I’ve killed my conscience decades ago;
What’s left is just an impostor!
When I sit on my grand throne
Cozy above the corpses of trees and more,
Fauna I ignore
Their cries, their innocence, their rights
I hear no more.
I realize, that I’ve killed my conscience decades ago;
What’s left is just an impostor…
Romance blossomed with spring!
A spring that we never wanted to end.
As the bees danced by the flowers
So did we, intoxicated in youth.
Her supple skin and my rough beard
Extremes complementing in all good ways.
My strong arms embracing her from behind
As her laughs sailed along the breeze
Filling up the Garden Of Eve.
Lust and love entwined in a helix,
As we prayed to live this moment for eternity’s end
Before our skin wrinkled and rumpled
Before our bones came to dust
We prayed that we stayed young, forever…
With half closed eyes, he drowned himself in thoughts
Of places he got stuck at
And spaces that yelled loneliness.
The thoughts always brought him back to the same place
No matter where his fantasies went.
He just wanted approval from one place
The person he once valued most
The one, whom, he never thinks of
Because of the intimidation his love caused.
His wild and fierce love
That, which caused only hurt
A toxic love with tender inside
A feeble weak heart that roared loud
Louder than a lion’s angry growl
Resonating with the empty cries of his heart
A raaaawwwrrrr roar… That can only be felt not heard.
A heart that needed love from someone else
Before his cigarettes killed him
Before his existence cracked, tore and blew apart…
How he wished to be an ignorant dumb suck
The one who could stay aloof from all these feelings.
His insides burnt like acid
With all the absinthe drunk in an attempt to cool his heart
The laughs that fermented over eons of severance
Now still stung like cold crystals on a winter night.
As his eyes rained, a sick memory looked down through the photograph
With dead eyes and frozen smiles.
As the night ended, he thought, “Now,
What shall I do, with all these thoughts?!”
My heart is a mess
I’m afraid of confronting myself
What a day, what a night!
A mad chase after rainbow and spring.
Will I ever catch-up?
I am sick-tired of holding on to these lonely nights
What I need is a hand to hold
What I have are these shackles and cold
How can I let go?
When these are all that I have got…
Time. Tense. What is it? I always felt that it was definite. A record of all events. But, thinking about it is giving rise to lots of questions. Questions which doesn’t seem to have any particular, satisfactory, logical and scientific answer. When did it begin? When will it end? Will it really end? Did it ever begin?
I would like to quote some instances of time being a mere experience. I say it experience because it seems more to be relative and subjective to a particular being. When you snooze your morning alarm only to be woken after half an hour which ‘felt’ like a minute and when you happen to attend a boring 20minute lecture which ‘felt’ like forever, isn’t that an experience which is purely personal and subjective?!
Different beings come with different lifespans. I’d like to compare human and dog years here. Let’s say humans live for 100 years and dogs for 10. So, let us presume a human year is equivalent to ten dog years. So, what a human experiences in 10years, dogs do that in a year. Maybe that’s why dogs grow so fast physically. Maybe that’s why, when you see your dog after a day, a dog gets more excited than you, because, in its experience, even more time has passed than in your experience.
So, if there is some bigger consciousness which presides/guides over the concept of time, I would like to say that it considers time as immaterial and only a law that universe has to follow, even if, on a very very broader note, doesn’t make a sense. Perhaps, being timeless is senseless which by itself is the true sense. An essence of existence. Maybe, a proof that you happened to be mortal.
So, what is time? What is forever? Mere words? Do they amount to anything??
If you read till the end, do share your thoughts in the comments:))
Happy New Year!!🎊 🎆
“After I die
Don’t mourn like a bitten kitten
Instead, rejoice my liberation
From this earthy body and rusty world
Never regret about how you failed to cherish me
If at all you remember, sing to my tunes and praise my beauty
Tell my tale to your young. Tell them what a misfit I was for this ghoulish system…”
A small tribute to the evergreen beauty, Norma Jean Baker aka The Marilyn Monroe ❤️
Despair. Greed. Rue. Loneliness. Remorse. These were some of the few thoughts in the hollow head of Jack. It seemed like he’s been roaming for a long time now, not knowing where to go. Day after day, night after night, he would simply walk and walk and walk. His thin jacketed figure with a large head is led by a dim light that showed him the path he followed.
In the land of Canada, somewhere in British Columbia around Vernon, a young Harsha strolled astray after he lost his way. He and his party came for a trek but his nosey bum made him a lost cat in a foreign land. When the day hit twilight, he found himself in the middle of nowhere after some futile attempts to find his mates. It began to get colder as the light faded. As he walked further, he saw what looked like a small farm with bright globes and a man-like figure, working there. As he neared and the image became clear, he saw a guy covered in earth and cloth. Hesitant but in need of help he approached the farmer who was busy watering his pumpkins, big and red ones.
Jack noticed a shy figure without turning his head and crowed, ‘You are not a Vernonite, are you?’ in a rough, mysterious voice. ‘An unfamiliar face, in a familiar land,’ he added.
Gasping into his senses, ‘No sir! I’m from a faraway land. I came here with some friends, but I lost my way. Can you please tell me where I am, and how I can find my way back?’ he muttered.
‘You seem like another Jack, but are you stingy?’ he questioned Harsha.
‘I don’t know what that means, sir,’ he answered with a feeling that he was wasting his time with an old man.
‘You sure don’t! You are not from around here,’ Jack rasped. ‘Why don’t you come to my cabin and take a little break? I have some pumpkin pie,’ he added.
As they entered the cabin, Harsha noticed a scythe in a corner and a frail horse hooked to the fence. It’s an old place with minimal furniture, dim lighting and a few unfinished Jack-o’-lanterns. A musty odour hovered all over the cabin like that of a coffin.
‘So kid! How did you find yourself alone in this empty land?’ asked Jack as he cut the pie to serve him.
‘If it weren’t for my dead phone, I wouldn’t have been so lonely. Facebook is always spying on us, don’t you think?’ chuckled Harsha.
‘I don’t understand the current trends, but I’m sure that isn’t a good thing,’ reckoned Jack, with a dead look behind his veil as he offered the pie to him.
‘No, it isn’t sir!’ replied a confused Harsha.
As darkness spread across the skies, the cabin seemed a little more bright. ‘The pie is delicious. We don’t have these kind of recipes back home,’ said Harsha.
Where are you from? You don’t seem to know much about our place,’ said Jack.
‘I am from the land of spice, India,’ said Jack, finishing his pie.
‘Oh, India!’ exclaimed Jack as if he was ambushed by memories. ‘I’ve been to Bhangarh Fort in Rajasthan. Spent a good amount of nights under those stars. The air there always seems to be singing a lullaby,’ roared Jack as he retrieved his thoughts from a long lost time.
‘Are you aware that it is haunted?’ questioned a puzzled Harsha.
‘Oh, is it? It seemed like a grand yet cosy place to me,’ said Jack coming back to his senses. ‘Nothing ever bothered me much. I’ve always lived life as I seemed fit. Maybe that’s why I’ve been a loner amidst a hundred cries. Looking back, I think it was all a mistake. My greed and deception yielded nothing but eternal misery. Well sometimes, surviving is not enough; you need to live,’ groaned Jack as he carved out a Jack-o’-lantern with amazing agility and precision.
‘Don’t be too harsh on yourself sir. I’m sure life works your way,’ said Harsha in an attempt to comfort his unknown blues.
‘You are a good kid, son,’ said Jack as he handed out the lantern. ‘Always be on an honest path,’ he added as he placed burning coals into the lantern. ‘Go straight and follow the path shown by this lantern. You’ll find back your company,’ he said and patted over his shoulder.
Thanking for his courtesy Harsha stepped out of the cabin, a little aghast by his instructions. He walked past for a few minutes and soon enough he came into sight with a search party shouting his name. He kept the lantern on the ground and ran towards them in delight.
Everyone questioned where he had been all this while and expressed how worried they were. Harsha narrated his tale and looked back to show them the lantern and the cabin near the farm. He saw them turning to dust into eerie silence as the lingering taste of the pie began to fade. In a state of shock, he stammered trying to phrase his thoughts.
Strangely, it started to snow in October. As they walked towards the camp, he peeked back and let out a horrified gasp. At a distance, he saw Jack swinging his scythe on his horse racing away and his face now unveiled. In place of his head, he had a pumpkin with glowing ember, oozing out smoke which gazed back at him before vanishing out of his sight…