Stereotype: Breaking the Barriers.

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I’m not stereotypical, I choose what I want to be.
You won’t see me always in high heels, deep
shade of lipstick, or with the perfect shape of
eyebrows. I won’t grow my hair like Rapunzel,
rather I would crop it short. I won’t part my hair
in the middle and paint it with someone’s love, I
would rather keep it deep inside my heart, carry
it along with me with passion. My respect won’t
be in my hands or in my lips, it would rather
be in my eyes. Yes, I’m a chameleon, I change
with the aura; it’s always the nature’s call and it has
got nothing to do with your theories. Theories
are not meant to be applied everywhere, I’m
a relative being. There is nothing good or bad,
everything lies in how you perceive it. Eventually
I’m me, the self and the being.

~Lilac

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The Psychopath

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Phase 1:
I heard the sound of the waves crawling too fast,
along with the gasping wind;
Before the shore could be set free,
I saw him, drowning.
And before I could voice for him, the storm clasped my lips;
There was an inaudible screaming,
I cried tears out of his mystic smile;
With the flow of time, I saw the ocean turning blue-blood;
The storm laid me down on the shore, and before I could touch the blue – blood, I was pricked by the raindrops;
I knew that they too were crying.

Phase 2:
I got caught in the hailstorm of emotion, pity and sympathy dragged me down.
I was tied up by regret, and within minute I saw desire walking away, heading towards the scene of gluttony.
And that was the very moment when I saw him back again, shapeless, and before I could enslave myself from the thoughts, my mind engraved his name in my veins through blood.

~ lilac

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Untitled

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Our lives are too much with us.
All the clicks, gossips and shares,
Are not happy boons but sad layers;
A sea of troubles, little there was
Any good that made hearts move.
O! Life, here, such a pitiful waste.
To luxury, we unapologetically haste.
Out of tune, we are empty of love.
As fruits in a tree, soon dying.
Void of any taste or smell.
Or, like waters in a dried up well.
Foul and dirty, a pure waste lying.
A generation of species running rife.
To suck everything good of this life.

~ Longjam Gaurav

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The Dreadful Voyage

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A fine sunny day,
Clouds racing,
Birds chirping,
Nature’s beauty, undeniable.

Her motherhood was resplendent,
Wandering around with the little one inside her belly;
The little bud wondered how majestic the world would be,
Dreaming of being with Mama soon,
That’s the best it could do.

She nurtured him, awaited for the time to come,
Inhaled life and bliss, with the other around;
Never did she dreamt of such an atrocious day,
Tearing into pieces the very existence of life.

Hungry she was, looking for food to savor,
The superior being on the planet offered her food she couldn’t resist,
She didn’t comprehend the cruelty behind,
Like an innocent being, she redeemed her appetite.

She groaned in pain soon after,
The poison of cruelty spread inside her,
She tried hard to save the little one,
All went in vain.

A Murderous attack took place
Her motherhood was ravaged,
She moaned and cried in pain,
Slowly her existence faded away, leaving behind her carcass.

The unborn clung to her soul,
As she took her last breath,
The voice inside her cried,
“Wish we were never born on Earth,
We could have been happy forever!”

~ redeemed_soul

(This poem is based on a ‘pregnant elephant’ who suffered a torturous death after pranksters fed her a pineapple packed full of lit explosive firecrackers.)

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A TRIBUTE TO ‘JOJO RABBIT’

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Dear Jojo Betzlar,

                                    When I first saw you, I saw an innocent kid who was ready to take a bullet right into his head under the subconscious friend’s guidance, called Hitler. When you hailed “Heil Hitler” and became the strong rabbit to hunt for life, sneaking from one territory to another, I knew there was an adventurous kid hiding inside you. The scars painted in your face didn’t make you look ugly; the scars made on your face after your first trial of bombing under the Nazi camp, might have changed your facial look, but it made you different from the others (Nazi). You were different from the rest, and your Mama knew it well.

The moment you met your Jewish friend, I believe there was an explosion inside you, burning your body and the mind, but there came a time when she melted your heart with the butterflies inside your belly, and you turned more human than the rest. You loved Inga, your sister, and that Jewish girl taking shelter under your roof was not less than her; you made a friendly ally with her and that’s how you became free from being enslaved by those unwanted and brutal thoughts.

You were ten, you were not meant to be crawling into the dirt of politics or to attach the pride to your body of being a German by wearing that swastika stitched to your attire. Mama said you “You’re growing up too fast. A ten-year old shouldn’t be celebrating war and talking politics. You should be climbing trees, and then falling out of those trees”, and she was right; that’s how she showed you a natural and a better way to lead your life. You were the most brave and innocent kid in my eyes, brave enough to write forged love letters for the Jewish girl under the name of Nathan. Even though you forged it,I had no rage on your behaviour because I knew you loved her and your actions were valid to keep her happy.

Mama was hanged to death because she was against the war, against the brutality of the humans, all she wanted was peace. When you saw her, held her legs and cried, your tears carried a story; there was a history to be told to the next generation. You went back to your home with a rage inside you, a rage of killing your friendly ally, but how could that little innocent and pure soul take the courage to paint his hands with blood. The war was on, both of you watched the terror of the war, and when it ended a beauty was born, beauty to freedom for the once bondage soul.

You were a way to freedom for those bruised and enslaved Jewish people, running away from death to inhale life. Your friendly Jewish friend got the freedom to revive her lively moments once again, to dance to the rhythm of peace after the horrific experience she had, and you took the courage to gift her that precious moment.You are far more impeccable and pure than I actually thought.

 I hail your name “Hail Jojo Betzlar! The world was in need of you.”

~ lilac

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The Dream

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I heard the sound of the waves, crawling too fast along with the gasping wind. Before the shore could be set free from the gripped claws of the waves, I saw him drowning. I had a glance of the Goddess swallowing him up and before I could reach out for help, my lips tasted his name for the one last time.

~ lilac

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R.I.P George Floyd.

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“I can’t breathe…
Please, the knee on my neck…
Mama_ Mama_”

The world perceived the man’s death, one who begged for his life, till he could taste his mama’s name for the one last time. The demon who savoured his life used all his might to conquer his conscious/unconscious desire, desire for death. Now someone (might be the devil or God, the creator himself) laughs in the face of Humanity, thinking how inhuman humans can be; ironical it seems. There’s a raging fire in Heaven just like it is in Hell; there’s a cold war going on for the justice, justice for the victim, and before death could voluntarily knock at the man’s door, life gave up in the hands of the demon.

PS: Death be not proud, for now we chose whom to kill and when; you’re being enslaved.

~ lilac

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Epistolary #002

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Dear Jane,

Under the moonlit sky where the stars shimmer, I dream of us weaving a garland, a garland of unplucked desires. Passionately, my heart waits on the other side of the river only to feel the shadow of your existence. I can be the shore and you can be the waves coming to and fro; I’ll invariably wait for your touch though you’ve to recede with every movement of yours, leaving an impeccable imprint. Just like the Nightingale, I’ll sing for you our songs of rapture and attain the heights of sublimity. I await here to feel your presence once again.

Love, Lilac🍁

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Hell is The Second Heaven!

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She crawls around her dilapidated thoughts, unravished by time, people and places. The scars painted on her body, visible, are appealing and known; what lies beneath the skin of scars is unseen and untouched. There lies a hunger inside her to peel off the skin like the avocado and show the world the seed of unbearable agony and subjugation. The carnal desire for ripping off Adam’s rib to alter her own identity lurks in her head. Taking the serpent as her companion, she wills to vanquish the hell of clichés thoughts; this time the demon shall nurture her vengeance for the redemption of her body and her mind, and there’s a conscious voice in her head, voicing “Hell is The Second Heaven!”

~ lilac

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The Visitor

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I sit by the closed window, all alone by myself and look through it; the glass window pane acts as a barrier between me and the outside world. I think I’ve been caged for years inside these four walls, I know not since when; I know every pattern of the cemented bricks, as if someone’s scars got painted on it. It’s not unchallenging for me to remember dates, days or events; this is what the man in the white attire says to my caretaker. There’s a numbness flowing all over my body, from head to toe; I barely speak, all I do is gaze through the window, perceive the outside world with my naked eyes. Every single day I’ve got a visitor; the visitor rushes hurriedly, gushes the water from the stream, leaving a whirlpool of death; blows away the dead leaves from the cemetery, tearing apart the heart of the lonely moors into two and knocks at my window whining in pain and says, “Let me in!”. I wonder who the visitor is, whether it’s the lonely soul of Catherine or Heathcliff!

~ lilac

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Epistolary #001

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Dear Jane,

Thou, my love, as days pass by and winter shreds its hands over the whole town, I feel a void clinging to my head and my heart. I’ve fed my mind with the thought that, ‘If Winter’s here, can Summer be far behind?’ I repeatedly keep telling this little blue bird singing in my heart that one fine day you’ll be closer to me, to lend your ears to listen to the symphony and perceive how I am enamored of you.

Love, Lilac 🍁

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The Fear

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Phase 1: Her fear of loosing him will always remain alike as it was.

Phase 2: It was then when he loved like no one else could, but she never noticed.

Phase 3: Now she loves him like no one else can, but he just knows that he has lost that love in him for her.

Phase 4: Eventually they do stay together, but the lust won between them.

MapleLeaves©

The Pandemic: Covid-19

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Life was in a movement; it was indeed a roller coaster ride for some or may be for all; amidst the happy and the bleak days the whole human race tried to survive. Everyone, in one way or the other was prepared for their future, physically, be it mercenary or with the skills of survival of the fittest, but may be they were not prepared for it mentally. Thinking of death, one kept their age in count; though unwanted invasion of death haunted them, but they tried to hide it beneath their philosophical or scientific thoughts. There was a time when people partially had the potential to defeat death, but now it’s a big damn question to be answered by the humans to their own ‘self’.

The news of millions of deaths, now, flies like the swarm of bees all over the world, humming the cacophony of unbearable pain and the scornful echoes of the millions; every single day dead bodies get dumped without any prayer or without the last touch of their families; their bodies lay close to each other, yet beyond one’s reach. The world once was in silence, it had its own way of resting in peace amidst all the chaos created by the human race, but now it’s no more alike; the silence no more prevails. People are scared of the noises, the screeching sound of the humans in pain; they know nothing about death, but they know that it’s approaching to gulp them down. This time death has scheduled no time, no space, no gender, no age, no religion, but a simple strategy to kill through an undesired and unwelcomed virus.

Social distancing has taken the place of humanity; the changes are crucial. People fear to move, with every single step that they take outside, into the world, they feel like carrying a heavy weight on their back; they carry fear in their head and in their heart. Everyone wants to survive now, nobody welcomes this uncertain death; the philosophical or scientific thoughts no more can calm down their inner self that struggles between ‘Life’ and ‘Death’. Previously, life was all about being social, it was all about having an amiable communication with one another, but now it’s all about the distance; it’s all about standing six feet apart, avoiding communication as far as one can.

The hunger to survive is still on, with movement or without movement. Privileged and fortunate are those who can have their meals sitting together with their family, the one who are still able to fulfill the bag of their stomach with the amount of food that they need to survive. But how to explain the hunger of those who still sleeps with their empty belly? How to judge the agony of a mother who pulls her child close to her and cries out in hunger, in a need? How to critique the sorrow of a father who is now a jobless and a helpless person for the whole family? Now, social distancing is the only leftover humanity.

There is a constant battle between ‘the hunger to survive’ and ‘one’s willingness to give away to death’. Lockdown has taken the place of Imprisonment; how does it feel to be a prisoner, not behind the bars but inside one’s own home? Every single day seems to be like the ongoing preparation for a war, a war through which the human race needs to survive; the comrades are still fighting to save the troupe, keeping their own life in stake. The world is different now; now it’s a terrible beauty. Yet, there still lies a hope to which everyone clings to; one still dreams of living a life without being imprisoned and to sit in a room full of people to enjoy the favourite view, to feel at home. Every passing second has turned into a history, a history that will be written down in pages.

The battlefield is same for all and the war is still on;

~ lilac

A Long Lost Voice

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It was a summer evening,
Heard the melodious symphony,
Flipped the phone to see an unknown calling,
Lend the ears to that voice after long years, so soothing.
That long lost voice,
Once adored being kids,
Could be recognized with the closed eyelids.
The phrases of words being said,
Was still alike, unchanged!
Couldn’t imagine the miracle,
Never fancied of listening to that lost voice after so long.
Flashback of childhood memories stuck the mind,
Ah! How wonderful and joyous were those times;
Couldn’t wait to see the corporeal body from close,
Not known, how gently it might have bloomed.
A longing haunted the body and the soul,
To perceive that unseen smile, to listen to that unheard voice,
To rejoice the old days of togetherness,
The one that never lost its essence.
I know the worthiness of receiving it back again,
Don’t want to lose it anymore,
The heart dares to bargain.
I hope the other side feels it too, synonymously;
The body and the soul dances to the rhythm
Of the heartbeats, happily.
Destiny is beautiful when faith shines bright,
Now the soul feels completed, with the other by the side.

~ redeemed_soul

The Hidden Words

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She believes that the world is a beautiful painting, painted with the master strokes; an enticing visage to stare at; it is the most precious route to cherish life, travelling through the inside and the outside. She believes in the sublime imagination she has, she claims it to be exquisite and precious. She believes that life is a mystery, a mystery to be solved; it’s a treasure to be preserved, until death knocks at the door to carry away its identity.

She remembers, one fine sunny day, her father took her to the field and made her see how delicately a seed is being sown, how much dedication, devotion and patience is needed to nurture life. And when she came back home with him, he made her see the love of a mother towards her family; she was busy chopping vegetables and smiled back to them as soon as her eyes perceived those beautiful souls who mattered to her a lot. In that moment she felt like it was too much to take in, but she was happy knowing much about life from them.

She is sitting in the arm chair, taking the portrait in her hand and staring at the photograph where beautiful memories seem to linger. The waves of memories take her back to those days when she and her parents went to the beach, the one during her summer holiday. She was happy watching the waves coming back and forth to the shore; and every time it came, it left the slightest of its imprint. They both held her hands and made her perceive how life can be comprehended as an ocean, where the ebbs and flows are like the happiness and the sadness coming to the shore. They made her understand that every time when happiness or sadness knocks at the door, it leaves an imprint too. But then it depends on how she grapples with it; it depends on how she strikes out the sad imprints by replacing them with the waves of the happiest moments; it also matters how she rejoices her life, enjoying the best view, sitting by the shore.

She is gulped down by a melancholic incident which took place in her life , and the dreadful emotions doesn’t allow her to sleep peacefully .She has lost the most valuable person from her life; her parents died in a road accident when she was away from home for her further studies. To tread on the path of life without them was not an easy task for her, and it still isn’t. Most of her time, she spends in isolation; her only companions are the memories which keeps on lingering inside the house and in the places where they have been. Every weekend she goes to the beach and sits by the shore all by herself and reminisces those precious moments spent with them. At times, her body becomes heavy with the load of the pain she carries of not having them around; her heart is being ripped off bit by bit and deep down the void kills her.

As she keeps a faith in her beautiful imagination, in her painted dream, she tries to erase the imprint of sadness from her shore with the waves of happiness. She reminds herself about her father’s words of nurturing life in a better way, so that it can bear the best for her in the future. She reminds herself of the selfless love of her mother, and then she realizes the alarming need of loving her ‘self’, to build a new home inside her mind and her heart for people to reside. She holds on to her dream of being a dreamer, to paint the world with her imagination and through her words.

She is ready to face failure, to destroy her first piece of painting or to mess up with the first writing that she pours down from her pen. She believes that with every destruction and failure, a beauty will be born, priceless and of worth. All through her life she kept her imagination hidden behind the walls of fear, but now she seeks to breakthrough, allowing the imagination to walk through the door of her mind and wander about, with her words being laid on pages, and the pen being her mighty warrior.

Now, she awaits for her masterpiece;

~ lilac

If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

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The fallen leaves danced to the rhythm of the wind,
The heart recollected some memories to redeem;
An unsung melody started playing its game,
The silent blue bird inside the heart was all in flame.
A mysterious voice whispered:
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Time, with all its might created the ebb and flow,
The fireflies of love made the shore of the heart glow;
The desolate soul found a saviour,
To sail the boat of love in the soul’s favour.
A mysterious voice wailed:
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

The spring of love was on its way,
The wretched and pinching agony was at bay;
The wailing heart comprehended the beauty of life,
In the ocean of love it took a deep dive.
A mysterious voice claimed:
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Romeo and Juliet were they not,
Not a tale from Shakespeare’s Romanticism;
Not poured down from Byron’s pen,
Yet nothing could withstand it to defame.
A mysterious voice echoed:
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

The cold lips trembled and smiled,
The essence of love been felt for the very first time;
The shore of the heart echoed voices of love,
With saviour nothing seemed to be tough.
The mysterious voice sang the symphony of love:
If winter comes, can spring be far behind.

~ lilac

A Cursed World

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Not so far in the near future, a boy named Arjun roams around in a deserted land with no one by his side, searching for a droplet of water in the barren land which was once a grassland filled with nature’s blessings. With his every single step he gets weaker and weaker, marching towards his own death. Resting near a hill, he has a glimpse of the past beauty of the world, a world where peace and happiness resided with no cost to fulfill. He still remembers his first breath in this world, being awake from a long nap from his mother’s womb; wonders about the school going days when he had to wear a mask due to the increase in pollution from the factories; the sky was concealed with the emission of the gases, but the grassland, the water, and the people still existed. Albeit, the people survived, but there was nothing much left to discuss about.

Back then he felt like a lone survivor to a zombie apocalypse; though it was not a zombie apocalypse but an increase in ‘Global Warming’. Every iceberg melted and formed a tsunami which gulped down everything on its way, ravaging the beauty. The people knew that if they don’t get hold of the situation then one day they would have to face something worse and terrible, but they acted like dumb puppets. The feeling inside cannot be expressed, but in those times the motivation for controlling the pollution was a temporary thing; it was just for a moment. As soon as the motivation ceased to be in existence, the mind got deflected and people got busy in their daily labour. No one was perturbed about the ‘Earth’, the one who was in pain, who had given so much to the human race; they kept on exploiting the mother earth to their best. The number of people who deserved the pain
were enjoying their lives, but those who should not was suffering the most because of those elite exploiters. The worst part was not that they belonged to the upper hierarchy, but because they were least worried about the world that was losing its vitality to survive in. There was ‘depletion’, ‘deduction’, and ‘decreasing’ in every inch. The world was destructed; nonetheless the humans raced technically but those technologies could not withstand against the nature.

And the day came when the earth showed its temper to the human kind for the cause through which they made her suffer, by declining her health. The eye bursting storms struck the people and no one could withstand it; it swept away everything that came on its way. Be it human or animals, no one was bestowed with mercy. The next morning, the sun showed his rage upon them with the sharp heat that turned everything into a barren land, and dried up the streams and the rivers. Arjun was the only person who saved his body from the burning heat as he covered his body with a thick layer of cloth.

Now, Arjun prays on behalf of the whole world, not to the Almighty but to the mother earth; he perceived her temper once, filled with rage. The world has turned into a cursed place; the worst outcome is due to the negligence of the people towards the place where once one used to dwell in happiness. But now it is crowded with diseases and death. Eventually, the end has arrived; a revolution is to be faced. The earth will soon be covered with dark shadows of destruction lingering around; Arjun doesn’t know to what extent he will be able to survive, but he vows that he will pray till his last breathe, seeking for forgiveness on behalf of the whole human race.

Moral: Act before it’s too late.

~ parthapratim

The Night

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Walking down the lonely lane,
I traded loneliness for the past fond memories;
The gentle breeze held my hand,
And my betrayed soul danced to the symphony of my heartbeats.
I contemplated into the beauty of the night,
The serendipity held my corporeal body so tight;
I could listen to the wind whispering,
Trying to please my bruised mind effortlessly;
As I advanced with my thoughts,
I listened to those unheard voices, wailing deep inside.
While the whole city slept, my naked thoughts slowly crept,
Inhaling freedom and getting wings to fly;
I felt happiness clinging onto me,
Pulling me closer more towards the possibility,
Of turning my untamed thoughts into a sweetest dream.
The night was a mystery, a story untold;
An enigma never forgotten to be endured.

~ lilac

A Blooming Voice

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Mother, can you feel me?
I am right within you, wish you could see;
This is where I start growing with you,
In the womb of yours, gently as you do.
Now I am so tiny,
But gradually I’ll be more of me.

Mother, can you feel me?
I am growing big, for you to see.
Listen to my heartbeats,
Those are momentous, for you not to miss.
I know you feel a pain inside,
But once I’m born, you will have a smile so wide.

Mother, can you feel me?
I try to peep, so that I too can see;
It’s been so long, being inside,
All I can see you is in my dreams,
So gentle, so serene,
And I know that your lullaby shall caress me gently.

Mother, can you feel me?
I listen to every word you speak to me;
I can sense the warmth of your love,
And that bright smile when you touch me, partially.
I listen to your voice,
And feel the symphony of your heartbeats.

As of now, let me live in my dreams,
Albeit, I know you’ll be more beautiful than this;
Hold on for a little longer,
A phase of pain is going to unveil
A glorious moment of ‘togetherness’, of ‘love and life’
I vow mother, this time it’ll be for real.

~ redeemed_soul

Dupatta, A Woven Fabric

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Culture claims, “Carry your dupatta along with you.”
For it is your saviour,
Shield yourself from nemesis,
Bergh your worthiness.

You might be a gem, have a beauty undefined,
Yet, it’s not meant to be portrayed to please your own eyes;
Treasure it, leave it untouched like a withered pseudanthium.

Your identity lies:
In the spaces between the fabricated colors,
In the hidden spot of the embroidered phase;
Remember, you are always in a chase.

Wrap it around your neck,
Put on as a veil,
Flaunt the fabrics though it might fail,
Yet, be mindful, that plain, embroidered piece of cloth, bears your chastity to the world.

~ lilac

The Labyrinth of Life

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Life is a labyrinth and sometimes, it’s a mystery how we keep on falling down in a displeasing way, how every now and then we are being knocked down to the ground by some unsolicited situations. The moment we actually think of a rainbow, we’re covered down by the black clouds, hanging over our head ; the moment we think of a room full of chocolates, we’re gifted a basket full of sour grapes; but maybe that’s life, maybe that’s how we survive on this planet called Earth. Life might not seem to be like the bar of a chocolate, a cup of cappuccino coffee, or a bowery of flowers; some days it might just be the opposite. But that doesn’t mean that we should lose all our appetite and kill our taste buds for it; the hunger should always be there, be it for food, for life, for learning or for attaining wisdom; we’ve to get through against all odds.

Life is an amalgamation of the good and the evil, the godly and the demon; amidst all the gloominess we should keep on treading down the path of life searching for an illumination, battling against all the odds to seek for the ray, of hope and of survival. No matter how tyrannical the storm seems to be, the boat has to sail on; no matter how jarring the waves might be on the shore, we’ve to be firm like the rock, not easily bent or changed at all, holding on to our dreams and our high hopes. We are the master of our own ‘dreams’, of our own ‘self’, and no other human being can comprehend us better than we can justify our life on our own grounds. One’s life might not end like the fairy tale of ‘Cinderella’ or like ‘Anne’ from Green Gables, but there’s so much to learn from these stories; we learn more about life, more about surviving, more about hardships and most importantly about blooming to our best, in our own delicate way.

At times it might be depressing, frustrating, to tackle down with the outside world and then with the inner thoughts juggling inside the head. We might lose all our direction and feel homeless, but every time when these happens to us, we need to reach our own inner voice, look deep into the matter through our mental eyes and let go of things that kills our head and the heart. In order to bloom to our best, we need to nurture ourselves, give the utmost care that we need; we don’t have to give up so easily to other’s expectation, we just need to believe in our own ‘self’. Apart from caring about ourselves, we should also reach out to people and exercise much of humanity. The world is full of people, people who face the synonymous breakdowns; some might receive it in tons and some in heaps, but the title of the whole story remains the same, i.e. ‘struggle’, and it’s our sole responsibility to reach out to those people in need, share our optimistic zeal and convert their negative energy into a positive one. Never forget to appreciate people for their good work, because a statement of appreciation can bring wonders to one’s life.

Keep sailing your boat until it reaches your destination; keep battling on the battlefield of achieving your dreams until you bleed to death; no matter how harsh the wind seems, keep soaring high to the sky. Seize every moment that you’ve in your life, be it the best or the worst, because this life that you’ve now, won’t walk down to you once it’s gone. We are all fortunate enough to be in this together, we might not share anything genetically but under this one roof called ‘Earth’, we are all humans, universally. Life is a puzzle, it’s like a treasure hunt, full of surprises; we’ve to look for the pieces in order to frame it into a beautiful portrait, painted with the vivid shades of suffering and redemption. We must dive deep into the ocean of our imagination and swim effortlessly facing the reality, and when we bloom, we should bloom to our best; trust ourselves because that’s an art of living.

~ lilac

Martyr

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Mother shed a tear while dad hid it beneath his meek smile,
And sister’s warm embrace was enough to console the broken heart;
Drifting from his own hearth, He marched towards –
Far away to no man’s land,
A place full of sand,
He gave his body and his soul,
Where past memories were his only console;
Awaiting for a letter in the barren land,
Where guns and bullets were his only friend.
Be it day or be it night,
He was never out of sight.
And one fine day
When he marched again,
Not towards his home,
But towards an unwanted death,
There was a firelight,
Emissions and sounds,
And in that very moment he dreams of a life,

Unseen, unlived and unheard.

~ lilac

The Boy who Mastered Storms

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“Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.”
-JOHN DONNE

No matter how hard the wind blew, the boy harnessed it well. He was always an exuberant child of his parents; they never had a time to sneak away their eyes from him for he always had a story to narrate, be it a mischievous one or the one about his passion of living a life with music. He was blooming amidst the wilderness of his age; nothing could stop him from achieving what he wanted. Despite the fact that his grade card was not a healthy one, but it didn’t bother him much. As his dreams started taking its first flight, the wings of his dreams were ripped off, the wind no more caressed him and it went enforcing all its power against him. The boy didn’t know that sometimes the calm wind could shift into the untamed storm, ravaging the beauty and the beast.

A beautiful dream was destructed on that very day when the boy met with a road accident; his corporeal body didn’t know how tough it was going to be, how every little thing that once bloomed would seem to him as being withered from a long time. As his body laid there on the road, his dreams still kept flying to an unknown destination because they forgot their route. So, like the metaphysical poet John Donne, he too mumbled through his mental lips, “DEATH BE NOT PROUD!” and then he eventually took his journey back to life. After he met with that catastrophic storm, he had to spend one year of his precious life on bed, embracing his left paralyzed leg. His friends came to rescue, saved fifty percent of his life through making conversations with him; they gave him a normal life to lead amidst all abnormality.

He was wild and free and no net could ensnare him; lying on the bed for whole day long he didn’t limit himself to the pillow or the bed sheet, sometimes he just fulfilled his little desire like straightening his hair and then dyeing them with a different color, even though black was the color of fancy. He used to laugh hard on some trivial jokes, though his heart cried loud; he used to cheer his face up when all he wanted was to speak what he actually felt. It was very hard to decode his feelings from his exterior expressions; he never uttered a single word of vengeance or failure, albeit he had so much to inhale from life. When he saw his friends moving out and enjoying their summer days, somewhere, that little blue bird wept inside his heart for it was caged for a long time. But, one fine day he thought of letting that blue bird to fly, to fly with its broken wings, to bring those dreams back to its course.

At first it was not that easy, maybe it was more than tough; he had to urge his left leg to move and to make the slightest movements. At times when his left leg didn’t want to move the littlest, he used to be angry, sad and mad, but he didn’t lose his faith and his hope and he kept reminding himself that he still had a life to live, to feel great affection for those unseen, unfelt, unheard moments of his life. The boy knew that he had to be the master of his own life; he knew life was not like the tiny dust particles, held in the fold of the palms of his hands, to renounce so easily. As he groaned out of pain, it felt like the demon inside him wanted to come out and breakthrough; maybe he wept silently, but the story of those unseen tears remained in the dark; it never got narrated to anyone. Little by little, he kept growing, he started racing up with his life and his left leg started to accompany him back again and then the boy restored his unfulfilled dreams back to track.

The catastrophic storm that had hit his life was eventually declined into a calm wind, but it was not over though. The storm didn’t leave him that easily, but when it did, it gave him some life lessons too. As the boy started grooming himself up for his second flight, with his dreams, he was hit by another road accident. And before he could understand much about life, his left leg started giving him a hint that it would no more accompany him again, back in his journey of life. The boy cursed his life; he was in no mood to settle down his dreams back to its appropriate destination; he felt desolate and bereft. This time he kept silent, but this silence could speak more than those moving lips did; he gave himself up to his pillow and bed sheet and then when the blue bird cried, he allowed it to weep its heart out, not thinking for a moment to let it fly away. But, one fine day he was knocked down by his dreams as they were flying ruthlessly without any destination.

The boy thought of harnessing the storm this time and so he initiated his dreams, fondled and started nurturing them. He stood in front of the storm and started confronting every obstacles that stood between him and his dreams, be it his crooked leg or his inability to walk back normal again; everything seemed so effortless, as if he could conquer all. He stood like the Beowulf, like the Aethelbeorn, and slaughtered all the demons; he sang the songs of victory and danced to the rhythm of life and kept on saying, “DEATH BE NOT PROUD!” He didn’t allow any trespasser to enter in his estate of dreams, and to pluck any of those bloomed blossoms. It didn’t matter what others would speak of him, of his crooked leg or how they would react to it; all that he cared about was the wilderness and freedom from slavery of death. He was a free bird now, a bird with broken wings but not with shattered dreams; he understood life beyond the philosophy of living, surviving and giving up ;…………………………………………………………….the boy continued harnessing the untamed storm and then turning it into a serene wind.

~ lilac

The Morning Stroll

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A morning, unusual, not forbidden but,
Blessed by the master, majestic and bewildering.
I perambulated and wondered amidst the enigmatic land,
Relished the insolence and early morning breeze.
I kept strolling,
An obscure fragrance hit my senses.
I saw a girl,
She was effortless, calm and pretty.
As my corporeal body marched towards her,
The beguile aroma kept me mesmerized.
It was peerless, sweet and amazingly pleasant.
I saw her plainly, anon,
White skin, glowing in the sun rays.
Pretty eyes and soothing lips,
With hair so heavenly pleasing.
My eyes couldn’t stop gazing at her;
A beautiful soul amidst nature’s everlasting beauty.
I tried to listen to that unheard voice,
Yet, her image got smudged with time.
I yearned to listen to her voice,
Envisaging it to be like the soothing voice of the Nightingale.
I was left with an amusement,
With a mental portrait of her to cherish,
And to enliven my forthcoming days.

~ redeemed_soul

A Wintry Memory

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As I walk down the memory lane,
I feel my heart beats getting insane.
It was a beautiful winter morning,
Filled with dew drops on the grass shining.
The early birds chirping beautifully,
It was something to feel so heavenly.
The garden flowers blooming fresh,
Drawing the humming bees to a rest.
The sunny sun glowing like fire blaze,
To clean the wintry foggy haze.
And as I see the clear sky,
The clouds floating and dancing so high.
Maybe it was always the same,
But that day, it felt special inside a frame.
To which I looked today with a warmth inside my heart,
With a wish to be never apart.
I wonder how miraculous this Nature can be,
As it never fails to surprise me.
Everything around seems so magical,
I wish the Nature stays alive as elegantly simple.

~ redeemed_soul

The Exquisite Neighbour I met Online

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As usual, I was scrolling through the Facebook glancing at random posts and pictures.
Promptly, my finger tapped on a story which recalled me the most beautiful lines of Shakespeare’s sonnet 18

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

She was beautiful, her eyes were innocent,
It was sparkling like a lone star in the night sky,
It was the sparkle of her eyes
Which returned the hope that life can no longer be dark.

Her smile had a catastrophic influence on my heart
Her divine beauty had the magical powers to restore an obliterated soul.

Her polite yet simple texts had given me a difficult time to breathe.
Yeah such sudden instances in life can make anyone fail to decide
What’s wrong and what’s right.

~Mansur L

Solitude

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As the dark night falls conquering the day,
As the stars shine bright,
When the owl hoots and the nightingale lays all her hope on another day,
As the waves come and bade goodbye,
An unknown figure walks towards me,
I enquire, “Who art thou?”
I’m replied back,
“I’m your Solitude, your blessing in disguise.” She cuddles me up,
And there’s a lullaby which keeps repeating inside my head.
As I close my eyes, I feel her warmth,
She tickles me down with her icy-cold hands,
And that’s when my lonely thoughts dance.
I hold her hand, clinging myself onto her.
The mysterious night passes;
Busy street, busy masses.
I look for her, search for her, everywhere.
Oblivion, she is.
And then;
As the dark night falls conquering the day,
As the stars shine bright,
When the owl hoots and the nightingale lays all her hope on another day,
As the waves come and bade goodbye,
An unknown figure walks towards me,
I enquire, “Who art thou? “
I’m replied back,
“I’m your Solitude, your blessing in disguise.”

~lilac

Demolished Soul

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Woke up on a frosty morn,
Shattered to my bone.
A bizarre agony in my chest,
the cause of which, is sadly known.
We parted ways in ways we never imagined,
But I became a mazda, all spavined.
The occasional gigglings; the mild fondlings,
It all turned to boondogglings.
The pain, the anguish, the weltschmerz,
Culminated through our goodbye.
The times we spent, the miles we ran
Perfect ? Yes, well-nigh.
So here I am with an ode to the beholders
Come help me recoup my whole.
My life needs some poetic justice
Just to restore my demolished soul.

~Shahin Ahmed Choudhury

Enigma

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A wave was closing to the shore,
A little tang within the force
Away from the vast world inside
The happiness gone so did the cries.
No more would it see the coral reef
Or the threats lurking in the deep
The hues and shades immaculate
The darkness even in the day
The creatures big and the small
The little rise and the little fall
The times both best and the worst
Would not return at any cost
No movement in there anymore
The closing wave now reached the shore.

~Suvambitious

The Girl I Met Once

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The girl I met only once
Sitting on the edge of the bench,
I heeded a girl with beamy eyes and a glowing face,
That shined like the sunrise
Whose beauty is comparable to an angel, so pure and divine

But why I met her? I must ask
We used to be miles apart

It now seems so long ago,
When her piercing eyes made my heart glow
And now we both sit in different rooms,
Far away from our fabricated gloom
We are happy now, YOU and ME
As the sundered folks could ever be.

And it seems now,
What happened was good in a way
‘Cause we both know now, we were never there to stay.

~ Mansur L

Finding Life

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Oh Life, who are you??
Are you my happiness?
Do you pull my cheeks to brighten my smile?
I fancy if you bring joy and wonders to me,
Like a fairy wind swinging my heart to live.

Oh Life, who are you??
Are you my sadness?
Do you make my eyes go blurry with tears?
I envision sorrow and pain lurking,
Like a rumbling sound of a thunder shrinking me with fear.

Oh Life, who are you??
Are you my inspiration?
Do you mend my heart to beat with pride?
Where lies the origin of my confidence and courage?
I hark the roar of a proud lion standing in me fearless.

Oh Life, who are you??
Are you my love?
Do you cuddle my heart with warmth?
I discern magic and kindness to me.
Like a kiss of the wintry sun caring gently on my skin.

Oh Life, who are you??
I wonder who you can be..
My happiness, sadness, inspiration and love..
In all, I find a little of ‘You’ and more of ‘Me’
Life, you are poignant poetry,
Of my Birth and Death.

~redeemed_soul

Heartbreak is Beautiful

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Walking with a pair of good walking shoes to reach our destination is quite mainstream; it’s only when we walk barefoot that we get to encounter different faces of the journey. Sometimes when we get something out of an unusual journey, its value increases and becomes much more beautiful. For instance, failures and heartbreaks. The great founder of KFC was rejected a thousand times for his ‘secret recipe’ and then a restaurant picked him up only to show us how unshakable his inner magic could be. The news editors fired Walt Disney a numerous times saying that he has no imagination and no creativity. This only indicates that failure exposes people to new light that is beautiful enough to open new doors. This reminds us of a heart that has been broken numerous times and still believes in love. But the heart knows to embrace those lips that utter the beautiful words of inspiration. Someone moving on from the other person might be heartbreaking, shattered and bruised but that person still allows himself/herself to bloom. And this remind us of a soul so powerful that knows to endure and encounter the profoundest hurdle. So, failure can never be accepted if you don’t attempt to do it the other way; love can never be written off if someone don’t know how to love you properly. Because beautiful is the soul that is shattered and shattered is something that knows to embrace the challenges of this journey.

~19_cococat

A Convention

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Following the tradition of surviving one’s own life, we are always in a convention; we try to escape and that’s honestly true, but escaping is easy, the hardest part is staying free. Wearing this human skin, we are all in one boat, it’s like ‘We’ re on the same boat brother’. Tomorrow when you wake up as a millionaire, don’t bless him; if tomorrow you end up on the street, don’t curse him; let your skins understand that this voyage is not only yours, but of people like you in infinity. The day when we were all born, we made a convention to ourselves, to dream, to hope, to expect, to walk on the road, dive deep, most importantly to survive by walking the line. And if tomorrow you feel the sun is too harsh on your skin, or the rain is peeling it off, remember you have a word to keep : To hope, to dream, to expect, to walk on the road, dive deep, most importantly to survive by walking the line.

~lilac

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