Come to the mirror

 

In the midst of a swarming bus
You will meet across hundreds of men.
They might stink,
Oh no! Not from outside
They will stink in their eyes,
In their minds
In their ways
And in themselves.
But, oh miracle!
You still won’t know the secret of their reeking.
They are too pompous of this stinking animal in them.
And please,
Please dare not think that this stinking miracle
If proves to be your bane,
Anyone is going to break for you
The window pane.
Oh no no!
Girl, dare not think of any perfume
That will take away this stinking miracle.
Because those who have it want it,
Those who don’t
Have never told.
Do you see their hands on your chest?
Oh don’t tremble.
Please don’t.
Nothing but affection they say,
Affection to let you know
How beautiful you are!
The stinking miracle is so affectionate my dear,
So, now you need no perfume for it
Do you?
What did you just see?
Another hand on someone else’s butts?
Do you have to speak?
I have taught you, don’t quarrel on road.
Oh my dear, stay obedient
I know you will not speak.
Quiet for yourself
And vocal for others,
You talk funny, my love!
Such a saint was never born
You keep smiling and never frown.
Go to sleep and think of nothing,
Life is so striking and you will just pass.
Like your people did
Who belonged to you.
You can’t ponder how many untold stories have they died with.
Because, you are taught
To not brood over.
Oh now in the dreams, you slap the stinking animal.
First who touched you
And then the others.
But why slap affection, you fool!
You know this world needs too much of this.
Oh Jesus! Look how your mind shouts back at that animal
At all the stinking animals.
But thank god you only howl in dreams!
God made you lucky woman, my child!
My brave child again goes in the same bus.
Now she does not yowl even in dreams.
So well, she has settled with the stink
Exactly like a bird with broken wings.
Oh no! Please don’t applaud for me
I know how well I have brought her up.
Look at her strength you folks!
She knows to settle down in a gutter
Full of various stinks.
Come here! Come here!
I will give you some gossip,
I just heard the girl next door
Oh my lord!
Mercy my lord mercy!
Mercy on fools.
The girl next door was raped by the watchman.
Oh no no, the watchman was a stinking animal
Allowed to be pervert.
The girl had no strength
To settle like my lovely daughter.

And here I declare the wisest of all mothers,
Tell your daughters to compromise
Or else the watchmen are free to move
They are bound to groove.
After all, with whom otherwise,
Will they share their stinking miracle with?
Why shout like the girl in the English songs?
Teach the girls,
To change this bad omen into melodious form.
To paradise or to hell
The way is in our hands.
These rebels are born
Exactly like sands,
Keep them always
Beneath the shoe soles
Sew with needle all the holes.
This is how I teach you
To remain in this gutter.
Let’s not forget today
The years we have spent to discern the stinking miracle.
Teach all the same
Inspire with your own lives
The minds of the young ones.
They should not find anyway
Out of the junk.

And you my lovely daughter,
Come let me take you somewhere!
Sit, look at this in front of you,
The beautiful mirror.
See, how it enhances the glow of your fair hands,
Oh your charming smile
Your curly hair.
With millions of gems and dollars and pounds,
A tall gentleman, I will send.
Mesmerized by your beauty,
He will take all rounds
He will faint and get up,
To hold your hand and say,
Oh lovely woman!
How many hearts did you break
Waiting for me all these days.
What say my dear daughter?
Have I not written the best fairy tale?

Oh yes! Mom.
You taught the best and you wrote even beyond.
But there is an unknown folly in the tale
Listen to this, what I am to say.
I am not virgin, my dear mother.
Chastity which you told to make my pride,
Oh! I feel apologetic my big lady
I think I have lost it in all those rides.
Those rides you said to go on each day.
You had said settle down with the stinking animals.
Oh mom! How could I have told you.
They settled at the cost of my chastity.
I was raped, mother.
No mom, they were miraculous, right?
So, their eyes could rape.
Hundreds of eyes have my chastity,
Not even together
In one thread, lady.
All eaten apart,
Like flesh from my body.
Mother, you taught so well
And you wrote beyond.
Come, sit and look at this mirror.
In your face I see so much,
I fail to say in words.
Look mother,
Talk to the mirror.
The mirror now orates your legend.

Absent Presence

“It all began three years back from today when he saw love everywhere and she in him only. The first time when they had talked it was all so mesmerizing to her that she a lot of times did not understand what meaning his words held, she was just drowning in the decibels of his enthralling voice. She was completely drunk on the picture of her being a muse to him. Her illusions took seat from the words he used to sew promises with. His promises became a world and this world her home. Now there was no looking back for her because she had now traveled the most ardent road. They talked for hours and she would send bubbles of care and love to him every second. She once asked him, “What am I to you?” He had said not a single word. She knew he did not say because he wanted her to know through his heart. She never asked him why he did never answer her questions and why he had never told her that he loved him. Why he never gave this love a name, she had never questioned. Because her faith spoke to her that every moment in this love was pious and beautiful. The story of petals turned into thorns when she began listening to what she said about him and not what he said. The faith she could speak to spoke only on her behalf and not him. When she had asked what she was to him and he had uttered not even a single word, maybe he had meant nothing. And what took her life were not these illusions, but that she could never walk out of them. She could not leave her home she thought he lived in. She was left alone not by him but by the virtue of her love that made her unexpectedly insane.”
~P

The picture of tomorrow

There will be a day when you will count on all that you have and try to figure out what all is lost. May be you want to do this today, here and now. But either you are scared to face it or you lie to yourself that you have much better things to do. But nothing will be better than knowing why is everything happening the way it is. Now, don’t tell yourself it is destiny, know, that everything is a mirror to your choices. The man who loved you and you had not loved him back, those moments when you could go and simply tell your mother that she is the most hard working woman you have ever seen, when you could sit and eat dinner with your family rather than your computers, when you could have spent money on your siblings rather than your rich boyfriend, when you could have taken out a few minutes for your grandfather and listen to whatever he wanted to share, when you could have smiled a little more, loved a better heart. Is it not better to seize the moment and look around than looking back after years of joys and sorrows, gains and losses? Things you do not do now, will accompany you till you realize that you have lost the opportunity to live in that moment. More the sense of loss, greater will be the regret. Imagine a day after 20 years from now when you get up to find love and all you see around is a long contact list in your phone, a royal house or a luxury car or a day when you realise that whatever you did was just because you wanted people to know you and in all this you lost what you knew about yourself or a day when you will know that all those people you were running behind actually did not deserve a second of your life or a day when you realise that you never understood the exact definition of success, glory, love and laughter. It sounds simple today, but nothing would be worst than this tomorrow. Life is too long to realise some day that you have not lived it enough.
~P

Because my mom once said..

Because my mom once said,
Life is a journey
And it won’t be that sturdy.
Crawl like a creeper
Or dance like a tapper,
It would let you decide
But still will push you over the tide.
There will be a day
It will hold you back,
Fight the tears
Dread the day
There is a light in you
Don’t see others fly away,
You are there to fight the grey.
Those who’ll go out of your sight
Could not make your home bright,
Don’t count on people
They are not for you,
Look up to those stars
That’s where you can hide your scars.
There will be days
When all you’ll sense would be darkness,
Don’t forget to look through it
Colors will be waiting
To fill your emptiness.
Feel the breeze
Open your arms,
Drink the rain,
Love the wind,
Let the smell of the flowers
Cover you,
Let the music of the birds
Be your language,
All you will learn is to smile
Because all days won’t be alike.
Because my mom once said,
Promises are like rivers
They don’t have any shape,
They begin from an end
And those ends seldom meet.
Don’t wait for any soul
Winds are born to be blown,
What they take
And what they leave
Is another story
Little told and so untold.
There will be days
When you’ll get tired
You’ll crave for love
You’ll wait for someone to hold you,
Breathe and begin again
Because some cries go in vain.
It won’t warn you before the fire
Not even when you will be half burnt.
It won’t collect the ashes
But that end
It will go in your name.
Because my mom once said,
Life is like a game.
You’ll never win
But you won’t mind losing in the end,
This loss would bear what you are
Like a mirror to your sabotage.
It won’t flow with happiness
You’ll be the struggler
And you’ll have to be the believer.
Because those who don’t believe
Throughout they bleed.
Even when you don’t find the reasons
Remember, autumn is also a season.
Beauty is not in fulfillment
It’s in half said quotes
Musical notes
Unsung melodies
Quite soliloquies.
Happiness is not in the balloon that flies high
It’s in the wings of those nestlings
Who so adamantly try,
It is not in victories
But joyful histories
Curious mysteries
Unexplained madness
Self created sadness.
Because my mom once said
This life is your creation
A battle without destination.
Catch all the butterflies
Live all your cries
Rise like someone will catch you,
Fall like someone will push you.
Because one day you’ll start this journey
All over again
Not because this won’t be enough
Enough is never the word
It’s always more and even more
But because you’ll once again become my sword
And I’ll not hold you ever
I’ll let you sway.
Because my mom once said,
I am born the brightest sunray
Life is just a child’s play.
~P

Silence.

Some silences you are born with, some you learn, some are forced, some you get habitual of. But the worst silence is the one, which you give birth to; with a thought that it would hide you from this world, might protect you. But then, bit by bit, blood by blood, flesh by flesh it begins to tear you, question you and consume you. This silence then grows in search of your voice but all it gets is silence. It multiplies to fill you with empty holes punched hard through you. Gradually, your child becomes your ruler and then your destroyer. There will be moments when you would try to kill it but all it would take is great courage to kill what your soul now bears. This silence has now become a weapon of self consumption.
~P

"….all artists, regardless of degree of talent, are a painful, paradoxical combination of certainty and humility, constantly in need of reassurance, and yet with a stubborn streak of faith in their own validity no matter what."