The feel of writing

Its been long
Long since I have scribbled something
My thoughts, my emotions
Or just my mood swings
Its been too long
You wanna know how has it been for me
All this time?
Even I don’t know
I guess, I was just busy,
Busy doing nothing,
Nothing productive
Just busy
Contemplating what I had been doing

There are so many things that happened
Some good, some okay
Things which aren’t worth mentioning
And things, words aren’t enough to describe
But you know
All this time
There was this thing inside
Poking me, thrusting me
And forcing me
To write, to evince, to play
With words
Again

Missing the feel of those words
Dancing around
Here I am
Trying to come up
With something
I find a pen
And a paper
And look at them for a while
The paper, just white,
drab, nothing attractive
But then, like a black hole
Inviting me to drown
To fall deep into the abyss
Where I used to be
The pen, which hasn’t been used for long
Looks at me with those big doe eyes of a puppy
Begging me to finally use it

My hands tremble as I hold it
The pen ready to fall
My heartbeat increases
I can hear it
My breath fastens
Don’t know what’s wrong
My eyes start glowing,
in exhilaration
Of making the pen and paper meet
My mind is in turmoil
Thoughts, feelings, everything in there
Is in chaos
There’s so much in there
But then there’s nothing
Nothing I could write about
Suddenly, it becomes blank
Utter blankness
As if there was nothing
To even start

I ponder more
And even more
Trying to come up
With something
Anything
But alas,
Nothing
Only nothingness in there

But then, I remember
To write, I’d need to surrender
To my emotions
Residing deep within me
I’d need to fall
In that unfathomable depth
Where no one would be able
To reach me
And then will I be able to indite?

With so much to tell
But void inside
Not able to feel
Not able to hide
Trying to resist
But thrusting to find
I start walking
Completely resigned
Following a mere straw
On the path I draw
I walk, and walk
Run and then walk
To reach the end
From where there’ll be
A new beginning
And
Just when I’m about to arrive
I’m pulled back again, I revive

As I open my closed eyes
Newfound emotions arise
I see the paper, not completely blank
Nothing much, to be frank
But still something in there
Non sensical and bare

But just the joy of writing again
As if I’ve come out of chains
Finally scrawling, after so long
The pen and paper sing a song
Joy around with chaos close
The journey of pen and paper billows
©passionbookworm

She’s strong, she’ll make it

She wishes one day
he’d perceive all the hurt
that he had inflicted upon her
When he’d have no one
to turn to,
he’d just close his eyes
and envision himself
in her place,
in her veracious circumstance
and reckon what happened
She seeks for him
to be in her shoes
and feel what she had felt
She wishes for once he’d endure
what he had made her to
and realize the magnitude
of her anguish
She desperately hopes
that perhaps, just perhaps
he’d actually feel guilty
and regret what he did
She sometimes implores
that this wish of hers
would come true.

But then,
When she really
ruminates over it,
she cognizes
that even after everything
she still doesn’t want him
to go through all the agony
For she doesn’t desire for him
To be in pain;
Though suffering is a requisite
for him to realize his felony,
But that spartan pain
is something
she wants no one to undergo
not him, specifically
Coz she knows
that he isn’t callous enough
to abide through it
and he won’t be able to
make it to the end
He’s just a coward
who doesn’t wanna admit
his transgression,
postulating for someone
to reproach to
and then scathe them
in the words of ‘retaliation’

But I assure you darling,
That whatever you do
you can’t traumatize her,
you won’t be able to break her;
For exploiting her to her ultimacy
would take too many endeavors,
And you aren’t robust enough
to adhere till that
interminable interval.
©passionbookworm

That day

This is dedicated to all the wonderful and brave women out there who have been sexually assaulted or raped, only for the selfishness and satisfaction of cruelty those criminals get. How do they live knowing fully well what they did, moreover how are they so daring as to hurt another being just for their sick pleasure and defy all the humanity? I really can’t comprehend that. But I would say to everyone women out there, “You are all brave, you are all beautiful. And whatever happens, don’t lose hope. For life doesn’t end there, and the courage and victory is in fight, not in giving-up.

She tries to write
But the paper stays blank
The ink doesn’t flow
From the remnants of her pen

She tries to speak
But her tongue gets stuck
The words don’t come
Coz of the blood in her mouth

She tries to express
But her eyes remain closed
The tears don’t fall
From the now-swollen lids

She tries to hold
But her hands stay put
The arms don’t move
Coz of now-disengaged shoulders

She tries to feel
But her heart goes cold
The blood doesn’t pass
For there is no life left within

She tries to breathe
But her very breath hitches
The oxygen doesn’t surpass
Coz of suffocating thickness in the air

She knows now
The time has come
The bits and pieces of hers
Shall rest beneath, numb

She can’t evince
The anguish she suffered
Her body can’t take
How she got brutally abused

Lifeless she lays
Waiting for last breath
The wish won’t be fulfilled
For she would never forget

Her tattered body
Will be buried with her pen
Her soul enduring the torment
They did everything to quieten

How her fear of
Monsters under the bed
Turned out true
Only, it soured ‘on’ the bed

Her innocence now taken
The spirit and purity pleads
For its justice now
That she desperately needs

The blank paper beside
Flickers hopelessly to tend
To recite what it witnessed
But doesn’t have a voice to contend

One last blood-curdling scream
She was now almost there
The utter silence after
Spoke volumes, loud and bare
©passionbookworm

Alone – That’s who I am

Alone is what I love
and persevere,
For that’s who I am;
A gargantuan, buffeted creature
standing isolated,
nothing to shield me
from extreme sun or cold,
counting the number of
gossamer stars in
the midnight sky,
I’ve reached the number
six hundred thousand
and eighty eight
Losing the hope,
I’ve now accepted the fate
Now, I cherish the fact
that I’m here
in my solitude
and none to disrupt
this pacifying ambience
So yes,
Alone is what I treasure
and endure
For its my essence
And existence
©passionbookworm

Will you be there?

Darling,
Will you be there?
When I’ll close my eyes
and look for you,
in my dulcet dream,
where we’ll be together
happy and forever
I’ll just fall harder
for your endearing smile
and the way it calms me down
Then you’ll hold me close
making me feel, at peace
at home
Your effusive eyes meeting mine
will remind me of the scenic sunset
and butterflies
the gentle zephyrs
and the beautiful dandelion
flying away,
finding felicity and life

Will you be there?
To hold me and kiss me
when I’ll close my eyes,
memorizing the outline of your
beautiful eyes and smile,
for that one last time;
never to open again?

Oh Darling,
Will you still be there?
©passionbookworm

Story of the fake ceiling stars

When nocturnal night settles in,

bringing extreme darkness and cold,

those fake imitation stars

glowing lambent,

glued on the roofing,

secretly narrate the

intimate certitude

of effusively fond people

living under;

ironically similar kind

trying to fit in

side by side,

lame jokes and smiles,

bickering and fights,

tickles and laughs,

blissfully conjoined,

and impeccably content;

living the

not so ideal life,

yet, how buoyant they are.

Those bogus, pseudo stars

recount the everyday jiffies

of weird people living under,

in amazement and curiosity

as to how they make it possible.

Perhaps,

they are both

greatest and incurable idiots,

unobtrusively in love,

abnormal and cynical,

passably hopeless,

and peculiarly inexplicable;

yet, perfect and unconquerable

their devotion is…

©passionbookworm

I’ll follow you

It is dawn now
Another rosy day
has begun
I’m walking
on those faded footprints,
The waves had
washed them away,
but I had memorized

I follow this path
in the incessant hope
of meeting you
Walking along the shore
or traversing through the ocean
I’m anxious,
I’m eager
to see you,
to grasp your very esse
in my, possibly implausible
but sanguine heart
I’m exhausted now
But I’ll continue
I may drown
But I’ll hold on
I won’t stop
I’ll be there

Coz I know,
a day will come
when we’ll conjoin,
in this realm,
or, perchance another
We’ll be one
We’ll certainly coalesce
at the panoramic horizon
or perhaps,
into the profound depth
of the ocean
And we’ll stay,
then and forever,
that way

Until then,
Darling,
I’ll keep on pursuing
this arduous path
that leads me
to love,
to you
©passionbookworm

Realization

Lost in my depressing thoughts and trying to keep the emotions at bay, I was wandering around aimlessly, focus being on just forgetting everything and moving on. The light breeze, or the darkness or the sound of insects did nothing to supress my urge to just run away and never come back. As I was moving forward, in the back of my mind, a sound registered which was completely different yet familiar. Something other than the nonsensical gloominess I drowned myself in. Those thoughts abruptly came to a stop when I found I was surrounded by the trees swaying to the light wind, crickets chirping happily, the zephyrs caressing my face and hair, and above all, that particular sound. Now I was very aware of myself and the fact that I was in an unknown territory in the middle of the night where I could die the next moment and no one would know for days. Heart beating erratic, I began walking towards it, to fulfil my curiosity, not caring about the consequences just yet, for in my heart, it felt like I had been here before
The dry leaves rustling beneath my now dirty shoes was the only sound my mind was capable of registering, other than my irregular heartbeat, all other noises fading into the background as I proceeded towards what might be my early death. The ambience felt eerily familiar, as if it was just yesterday when I had been here, though I couldn’t remember the life of it.

After a few minutes of walking, I noticed that there was a clearing in the forest and the sound was coming from there. Once I stepped out, I halted. It was the most breathtaking sight I had ever witnessed. I couldn’t move, all incoherent thoughts and worries long gone. The mesmerizing sound of waves going back and forth, the blue ocean sparkling in the moon light, the dark sky covered with innumerous starts, twinkling and shimmering, making their presence known, the lights illuminating the whole of the city and lastly the wind blowing my hair away, and touching the raw moisture on my face. I didn’t realize my tears were out.

I remembered this scenic beauty from 15 years ago. My mother said something no daughter should have been told and I was upset. I ran away and found myself here, with my best friend. I can still see her oceanic blue eyes spirited with life, small smile on lips and her auburn hair in cute pigtails, reprimanding me on how I should let go.

That day we talked, she told me how she had a hole in her heart which the doctors couldn’t fix and that she was going to die in a few days. She told me how she loved the time she was here, the short life she got was a blessing and how she saw herself in one parallel universe, living the life she could have. We talked about life, happiness, dreams, sorrows, situations, what we knew, what we imagined and everything two 5 year olds wouldn’t even think about. Though she was always the matured one among us, but that day, something changed, we grew.

I remember her expression when she said, “Vi, I love you and I want you to love yourself. No matter how hard the situation would be, don’t give up. Life is not worth letting the agony take over, its much more. Live, be happy and smile on the way coz that’s what life is all about. Its whatever you want it to be.”

Thought I still had so much to work on that, but I realized that’s what its supposed to be. So, instead of tormenting myself by falling into the abyss of unearthed desolation, why not run towards the optimistic ray of sunshine she talked about. She was right. She had always been. And now, it was time to make her proud and do everything she would have wanted me to do.

As I watched the beautiful yet dangerous waves rising up and then falling down, trying to reach as far on the shore as they could, I realized what I had to do. I knew now. The soothing sound of those waves gave me the answers to my unasked questions as I waited for some more, basking in the pacifying tranquility of the night. Coz, things were going to change now. The next morning was going to be beautiful, and this time, I was ready.

©passionbookworm

Dreams

Gazing at the starlit sky with a crescent moon adorning it, I was laying down in my backyard, preoccupied in my preposterous thoughts again. This time they were about dreams. Not those dreams which are needed to enhance our future, no. I was talking about those uncanny, absurd dreams which we see in our slumber and usually don’t give much thought. Dreams are riveting. They take us to another parallel universe where things happen the way we wish. They take us to some other dimension, far away from the concrete, where we can be the hero. But sometimes, they also make us visualize what we wish to escape from. Yes, nightmares. They are dreams too, just what we don’t want to see.

What exactly are these dreams and nightmares? I’ve heard people say that, what we mull over whole day, we see them at night as dreams. I don’t know the accuracy behind the statement, so, I’m not going to comment on that. I believe that dreams don’t entirely reflect reality, but they do contain morsels of it here and there. They are a coalescence of factual and fictional, like actual people in a chimerical world. I’ve also heard another myth that morning dreams come true. No offense to people who believe in it, but I personally don’t. I don’t see their perspective and logic coz my morning dreams have never come true. And why would they? They were just silly, ridiculous dreams treading on the thin thread which connects reality and fantasy.

And nightmares? They are either the precise or the exaggerated panorama of the pain we have endured. We either visualize those horrifying, traumatic mental images (which we desperately want to forget) like a slide show, or we envision their amplified version where the intensity is heightened to a whole new level coz of the dreadful apprehension we create in our mind.

You must be thinking why I’m talking about these dreams and nightmares. Well, thats coz I’ve undergone them too. As beguiling and vitalizing these dreams are, which we wish would occur in practicality too; I’d never dare to think about the nightmares. Those haunting memories feel so terrifyingly echt, that I’d only fall deeper into the abyss and no one would be able to pull me out, even if they try.

Its not the first time I was thinking about all these, but seeing the alluring night made me think again. No, its not that this darkness is saddening. Instead, for me, darkness is blissful and night is glorious. We feel and realize things at night. And exactly that happened. As I was staring at the lambent stars, I realized something. Stars are the celestial bodies having their own light. When all that is found in the night is darkness, they shine on their own as if they are made for it, as if they live in it. Maybe they are, maybe they do. They live through the negativities, but still twinkle bright, giving us a lesson that these negativities can’t bother us; they intrude only if we let them. So, instead of just accepting defeat without even trying, we shouldn’t lose hope. Yes, it may take time but even these stars weren’t created in a single day.

I was amazed how these little things of nature can give lessons so priceless. Slowly, I felt myself drifting off to that parallel universe. I slept, with a mitigated smile. That night, I dreamt again, only instead of having nightmares, I dreamt of a star, of myself. I dreamt of myself shining fervently like a gossamer star, in the darkness. Now I knew that I was going to write my own story. It was going to be a new beginning.
©passionbookworm

Rain

Sitting on my windowsill with a warm cup of coffee in my hand, its vapor touching my nose and a sad smile on my face. Looking at those tenebrous mysterious nimbus clouds which hold its own secrets and the darkness all around as if an apocalypse is just on the edge of its occurrence. Rains are depressing. No offense to those who love them, but for me, they are a semblance of those sinister, gloomy, disconsolate shadows of dingy, saturnine quandam. Hence it lead me to go through the memory lane. Straying in those sweet memories and just losing myself.

Its not that I always hated them. No. There was a time when monsoon was my favourite season. I remember my little self getting all excited and happy seeing the few droplets of water from the balcony and running around the house yelling that I want to go to the terrace to get drenched in the natural shower; shower of not just water but also of love, of belongingness, of childish innocence, and the carefree giggles. Without a facade to maintain, just delirious and naif and loving the world. Those were the days I wish, would come back but that is just wistful thinking.

Gradually, the love for deluge attenuated. I had to go to places, attend my classes, spend time with friends and do all those necessary works which I wasn’t able to coz of heavy downpour. That exhilaration I used to feel upon seeing the precipitation, perished with time. And that shower of love, innocence and giggles turned into a shower of temporary, selfish and fake people. But it was beneficial too, as my naive and immature heart needed to experience things to grow.

Eventually, that bit of like for the rainfall turned into dislike. I began sitting at home with windows closed and curtains drawn, just trying to drown in the bittersweet aroma of that warm coffee and the warmth oozing from the cup, the smell of old books, immersed in the feels of the characters in it, as if I’m one of them. Its inexplicable how these little things can help forget the pain, the morose of those unwanted remembrances. Coz now those showers of temporary, selfish and fake people turned into the showers of the inhumane, vicious and betraying people and the cerebration of those painful, heartbreaking memories and them crusading to form insecurities and fears.

Yet, once in a while, I sit down on the windowsill, and look at the water droplets, dripping recurrently from those cryptic, inscrutable nimbus clouds and attempt to find that silly, innocent, little girl who used to get excited and happy seeing those droplets of water and languishing to dance in the quixotic, romantic rain…..
©passionbookworm

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