Poetry, Quill

Forever

What paved the path,

For my misery,

Was it my silence?

Was it my sin?

I wish I’d yelled sooner,

For I yell into this void,

Yet no ear to hear my woes,

I wish I’d spoken,

And let my tears flow,

Before they drowned me,

Into the forever Black river,

Of my own sorrow,

I dived, and here I’ll stay,Forever.

Poetry, Quill

The Journey

It begins from dust to man ……

In between
Life takes him to pristine, but he never accept due to his notions, still it keep on holding him , without letting him down.

Whenever he feel devastated, he starts running from it and when the situations are elated, he love to stay and this is how just by repeating it he came to end.

Where the man ,that arise from dust again goes into it .

It ends to dust from man ....
As
.
.

Time cannot be kept at bay
The more it goes
The more it gone
The more it takes away…

Brevity, Quill

MASSACRE

I often wonder how my father coped with a mischievous devil like me. I would often trouble him and he would frivolously rebuke my antics. My childhood was a smooth sailing only if that incident is marked off my life. The second of November, 1984.  With the gentle breeze of the still night, they came, in hundreds. With blazing fires of hatred and glowing embers of anger, they robbed a community of its pride. The vivid images are ever painted in my mind.  How my father tried to calm them down and how my mother’s pleas were silenced, unheard and unregistered. They took him outside and beat him black and blue. His white turban fell off, the crown of his head. They took some kerosene and tossed it on him, chanting the name of their gods. He looked at me with terror stricken eyes and mouthed, ‘Run Away.’ But I stood still, paralyzed, as they burnt my father alive, brazen and charred, the smell of flesh singing my nose. His blood curdling scream shakes me to the bone even today. I, can never forget, how my father was massacred.

Quill, Write Ups

The Early New Year Wishes

Probably the earliest new year wishes, and before all the platforms start posting memes on how they wasted this year too. Let me tell you how I didn’t waste this year.

  1. There are some happy days, some days you feel low. Some days you feel things aren’t going how they are supposed to, dear, on these days you just need to go with the flow. Understand things eventually get better, always.
  2. A little note of well-being from an old friend literally makes your day
  3. In this ‘modern’ world where everyone is fed up with their monotonous life, and dark selves. Be the soul that radiates infinite happiness, good vibes. Make your presence a comforting one.
  4. Beauty is the way you carry yourselves, how you treat others with love. Beauty is your soul.
  5. A hearty laugh makes everything better.
  6. Face everyday with a new energy, Grab the opportunities, Seize the day.
  7. You ought to keep your fist down and your head high to fight for what is right. 

And here’s wishing you all a Happy New Year!!

Brevity, Quill

Assumptions

We all are so good at assuming , aren’t we? And sometimes assumptions kills a relationship or in the worst scenario, a person . There is a saying that ”you can do 99 things for someone and they’ll remember just the one you didn’t do ” and how correct is that . It legitimately applies on every relationship .
We live in a Instagram world , where everyone is pretending something they’re not . Time to time we see someone posting some negative thoughts . And our mind is so twisted that we automatically assume that it’s for us , whether we have to do something with them or not . Assumptions rarely happens with good stuff . How many times do we assume that someone’s good thoughts are about us ? Maybe never .
We lost friends , lovers on the basis of assumptions we make . Rather than communicating , we start ignoring them and that’s where problem begins . That’s what murder the bond , the love .
So let’s just assume less , talk more . Life not always gives us second chances .

Poetry, Quill

Don’t Call My Name

Once I wished for nothing else,

But people around me,

Calling my name,

Yet now a day,

Has come as such,

That I yearn for a life,

That’s solitary,

Something is off,

It is wrong I know,

Perhaps I have lost,

More than I have loved,

Or perhaps I have never loved,

Enough.

Perhaps I lost,

The trust I had,

Or I haven’t found trust,

Enough.

Brevity, Quill

DEAD END

After a futile search of the house, I looked into his room,in the tree house he had built as a child. I opened the door and darkness enveloped me. There was a stale odor in the room, as if someone had died in there.My first step tumbled on an object. I searched about and held it in my hand, a broken syringe. I took out my phone and switched on the flashlight. The illumination lent the room an eerie silence. I saw a bedraggled body, huddled up in a corner. Cautiously, I went ahead, my heart thumping with every step. A number of other syringes  were lying about. I approached the figure and shone the light on the face. The body emanating a foul smell and the hollow bones crackling in my hold. I looked at the face and gasped.
A face with sunken cheeks.

I stood shocked and quite lifeless myself, as I stared into my dead brothers eyes, blank and bleak.

Poetry, Quill

The Peasant’s Sophie

Ahoy!!! hope you are all doing well. Today, your humble servant, presents forth you the first part of probably his longest poetry and the very first ballad… So, here it is… enjoy the first 2006 characters… 😉 

Once on an isle, made of Glee,
A peasant fell in love with a maiden,
Called Sophie.
They were young kids back then, immature and guile,
Yet pretentious of wisdom Sophie cried,
“What purpose do I fill of yours? Obsessed with my slender waist and lissom neck, or something else that you adore?”

“Nothing much superficially to be obsessed, just the tenderness you carry within besides the way you dress”
said the peasant with a wry smile and suddenly “pardon” surprised Sophie replied.

“Oh! You’ve heard already, what I said,
It’s just the novice way to address”
Hiding her lovely smile, beneath the protest “Aren’t you afraid of my family’s power” she said.

“Fear is relative term I think, and seeing your beauty it ought to sink.”
“How unabashed peasant you are… Feel the agitation of the hour.
You’re talking to the daughter of grantor, seeing you behavior he may begin a war.”

“A war killing innumerable for a spark of love. If the grantor pleases so, I’m afraid soon it will be a land of crows.”

P.S. : The title MAY be temporary, wait for the complete update and continue reading my first ballad.

Poetry, Quill

I Wonder

In the middle of seasons
where numbness lays,
the dormant devil speaks today.

Some may call you drier than sand
to some you may seem wetter than rain,
Same may not pass you even as human,
some may call you humane.
It is nothing but the way you see.

There is no definition of you,
You are no type, symmetry or pattern.

From men like free birds to,
men like dedicated workaholics.
From the bubbly neighborhood women,
to the lifeless gaze of intellect
is what you are made of.

From a world yet to be discovered,
to the world, a long lost one,
From intricate tales of grand achievers,
to an ever smiling flower vendor outside.
A temple is what you’re made of.

I wonder, why do we have to talk the same,
like the same and feel the same
as a pre-determined order of civilized,
I wonder why we must result into the same,
when the entire cause is different.

Poetry, Quill

Call

As i sat down, reminiscing the moments we shared,

I noticed intricate details,

that defined our love, the bond we shared.

I tried to bury my feelings,

but the crevice in my heart won’t be filled

and the tears in my eyes won’t stop,

I was devastated as I realised,

it was meaningless to be alive without a reason,

I am not here to wander aimlessly,

Devoid of purpose,

I was hopeless, as i got a call,

which changed me, my life, my everything,

that call was by my 

MOTHER.