands, the child who’s laugh still haunts those deaf ears of yours.

The child you forgot exists.… a while ago, the child you forgot still breathes…. a while ago and indeed revive the one many killed…. a while ago.

Please unshackle that child still wandering in your hollow soul, please unchain that child still craving his lost home.

Brevity

Why?

As the petrified juvenile rose upon his toes and, ventured to peep through the keyhole, he watched with tears rolling down his chubby cheeks and inscrutable face, the ‘MAN of the Family’ beat his mother again. Submitting to the cruelty he rushed to the shore and questioned his God, “Oh! God, if mother’s placed even above you why doesn’t she get the powers at least similar to you? Why doesn’t she get at least half the respect given to you?” and added suddenly, “And please reply soon this time, she easily differentiates between the sea water and tears hid beneath the sand upon my face.”

 

Brevity

Suicide?

“What is a suicide?” questioned the lecturer.

“A murder executed psychologically.” echoed a grave voice in the class.

Poetry

Cloth And The Thread

I still remember staying up all night composing this one on the first of April, twenty seventeen. A poetry inspired from the relation of a dark cloth and a pure thread. It goes like-

This saga ain’t about bloodshed,
but about love between cloth and a thread.
The thread was pure white and delicate,
the way it would heal others was great.

But, that thread was in complete contrast,
to the cloth dyed in the colors totally dark.
The thread asked to fix that bruised cloth,
Listening to this, the cloth never healed before, was shocked.

He tried to warn the thread,
“I am dangerous” he said.
But she didn’t fear and took a pledge,
standing on that fatal edge.

The edge between the true light and dark,
where indeed grey had to fall.
Either in the light, and develop a spark,
or in the dark where sinners crawled.

The thread committed she would make him change,
and for the cloth this much affection was strange.
No fabric knew whether it was a boon or bane.
Weather it was a matter of pride or shame.

And their ostensible love was disrupted,,
for Time, the ultimate destroyer was there.
He snatched away the delicate thread
and left behind merely despair.