Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Write...

It is the lust for words that enables to write,
It's the crush for metaphors that makes me bright.

It's love for writing I form some sentences,
Who will read! I don't care about future tense.

Every word is a woman of different character,
The curl in every letter! O! Wonderful structure.

I carve to write and I long to finish,
Let it not for anybody; my words I admonish.

I write or rewrite; there is nothing new under sun,
But, i create my own moon and sun, oh that is what is fun.

By the time I finish I find no reason,
But with no doubt I write; to write is there a season?

To write you need to love and hurt,
But I require no ambiance to write; I can even be a hut.

Writing is not a male or a female thing,
But its the romance of mind and heart in cuddling.

I am hurt deep in heart I talk to my pen,
To heal me, my pen talk to the paper and makes pun.

I love all those who read, sometime even mine,
But if you eschew it is okay I will always be fine. 

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Chit-Chat






Fallen Angel

...She came back to me; from where is something I do not know.  But I know I lost her and found her back.  She was closer to me.  I felt her aroma nostalgic. I felt that warmth that I experienced before.  I closed my eyes in her bosom…
courtesy: photobucket.com


Centuries back; when I neither have anything to lose nor something to gain I was looking at the sky.  There were no moon, no stars though it is dark.  At a very long distance I saw a flying object that which my eyes could not reject.  It came, flying, towards me just to see ‘who is that looking at me’. Night could not have been brightened up more even with the full shone moon.  She lit the sky, with her angelic fly.  Her wings are soft and white like camouflaged petals of roses.  She is an angel from up above, with little melancholy in her face; she stood in air with her wings wide opened. 

“O! Angel” I exclaimed.  She did nothing but smiled at my astonishment.  I looked deep into her eyes and with no second thought I fell in love with her.  I raised my hands towards her, opened my arms for her.  She knows I cannot fly and I am no equal to an angel.  She jumped down from the sky and walked to my open arms.  Still looking at my eyes she said “you eyes were sharper than the sword, faster than the spear.  I felt you shot an arrow with your eyes to my bosom so that I fell in your arms.”  That was sweet to hear from an angel but I forgot to ask whether the arrow has hurt her.

She came closer and succumbed to me in total.  I was afraid that whether I deserve an angel.  She winded her wings and spent all her time in my arms.  She never let me leave, not an inch from her.  It was soothing to live in the aroma of love.  The warmth that she gave was godly for sure she should have learnt it from the divine.  I caressed her hair, lived in her beauty, sufficed my soul in her love, mesmerized in her liveliness, enchanted in her innocence, and wondered about her mischievousness.  She refused even the air to pass between us.  She rejected the time to steel the moments we spent together.  Those moments neither moved nor vanished; it just stays their but we moved.

I know she is an angel, she has gorgeous wings to fly and I knew she wanted to fly in the sky but not alone.  She took me in air far from the human spies, high in the sky away from any mortal beings. The world looked small and worthless to live, sky looked brighter than what I saw from earth, and she looked like a deity what she originally is.  I was put in a trance. Though the sun was near it didn’t scorch my skin, though the moon was near it didn’t freeze me to ice, though the air was faster I never had trouble to breathe. Even when we flew over the stratosphere I never suffocated.

Once in a while her wings hurt my eyes but she has to swing her wings to fly.  I didn’t care when it hurt but as the sky become older to my eyes the hurting wings started bothering my mind.  Brain know if she didn’t use her wings we both will fall and die, but mind said that it was, once in a while, hindering my vision.  But then my brain said you have to learn to protect yourself from her wings that was stopping your vision which is a matter of seconds.

I know it is not a matter to worry I tried not to react neither I told her the fact.  Without my knowing the dormant volcano of rage become extinct and once her wings stuck my eyes the larva of anger burst to its high.  Rage diminished my sight, anger enclosed my heart.  I removed my sword from its scabbard; she was frightened, I whirled my hands, she looked astonished but didn’t react.  I stuck her wing with the sharpest sword and I saw it was broken.  She was bleeding; pain made her numb, she could hardly fly but managed to bring me back to ground.  She wanted me not to leave her but I rejected her hand and walked away. From a long distance I saw her dejected and falling on the ground. She lifted her hands to call me back before she lost herself totally on to the ground.  I walked away in rage.

In shock I moved away from her bosom for I now know what I have done to an angel, hundreds of years back, which God has sent to me.  She smiled as if she remembers too.  She came closer again and hugged me with all her love. 

“Forgive me” I said.
“No…”
“Why?” I asked
“You are back, that is what I wanted other things are nothing but past, I have nothing to forgive for you are just a different body but my soul” She tightened her hug.  Hug - the shrug of forgiveness.

“I am sorry” I was melted in the warmth of her love…

Monday, November 2, 2015

Ghost-Writer

crtsy : virtualwriter.ca
Ghost-writer; none other than that role I play.  Who is going to believe that the story is not mine!  I just read, write, and plagiarize from the book that was already written by the immortal, invisible hands. Everyday is an anecdote; I read it and rephrase then rewrite.  All the blames, all the sins, all that is engraved to happen is not just happening but well planned and well executed by the energy that keeps me moving.  The flow of tears, moments of anguish, irritation of angry are all were the stones in the path I stroll.  I walk naked with bare foot, the words that are thrown at me were enthroned in the stones before it was aimed at me; it hurts but could stop me not even for an inch.  The blames and the curses laid on my path were the thorns well set for me to walk on; it tears my palms and when I fall down it stings my arms.  All this could make me weak but could stop me not from my walk.

I hold the hands of love when I was about to fall down and sometimes I fall down because of the hands that suppose to hold me is already trodden.  Saying all this I thought I was enlightened but the bitter truth is different; I was entangled.  That is perfect; this entanglement is perfect as it teaches me flexibility which I eschewed for a life time.

In the name of love it is all fair for no war is better than that of the fight for love.  Recite it thousand times the word love will be love, just a four letter word to write but to prove that I just not write but I breathe it is a task for a century.  I become good when bent down before the dogmas of fugacious community. And when the rules are broken all the thousand act of humility becomes insanity.  I’m named a sinner.

To force me to live with the society is like feeding a goat with cow’s meat.  To teach me to swim is an act of insanity when I was made to fly; water for me is just to drink not to get drenched.  I don't have the count of breathes I had had and I have no idea on how much more air will get into my lungs and how long could I breathe out that went in.  All that I know is I am just a Ghost-writer.  You could pluck my pen, break my hand, blind my eyes, may be kill my brain, and burn the paper in which I wrote but you will not find the manuscript; I am just a Ghost-writer.

The words are not mine; this story has no line, reading this will not make you fine. Nothing have I created new, the days I am going to erode this planet are few, as a proof of my living I don't want to leave any residue.  I might make no one happy, I live my life crappy but I will die not when I am living.

When I am gone another writer will be born.  He might write many times better than me, he might rephrase the sentence thousand times faster than me but he will again be a ghost-writer.  No life is new; no words are new everything has to be written then rewritten.  Until he know that he is just plagiarizing from the book written in the language of divine he could never write a story better than mine. 

Saturday, August 22, 2015

It's still dark...

Hope : Hold On Pain will End
Like a foetus in the womb he twirled on his bed.  Not knowing if he has slept or not his eyes were tired to open for it didn’t take rest from watering the infertile pillow.  Windows were closed, curtains were on, the door was tightened, and lights were switched off.  Once in a while he switches on his mobile to see if she has messaged him.  The back-light of the mobile phone lighted up the room which irritated him; he switched off his phone and went back to his womb.

Looking at his anguish even the sky roared in pain.  ‘Do something, make her come with me’ was all that he prayed to heaven looking at the sky, and it rained. The scorching torments in his heart would take no time to burn him to ash; he wanted to hide the fumes of his burning soul.  He walked under the pouring sky.  All he could do is to move a little forward but the life force he has left behind stopped him to move on.  He stopped and she came to him.

He held her hand, it is soft as always, clutched his fingers between her fingers. She didn’t respond.  What would make her understand him? He does not know.  But all that he could do is to make her feel his anguish.  He held her closer as he could; her warmth gave him the secure feel of amniotic. He looked at her eyes she didn’t turn to him, but that is fine.  It all looked like a prayer to a deity in the temple that wants to bless you but could not move her hands locked inside the stone. What could melt that stone! Only she knows.

He took her soft hands to his cheeks and pressed her palms hard on his face, as if marking her foot mark in his heart.  Holding her tight, he placed his eyes on her palms just to stop his tears to flow out; No, to make her understand ‘I could see light with my eyes closed holding you in my arms but if you leave my hands all I could see is dark’.  She didn’t utter a word nor did she turn to him.  He knows that her heart beats for him, but she has arrested herself in her own prison. He is still finding the key to unlock her or at least a hammer to break her prison gate.

He could feel her love for him in her palms that were on his cheeks.  How many times, he didn’t count but he kissed her on her palms as if he is in his death bed.  His heart repeated ‘please don't leave me’ for thousand times.  But he restricted himself to voice it out from his mouth in the fear of her reply.  If the hearts beats were like rhythmic music nobody could hear the noise but for him it was a thunderstorm; he cried chanting ‘please don't leave me’ holding her hands on his face to let her know that the only thing he wants is her.  Was the stone melted at least to its minimum! Was the prison undergone a tumor to make some crakes on the wall! God knows.

No response!  He looked at her eyes like a nomad seeing a mirage of oasis in the desert.  ‘Show some mercy’ his eyes pleaded.  The answer was invariable – no.  Whatever the answer is, to give it up is a sin; he continued to look at her eyes.  He does not want to listen to what she speaks but to look into her eyes, for her to heed his plead.

He knows love requires no reciprocal; love is love, be it given or taken just being in love should be felt as blessing. All those things were mere cognizant.  His brain knows that he could love her without her mercy but the heart is always an idiot.  Hearts never listen to brains for all the brains are collective mass garbage from the society but the hearts are roses that bloomed at the feet of almighty; it feathers only at the feet of the loved ones.

It was time for her to leave.  He could not stop the eyes from watering his fertile beard but he swallowed his anguish and held her by her arms closer to him.  Without uttering a word, he looked at her eyes to convey ‘you are leaving me in abyss’ she didn’t respond for he knows what her heart aches for.  He gathered up all his courage and said ‘Love you’.  She left.

The darkness was still, no sign of doors to be opened, and no sign of light.  His mobile phone’s back-light lighted the room.  With all hope he took the phone in his hands, cleared his eyes many times for his eyes were blurred with her images.  Looking at the phone he laughed. 

‘Low battery’


His mobile laughed at him and the back light went off.