For a measure of peace our souls seek,
for a measure of courage we all coruscate,
for a measure of sanctity our actions speak,
for a measure of benevolence we shower,
we seek to judge two sides of a coin.
For a measure of delirium we delve,
for a measure of uncertainty needing to be unfurled,
we seek to reveal the third side…
I
Between those spooky entanglement of wires in my head, a dream lingered. In this grotto of blackness I saw a flame flicker, deep and delightful. All the paths were abruptly illumined by this faint yet fierce flame. When will I wake up and walk along those paths to see the visceral yet wide world of reality?
II
I ride on the saddle of a wild horse that threw me across the bad lands, dirtied and deranged, I crawl on the soil bloodied by my pain. The horizons start burning like the flames on a moon-dead night. Now my bones start whining for a tender embrace that shall last till the horizons decide to burn again. Warm winds conquer this wild land and run across, announce their arrival with a hiss fading into a whimper, they are curvy like the saddle I was behest of. I know its her again, the same old lips, fiery yet flimsy just died onto mine, never to leave. When will I wake up and cross those light years, cut them down to arc seconds, to burn in her embrace?
III
‘Freedom!’, I exclaimed tasting the finely brewed wine talking of its glory acquired six and a half decades ago, but it felt worse than ever. Gloss of the chalice had started to wane. The sacred liquid in rouge felt tainted. Seldom I find her flow so disturbing yet unnervingly severed from morality. She merged into my digestive juices, Alas, I still see the bloodstains dancing on the grooves of the glass blown and made like the finest of caryatids only to suit this wine. I stand tall, walk further, be a part of the world that’s ever revolving, ever churning, every hand that I shook felt like a dagger cutting across my palm, adding a little more to the stains. In her filth i still find a taste that lingered on my tangs, that ensured my adhesion with her. When will i wake up clear from this hangover for which I am slave of ?
IV
Oo little grape, you look marooned from your mother, but stunning to my eyes. But you know I wonder how I should rip you apart. There is a fight between my incisors and canines on who has the first go, the molars were sitting calm for they loved their job of grinding. But you know my tongue is really excited for you, it assumes you will activate its sweet tang…unfortunately you too come with two possibilities, not an ideal bloke. You have every chance to turn sour as to be sweet. Probability, that’s the key it just tends to one, never there. There is some similarity that I see between you and me, you are my prey, a prey to my hunger. So am I, a prey for consequences that life has for me, churned in circumstances. But here is the difference, you can feint to be rotten in order to escape execution and I just have to stand up no matter what happens and embrace fate and its whims. When will I wake up from the world sweetened by you and rejoice this bitter truth?
V
‘Ah, its the clockwork again!’ perfectly recorded like the chirps to the dawn, the same old clockwork, perfectly timed for death after a mellifluous life. And so in this mechanised world death serenades for dawn. It marches on… The lonely soldier who conquered his own fears, who carved his glory on the stones that rested him deep, he marched on…only to plant those flags of victory on a land unseen. He too was part of the clockwork that fate chimed on. All those tears for men undone by death fill another man’s nib, and they tangoed in the shape of thoughts that dissolved on the papers. Is your breath strong enough to live with them, is it long enough to change them? We are all warriors, at war with an unknown force which we claim to be of an infinitesimal size yet thrust upon us with an undying intensity. Seldom, its that force that pushes the nib a little further on the paper.
VI
Passion!’ whispered the wind that just weathered a brutal storm. It burnt fiercely on those satin robes, hugged the storm with intense lust, kissed it to silence with condescending pride….VII
Choices! A utopian world contorted around your head, comforted your gloom with promises as lovely as a baby’s chuckle. A dystopian world controlled your actions and revelled your glories, only to pay you back with some tears. Those tears laughed at you till they become a part on your skin. Then you had an opportunity to choose, my friend….to live with them, cocooned in that blurry haze or to wipe them off and make your vision lucid. After you choose one of those, you walked down the valley of nails, you experienced the feeling of pain, the feeling of being taken down and torn apart. Survival is basic human capability and so you did. Then you hatched a plan on laying down a foundation for a fortress to commemorate your resilience. Not so fast, my friend!…you have another choice to make…when one man stood up to lead, another hundred stood behind him waiting to be led, I say one is greater than hundred…will you agree with me? An agreement will lift a fortress so strong that no test of will is capable of penetrating past it.
VIII
Seldom we become so light and faint at heart, we start dissolving into our own shadows.
Just when we think that we possess a pair of eyes that paints our mind and possesses the space on our canvas with a melange of colors, we are rudely reminded that there are tears. Both perched on the same nest.
IX
“AAH! the excavation,” the general grinned at his lieutenant. “It is for the same excavation I sacrificed my blithe for.
The ravenous creeks I crossed,
the smell of gold that hugged my lust,
those hours I burnt the wick plotting the maps of a different landscape,
the wars that I fought within those badlands to warp my soul to blend with hers,
an acceptance of her or a denial of myself? I still ponder. While she moved on to a different hand to shine, leaving me behind with a shadow of this 0.35 caliber,”
the general continued
“Lieutenant! before you are ready for the battlefield christened as the moment of truth, there’s only one question you need to ask yourself – will you be able to hold the gun called faith, point-blank and still have the courage to take the bullet of trust into your head? If your answer is negative, Darn! that gold ain’t worthy on your hand! You’ll be buried under the same shadow as I was.”
I tell you, Chaos is fucking disintegrating with every damn second and soon its gonna’ pass away into a devastating silence.
So damn devastating that you can’t take it any more. So fucking devastating that you’ll doubt your own shadow.
continued…
This is an excerpt of one of my works which I divided into uncorrelated parts as its yet to be finished. But after my struggle and at one point of time questioning myself of my writing skills, I was able to survive the bleak patch and come out with this.
Part I
Don’t you weep o mother
In silent smokes hath thee
Thy sons hath glory and
thou the grief of their melee
That old flag of glory flutters high
The towering pride burns deep in their heart
Don’t you weep o mother
Whilst thy sons lay down eternally,
Thou lit the flames of love across the river
Those badlands have taken to mud,
The smile of thy soldiers blinded the sun,
Their valor, our hearts!
In the orchestra of ricochets,
Under a veil of shrapnel in their veins
Our Sons die
Silent Fog
Walk past the long alley
Filled with cold stones two sides,
A sense of pride filled one side of heart
the loss of dear one, other.
The final salute,
Muzzles pointed the ocean-blue skies,
Bullets hit the clouds,
Wrapped in the national colors,
No more tears to cry,
All merged into an ocean of melancholy,
The same blood of courage
I feel in my womb,
A soul lost to another world,
another waiting to be brought.
Part II
Chants
The vast grotto
with the blossom of honeydews.
The autumnal winds carried away
those rustling and wrinkled leaves,
Green, red and brown,
They all collapse till another solstice.
Million feet stomped,
Cohesion unmatched.
It looked like the marching of toreadors,
whose adroit hand tames the beast,
Whose valor, celebrated in a feast.
An empire from the kith
We expand for our kin.
Half a million cubic feet of air,
stairs spiraled downwards
from the pandemonium.
An acoustic marvel,
The echo lived in forever
in the few cubic inches inside our skull,
Our heart
and soul.
In this vast cavern
The chants mesmerized the compatriots.
The aural phenomenon began
With the rifles punching the ground,
Cohesion unmatched,
We all chant in unison
“YOU FALL,
YOU RISE;
YOU BLEED,
YOU HEAL;
WE FIGHT
TO CONQUER,
WE BREATHE
TO WIN,
WE WIN
WE DIE.”
Coda:
Two souls danced to a stream of notes on this darker night. The same old song, they loved, the same old notes, that echoed, but its ever effervescent magic never ceased to leave their hearts. The moon entered a new phase, so did them. He gently squeezed her palm; a smile coruscated the starless night. Cold air whispered in their ears as frost filled the distance between their lips.
The leaves have started to fade and the winds perturbed them to rain onto the curb. A silent whisper into her ear “Can I dig my lips into yours?, Matilda” and she took over “and steal the warmth of my love in this cold night?”
They moved on for another 4 blocks before they took a turn towards his home.
The blinds were down, it was pitch dark. The house was like a dilapidated tenement, with no electricity to light it up. They rummage for the only possible way to light the house and pat comes a reply from him “Life is like a candle,” and it’s her turn “dream is like a flame,” she retorted while lighting up the candle. His eyes transfixed on hers and continued “but this wick of time always burns,” and she finished it “Forever! Will stay, this wax called love,” and finally he added “to build another life.” The same old smiles light up the night and the same old magic carried them onto the bed.
Slowly, the night started to die down as the chirps of the birds were conquering the airwaves, the candle light started to fade and soon its time to be awake to walk through a bright new day.
Awakened by deafening cries of her son, Matilda walks down to his cradle to calm him down. She slowly ambles down the corridor towards the window to wipe the fog, the same old autumnal winds caressed the panes.
The windows are wiped clean but not the memories…
“Joe! is that you!,” she exclaims.
