Month: August 2016

I am tired of this place

​

Killing me from inside each day, 

With its numerous fangs, 

Though visible only to me,

Digging deeper with each bite.

This place they call it,

The transition phase,

Of becoming something,

Undoing everything that does not make me.

But the pain of transforming

Too strong, too difficult to bear.

Maybe it is better here

Than been there, where I was,

As after I change, 

I would fly away with my new found wings,

But till then ,

I desire not to lose hope,

Not to succumb to the blows imparted on me.

The pain though increasing day by day with each sacrifice I make,

Gives me hope that,

After this dark night,

New rays would be waiting for me.

And then turned into a resplendent person,

My dreams would spark into reality.

Exclusively Mine

Anchoring me to my past,

Beckoning me are my several mistakes,

Piercing me though,

But I still love my flaws,

And embrace my scars.

I am no expert,

And this might not be the best story,

But it is exclusively mine,

Maybe, you could pen a better life,

But to write,

The right is exclusively mine. 

Because at the end I wish to slap my back and say,

“Well done”,

The credit exclusively mine.

The Pink dress

A girl walked past,

In a little pink dress,

Cold breeze cutting through her bare skin.

Maybe her cold heart warmed her body, 

As she moved unflinching.

She opened a door,

looked at the man inside,

The strings that connected their soul,

Snapped long back,

The day he touched the other woman.

The girl in the little pink dress unzipped her big bag,

A huge thing concealed long inside,

Out it came, 

With its shiny blade and wooden end.

The pink dress remained the witness to the terror in his eyes,

As the deadly weapon was laid on his neck,

And thrown at the corner,

Smeared in his blood.

The Ruins

Image source: Google

The ruins of a massive palace,

The crumbled walls and the broken windows.

The house of my dreams, 

The dwelling of my desires,

Lay shattered like this.

The weedy pond beside the colossal ruins,

Suffocating the fishes inside.

The cage of my past,

The shackles of my mistakes,

Stifles me like this.

The bird on the branch,

Coloured like my myriad wishes,

Ignites a hope,

To pick the ruins of my dreams,

And glue them together.

It’s fluttering wings,

Giving me the courage to break my shackles,

To free myself,

Forgive myself,

And teaching me the lesson to live.

Silhouette

πŸŒ›
Last year I decided to go to outskirts of Kolkata for a weekend trip but least did I know that it would be a holiday that would Jeopardize my night’s sleep.

I had everything planned out properly, like where I will stay, which places I will visit and stuff like. Thus I  ventured out. I reached my destination at about 11 in the morning. I checked in, had my breakfast and slept off. By the time I got up, it was already 3, I quickly dressed up and went out. Outside I waited for long time, but could not find a auto. As I was in a hurry to reach the lake so that I could see the sunset, so I started walking in the hope of getting a conveyance. After walking for about 15 mins through a narrow lane I realised that I have lost my way. I didn’t know what to do. Sun went down, the moon peeped out but I was still standing at the same place, perplexed. Suddenly I  saw the silhouette of a man at the end of the road. I ran towards him, stopped before him and asked, “Could you please help me? I have lost my way.”

“Where do you want to go?” He asked.

“To Shalimar Hotel.”

” I can take you there.”

“I can manage alone, if would tell me the route.” I said.

“Would you mind if I accompany you?” He said looking into my eyes. First time I looked into his eyes, dark eyes. Even the faint streetlight made them look beautiful.

“No” , I said and we started walking together. 

“It’s not too far away from here.” He said.

For next 5 mins, silence prevailed as I looked at him and admired silently this young man walking beside me. Handsome, kind, polite.

“I am Naina. Your name?” I asked breaking the silence.

“Rohit”he said

“Do you live here?”

“Not really. But I have been to this place my times, so I know every nook and corner of this area.”

“Oh…”

“You are a tourist, I believe.” He asked

“Yes” I replied

“You are travelling alone?” He queried.

“Yes” I answered.

“You are quite brave, Naina.” He said as we stood in the front of the Shalimar Hotel. I smiled

“Can I ask you for a favour?” He questioned

“Defininately.” I said.

“I want you to deliver this letter”, he said handing me a white envelope.

He continued, “Please don’t ask me what this letter is intended to convey. Just put this letter under the doormat.”

He gave me a small sheet of paper with the address scribbled on it. I squinted at it as the light from the hotel behind, made the writing on the paper only partially visible.

“But….” I looked up and found that he has gone.

I called out his name but no one answered. I went inside, took the key, proceeded to my room, entered and sat on the bed. The place he wanted me to go was in Mindpore at least 4 hrs distance from where I lived and longer from here. I kept the paper beside the lampshade under my mobile and lied down on the bed.

I did not sleep well that night.

πŸŒ›πŸŒœ

I was standing in front of the door of some Raj Khanna. I looked at the nameplate again. Then stooped down and kept a white envelope under the rug outside the door. The idea of coming here seemed absurd to my parents and somewhat to me too but a urge, a obligation made me took this step and thus I was standing here, having delivered the letter that was given by him, the stranger I won’t meet again, maybe.

Not been able to control my temptation I peered into the house through the window. What I saw next took my breath away. 

Inside, hanging on the wall, was a picture, the picture of the same man for whom I delivered the letter. The picture had a garland around it and a pair of incense sticks were burning in front of it.

He is dead.

I saw a woman looking at me from the other side of the road, I crossed the road, faced her and asked,

“Raj Khanna, do you know him? He…he… Is …..dead?”

I found my voice trembling. 

“Yes, he died a week ago. But who are you and why are you asking me this?”

But I saw him two days back.

Numerous questions were buzzing in my head, her voice fading, then I don’t know what happened next. 

I woke up in my home next day, I found a paper beside my bed, the front page had a article. It said that previous day a anonymous letter was found under the rug of the house of a dead man which revealed his murderer.

Happiness tag

Hi,
I have been nominated by an awesome writer and inspiring blogger https://myvaliantsoulcom.wordpress.com for this tag. I am so glad that I have been given this opportunity to spread happiness and positivity.

Rules:

5 things that make you happy
5 songs that make you happy

Nominate 5 bloggers to continue this tag

5 things that make me happy:

  1. Spending time with my friends and family.
  2. Maths.
  3. Listening to music.
  4. Writing
  5. People appreciating my work.

      5 songs that make me happy:

      1. Do it
      2. Bailando 
      3. Woh Chali
      4. Harano folder
      5. Sunte ki chao

        5 bloggers I wish to nominate:

        1. https://devpria11blog.wordpress.com 
        2. https://carvedraw.wordpress.com
        3. https://tricksterchase.wordpress.com
        4. https://alexi1872.wordpress.com
        5. https://thesilentwarrior1.wordpress.com