Fear. Faith. Choice.

 I am standing on one side of the road, staring at a young woman, who is standing on the other end. My stare was frequently interrupted by the heavy traffic separating us. So all I could get was fleeting glimpses in the tiny intervals that office hour traffic could afford.  She looked distracted, lost in another world. Yet halfway lost, focused enough to wait for the right time to cross the road. I kept wondering about her thoughts, trying to imagine the world she was lost in. It was like grasping tiny pieces of a torn letter and making an effort to glue them up again.  That was the connection we shared for some moments. Unaware of each other’s thoughts yet aware of each other’s stares, each of us waiting for the right time to cross the road.  Next moment, I find her lying on the roadside bleeding. What just happened? I try to rewind back the time in my head, making every effort to slow down the previous moments to comprehend how she ended up there dying. I c...

I am looking through a tainted window Trying to see things as they are Trying to see myself as I am. The cook keeps talking of her life at home “A drunk husband is my gift from life A mark of that gift colours my scars  Day and night, I am reminded of life” The chauffeur keeps talking of his wishes and wants What ifs and what if nots “Wish I was rich, then the world could be mine I could drive the world, the way I want Crash down anyone who comes my way  Help the poor, help the needy  Stain my hands with the blood of the greedy” The literates keep talking of politics and philosophy  “This is right and that is wrong He is cunning and he is a fool  We know the best, vote for the best  We know what’s good for the world, yet we know not the world” The prisoner keeps talking of guilt and innocence “The police was bought, I say  Money brought me here  Behind bars, without sunlight  Yet I feel ...

I killed a man once. It felt good after a while of performing this act. A certain sense of relief, a certain kind of strange unknown satisfaction grasped me by my throat.  I used to be scared of blood. The sight of even a small amount would make me faint. There are very few things in the world that I hate, fear appears to rank topmost in that list. The world otherwise is very beautiful for me, nature is fascinating and I keep wondering at this perfect geometry of existence. I never disliked any particular person, I am very understanding by nature. I respect perspectives and I never held a grudge on any human being or any element. Never have I had any complains about life. A contented, calm state of mind is something I usually possessed, most of the time. However, such times did not last longer. A sense of fear would snatch away this identity of mine and throw me to a world where I would not recognise myself.  Hemophobia wasn’t the only disturbing factor in my lif...

'One-eyed Movement' You glared at my soul, Piercing my heart with arrows from your hellhole; Burning my blood with flames of Themis, Burying my body in the ashes of her phoenix; Drowning me in rhymes and rhythms of ecstasy, Amidst your ebb and flow of endless melancholy; Sketching me again with your strokes of resurrection, Provoking me with your voices of insurrection, While warping me to your feet for renunciation.  You glared at my soul, Demanding my memories that you stole; Exposing me to my own vanity, Splintering my sanity; Whispering me to carry on, While singing of the white swan. “Why?”, I asked, yet all along in your silence I knew, For only in faith you grew; For only in trust could you exist,  And charge me to persist; So all along you drank the potion of my obedience, While consuming my resistance; For what?; For me to keep encircling you, For me to see through, And open my heart to your shine, Only for...

Rustic is the feeling  Wanderer is the mind  East or west, I don't know  Yet here I am  Lost and found.  Fire is burning out  While the snow is melting  Leaves are falling  Yet here I am Frozen in time. Words, words, words  Vibrations and echoes  Multitudes of colours and forms  Yet here I am  Deaf and blind.  Burden of blood  Duty of spirit  Necessity beyond all  Yet here I am  Inert and still.  Rusted was iron and d ecayed was the world, The egg and the snake made love together Till birth and death took form. Chaos gazed as his own tears, Reflected were glimpses of Order. It was then that my name was called thrice, Yet here I am, with voices in your dreams and  Silent in your breath.

“Why did he run away from his responsibilities?”, asked my uncle. My father when questioned, replied, “Because it is his nature. That is just the way he is. An escapist.” I was sitting in my study room when I over-heard this conversation.  I was looking out of my window, staring blankly at a flower blossoming on a nearby plant. Suddenly, my father’s words echoed in my mind and for some unknown reason, the reason given by him seemed to make some absolute sense. One’s actions and consequences of actions seemed to have a principle cause, which leads to the observed nature of the person. Perception, cognition, behaviours, actions are simply consequences of this principle cause. These thoughts led me to some other realm of thoughts.  If one observes a blossoming flower carefully, one may notice that the space-time occupied by the innermost petal is shared by the space-time of the whole flower. It is the cause-effect relation that is significant in such a mutual rela...

I was sitting near the river bank. I was staring at the river. Changing waters. Drops of water. The river was going somewhere. I wasn’t sure where. Somewhere it meets the ocean. What’s the difference between the river and the ocean? The form? The structure? But I must know which one is the river and which one is an ocean. I was sitting near the bank, with a journal and a fountain pen.  I think one writes when one is torn between two or more worlds. The bleeding heart manifests itself in words and punctuations. Lost and disordered with this tearing apart, I took my pen to pen down my thoughts on one of the spare pages of my journal. Lost and disordered, I wasn’t sure if I was writing with my pen or my pen was writing with me. Torn apart, one does not recognise oneself. Shredded into pieces, the surviving parts are thrown apart, away from each other. In this manner, I did not know what I was writing, I did not know if I was writing at all, I did not know if it was me th...

Pieces! Pieces! Broken pieces! ‘Who broke the mirror?’ ‘I gave it one blow with my mind and it fell! Veni Vidi Vici!’ Man spoke in the deep and daunting voice of ego! Brave man, brave indeed!  Multitudes rushed to grab their pieces Largest piece snatched by the businessman  ‘Mine I can break into many more pieces and sell them More pieces! More money! I am to become rich! What a blessing this is!’ He thought as gold and treasures glittered in his shallow eyes. Sharpest piece grabbed by the politician ‘Mine is sharper than the blade! I can rule over all nations! I am to become the ruler of all! The edges of my piece will cut off all who do not obey me!’ He thought as his heart applauded to his thoughts of power. Scholars ran for the best reflecting one One said to the other, ‘Mine shows the truth! Mine shows reality! Mine shows knowledge! Only my piece exists!’ Scientists picked many and broke them further, Further and further till they...

“Are you religious?” she asked. I answered, “Depends on what you call religion. For me, my religion is my relation to the essence of every element in this universe.” She replied, “How do you worship then? Tell me about your God.” I said, “Let me tell you a story. It was a wintry night in the foothills of the Himalayas. A dark, dense, forested region. For some unknown reason, I preferred the foothills and the valleys to small towns on higher altitudes. The place belonged to a kingdom of innumerable variety of uncountable forest species. A journey amidst the forest would mean being witness to the magical phenomenon of dark roads being lighted up by millions and billions of fireflies. A kind of welcome, any stranger would be grateful to experience. My only shelter was a tent with a transparent rooftop, located right beside the river and amidst some massive rocks. Since it was off-season for tourism to these places, I had limited company. To be more precise, limited in quantity but un...

In a calm voice, he said, “Buy a leather journal and a calligraphy pen with changeable tips. You don’t have to spend much. At my place, it costs 15-20$. The idea is that you want the aesthetic of what you’re doing to match the importance of what you’re doing, which is very important since it reflects your personal attempt for a better understanding.” Confused by the introduction of calligraphy pens in the discussion, I replied, “Why calligraphy pens?” He smiled and answered, “I did not tell you to learn calligraphy. The goal is to never spill the ink and get none of it on your hands. Eventually, you will also observe your own words and know what I mean by coherent expression.” 

I looked at the moon, but only at her hidden face I screamed, “There is no moon!” Everyone heard. Everyone came. Mankind was dancing, Dancing to his own tune; Mankind was fighting, Fighting over his own issues; I stared at mankind, but only at his dark side; I screamed, “They are so cruel! Destroy them!” Everyone heard. Everyone came. A manipulating civilization, a masked advancement, Factories of social construction, Walls of morals, ethics, values, Cries of freedom but desires of enslavement; I asked you, “Why don’t you think you are free?” You answered, “I won’t blame them. I am my own slave” I screamed, “There is no free will” Everyone heard. Everyone came. Fear, faith and choice, The three gods of this new world, A religion believed by all; obeyed by all; worshipped by all; The gods ruined their creation The gods became their obsession I asked, “Do you believe in God” You answered, “No. He couldn’t have let this happen to us...