Poetry

Unrelenting

Perhaps the words I want to say,
Will never leave me in a way
As dust and fog cloud my world
You stand there standing, underestimating

A broken mess of a soul
Is what I’ve become
A foul soul livid with rage n sorrow
A fragile self with no yearn for tomorrow

For the cliched life in me
You were the world to me
Dreams that won’t be fulfilled
But grow inside, waiting, mocking, baiting

Perhaps the answers I seek,
Will never lend themselves to me
As rain and lightning breaks my self,
You stand there, not understanding

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A pleasure for the soul
Now breaks inch by inch
A pickaxe slowly cutting astray
Of self that I had hidden away

Hatred n sorrow is all I feel,
As an embodiment of lies fester and grow
Why have I not realized it yet
That perhaps I am that,
That perhaps I am sorrow.

What is it that takes to connect,
To another in ways that one can’t comprehend
Why is it that words are too less
To describe what my self had felt

I wish for nothing but the desires I have
It’s perhaps selfish but i know
And I stand here, still standing
As you walk away, leaving.

As I stare,
As I desire.
As I watch my dreams with leer.
As I still stand here, unrelenting.

Continue reading “Unrelenting”

Erratic Scribbles

Determination.

He was a fundamentally broken person. Nothing seemed to faze him. Not the darkness the world had or the passing beauty it seemed to posses.

He seemed like a tree, still and flowing with the wind. But yet, unlike a tree, he seemed to not embrace what was around him. He didn’t even reject it. He just stood still, right there, within all the chaos that surrounded him, unfazed and undeterred, continuing his existence like a symbol of an empty canvas.

As his shell stood there, his soul un-captivated, drifted asunder around him with the wind. With songs, wild emotions, darkness and light, it mixed in the air around him, creating an aura of awe that never really quite fell on the perspective of those around him. A silent scream lit up the world that he lived in, the void around him engulf with black fire, killing everything his vision laid eyes upon. Yet, in the real world, no one noticed him.

He stopped leaning towards the wall and lifted himself up. “Proper posture” he said as he put the cigarette within his lips, a habit more than an addiction. Unconcerned with the consequences of what lay ahead, he moved on, a mountain dragging behind him. Amidst the crowd he walked, with flames rife around him, burning, eating whatever the world had to offer. Chains clanked as he put on his headphones, oblivious to him, he dragged his feet with the mountain that followed him. “Dig down”, he repeated to himself, as the music started and the lyrics were spoken.

 

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His goal, seemed alien. Not the will to survive, not greed, not ambition, not greatness. He sought change. The void in his eyes seemed to give him life, the same life it seemed to take away. The eerie semblance to the darkness he had inside of him gave way to a vision of the future. Not that of prediction, but that of the ability to change what he saw.

And so he dragged on forward, amidst the crowd, willingly within the chaos of the world, unmoved, unfaltered, and uninterested.

Erratic Scribbles

A rambling of storms. 

The rain drops kept coming and going and yet the storm never stopped. It was strange to see a storm of dust soon get replaced with one of water and then of cool breeze. A blink of an eye is all you needed to miss the transitions that came in waves. Life seemed to be a similar metaphor, a relentless storm ever changing its shape. Uncaring and unfair.

Some days seem all too familiar. A gentle touch of the cold breeze is all you need to reminiscent. The days when long walks didn’t seem as dreadful or when life still seemed like a child’s sandbox, with its intricate ability to create dreams and foster them.

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Source: pinterest.com/pin/556476097688645951/

It’s been a while since those days. But it still feels as if life started this morning when I woke up. As the clock tick tocks, life moves ahead slowly despite our unwillingness. The different faces crowd the streets in the morning only for them to fade away at night. From our perspective, it’s unnatural. And yet, we play along. Like a theater drama where everyone knows that they’re in it and yet, blissfully unaware infront of the audience, the people they care about. –  In theater,  blissful ignorance is a skill; in life however, the same can be called out to be a terrible flaw.

What’s the point of all this I wonder, if there even is one to begin with. Maybe if life was as clear about itself as it is with everything it presents us with, maybe it wouldn’t be as novel to be alive. Maybe the curiosity of the answer along with the inability to achieve it is what keeps us going. Maybe it’s a different reason each time. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe sometimes life, just like the rain storm with little water, is just meant to be enjoyed at leisure.

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Source: pinterest.com/pin/160440805445732769

Even if expectations never seem to get met, maybe it’s good to appreciate the breeze than it not being there in the first place. If storms should teach us anything in life, it’s that maybe in life, not everything is meant to be controlled. And every opportunity can be that of good or bad depending on what we decide to do with it, and how we see it.

Short Stories

The Hunger – Wolf #1

It was a time when dread has set in so deep, nothing else seemed worthwhile. It seemed like time had stopped and only brick walls all around, stalling any advance. A hunger that had died long ago, had resurfaced, just when all hope for the future he wished for had died.

It was a hunger of desperation, just to stick around and beat the world at it’s own game. The wolf had already lost what he desired most; but that didn’t mean he would give up without a fight. For the wolf, the battle raged as long as one tried, taking time was of no shame but giving up meant he would just prove his naysayers right. Fighting till the last breath, for the sake of changing fate one last time, with all his strength.

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And so the cage broke, the wolf smelt blood and ran after it. The brick walls long distant in sight but not in memory, the wolf ran faster with each milestone he crossed. Freedom was at stake, from the dread that captured him and caged his senses. Memories made the wolf run, the scars ran deep and the wolf ran, knowing full well that complacency is what would eventually kill him.

The rain battered the earth like drum beats, playing along an aggressive rhythm. The lightning just made the weather feel a little more authentic. A harsh reality faced the wolf in it’s face; for he never saw the world outside the cage. He did think about the life beyond the brick walls that barred his advance and he honed his skills as much he could. A life which he needed to face and fight for. However, his dream broken quickly by what he thought was fiction. It seemed fate had different things in mind for the young predator, now out for blood.

The wolf however, didn’t dissuade. The cage was his ultimate bane; the dread upon his being keeping him down, – that terrified the wolf more than that of not being able to achieve his dreams. The weather beat him down but he didn’t kneel even once. With the force of battering rams, he went to quench his thirst for blood, drenched and with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he ran. ~