A Kid Has Died...

Love is a feeling which can make you do things beyond your imagination. Even if you are creeping into disguise, you won’t notice it clearly before your eyes, as they lie veiled beneath LOVE.
While some take love seriously, others treat it like a game where they should try their hands too. This post is an imagination by me about one such kid, who faced mishap from his mate.

In a cottage at my nearest 

A wicked spell has outraged

Gulped into the darkness of underworld

Infancy of a kid has got caged.

As came the demonic blow of Satan,

The angelic cosmos; tranquil & serene,

In a wink of eyes they all have faded.

Fantastical characters locked inside dolls

Are lying crushed; dead in terrain of remorse.

Anthology of knitted stories held on the shelf

Has fallen off the walls of hope

Cascade of pages have come out

Sucked into the whirlpool of hatred.

Clinking of bells have stopped

Brewing is stillness

A frightening awe has evolved.

Out of scare frozen in my spines

I hurried to shut close my window

But before, a tattered note came flying inside

Inscribed in red: 'my love'
I recognized the kid’s handwriting.

With a jolt of dread, senses riposted

I woke up with pounding heart affrighted.

A nightmare?

Pearls of perspiration rolled off my lobes

Hue and cry prevailed in air

I heard through the window,

'A kid has died'.

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Brain-sick's Diary #4 >> Unusualness

Something unusual has happened. Something that is pulling me into despair. Something which is clenching me in the fist of depression; a depression of a kind whose origin lies veiled. Only my senses are reactive towards the rhetoric discussions I have been raising inside me. Perceptions I envisage is pulling me apart with a force that can uproot a living strong tree, that can bring to the grounds tombs of giant mega structures, that can explode away a town with nuke energy.  I don’t know the specific reason. I just witness the unusualness.

Interests are getting suppressed. Things that used to be my passion (which they still are, but have gone under hibernation) are also getting dim in my arena. I go through early pages of my life, and I feel surprised on the changes I underwent. In the isolation, in the separate space where I have dragged myself into, I keep juggling thoughts and beliefs that have burst out from nowhere. Why does this happen? No clues.

Facebook? Twitter? G+? I have quit almost all of them. I used to be one of the most active person on social media websites. Though I never run out of plots for short stories and poetry, but increased intimacy with the unusualness has slackened the will to perform, to write them on my blog. Why am I writing all this crap right now? I am only scribbling my heart on pages of my open diary just to bookmark this day, and when I will look back again in distant future, I will try to feel the worst unusualness that I have experienced. Why does this happen? No clues.

Friendship which is considered to be the most sacred relationship (I haven’t seen, I read in books) never crosses my way. It might be that I am very stiff at my attitude and consequently this relationship never intersected into my way. I have always tried to mix with people, tried to get to know them, tried to weave strands of solidarity with the people whom I connected with. But I have failed each time. Love? Does it exist? I have only seen unusualness.

This unusualness is intensifying with each passing day.  If I could ever get to reach its origin, I will surely bring myself out of this labyrinth, killing the evil spree to death. 

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Confessing Secrets

I have been admin of several literary Facebook pages which deal with art and presentation of artistic talents. Fortunately, I happened to be one of the co-admin of a confession page on Facebook lately. I am amazed to see the rising popularity of that confession page which is subduing the popularity of any other page on Facebook. The confession page I am currently seeing, where I was asked by one of my senior to manage as the admin, is currently getting approximately twenty confessions each day. I am surprised to see the number of likes which has crossed the mark of 800 today, and this figure was achieved within a span of two weeks since the page was formed. This is a reason for enviousness as I am also looking after my own Facebook fan page which has hardly got 520 likes and that too in this period of two years. Moreover pages like BCET Bloggers and Facebook page of our college’s Tech-cum-Cultural fest, which is being managed by me again, has hardly turned out to be this popular. Reasons?

It is the desperation of being pulled together and expressing what they never dared to say to the opposite genders. I won’t get biased on any side, I am just presenting my sole reactions on seeing the database of confessions we are receiving. And I can see, that we are getting equally sincere confessions from the both sides. At this juncture, I wonder, why are people so tempting towards spilling out their hearts about their love concerns? If they wanna spill their heart out then isn’t there anything else that they would like to share and contemplate about?

I get to learn something from this. If you want to get popular on social media then you would have to project your actions and plan your way out through advertisements in such a way that it relates with the 'attracting phenomena' of opposite sexes. And certainly yes, to a very large extent this is correct. You can see how almost every advertisements on television are now being presented and screen played. They resemble your love life somewhere or the world of your love-fantasy or may be about the broken love life of yours. These three things I should say are working as the three chief dots which draw the big popularity triangle.

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An Odd Invention

Like the way OS drives hardware,

My tender heart drives my actions.

My CPU seldom pauses its function,

Clutched in multiple processes

And deadly thread synchronization.

Endured against suffocation,

Withstanding brute deadlock condition;

I envy that giant-tiny mastermind,

Fabricated into a chip

Named after Intel’s perfection.

My limbs and glands,

Constitute my local connection.

Through narrow bandwidth in my nerves

Runs protocol for communication.

In meshes, in rings, in stars or on buses,

With niggling breaks and data congestion

My dreams sail in intense versions.

Full of exclamations and interjections,

My vision surpasses

Chris Nolan’s ‘Inception’.

Procuring the imagination

Of an unmatched conviction.

With new thoughts’ propulsion

At my solitary mansion,

I head towards tranquility

Drawing my steps towards the invention.

An invention that can help you find

Eternal love for your life 

Exempted of distrust and disgust.

Aided with honesty, and upheld warmly.

And that would be my ultimate innovation;

My blow of life,

Into lives of millions & millions.

Images Courtesy : Google Images Search

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Enviousness

I envy him…

The stealer who sneaked into my vase,

Furtively he lavished my flowers with glam.

With strokes of his magic wand;

Vanished my flowers; their essence scrammed.

I still care and preserve,

The leftover aroma in the emptiness.

I envy him…

As he turned into a giant black cloud,

Hovered above; embraced my love in the night sky.

A tear rolled down, and mingled with stillness in lake.

And soon it rained; emerged an urge to crush my ache.

But I stood low, dormant and lifeless.

I wait for the sky to get clear.

I envy him…

The musketeer who plundered into my home.

He took away all that was mine,

Sweetness on her lips, and her dimpled face in shine.

I wish his musket to kill me,

As her memories couldn’t help me die.

Image Courtesy : Anshul Gautam's - ViBGYOR

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Moonlight

Reddishness in the sky fades,

As the stillness in darkness ascends.

In the slight azure above horizon,

Birds return their homes together,

Flapping up and down their wings in twilight.

The calm and composure in the faint light,

Oozing out from clouds in flow,

Bathes the silent world with affection.

Its moon-face, a token of love for many

And a sign to embark into actions for werewolves.

For me, the face of moon reflects my heart.

I can touch my heart in reflection at lake.

A timid hush, as a comfort and healing

From the day’s tiredness is the moonlight for me.

Photograph Courtesy : Anshul Gautam's ViBGYOR

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The Open Window...

(Click on Image to Enlarge)

On closing my eyes, I fill thick brooded meshes in my lungs with air… I hold it for a while, pushing it a little further, until I can hold it no more. Freshness sprouting outside my open window descends deep down into me… Perhaps, its spring; I can see through the open window, trees ladened with new leaves and buds; birds chirruping, squeaking around in happy-playful mood. Jolly squirrel nests on the tree too, jumping from branch to branch. Sometime they stop by at the open window, staring at my partially lit face.

Can I be ever free? I have been captive under chains of my psychotic mind. Along every perspectived dimension in my mind, there jolts clumsy curiosity; the curiosity to arrive at a clue to freedom, a way to cut bars in the open window, to dissolve the tiny autumn within me and dilute it into the sprawling spring outside.

Tools made out of elemental love, I have used enough. Adamant chains tied around my torso don’t listen to them. In the environs of spooky silent nights, my imaginary friend visits me. He preaches to carve my tools out from hatred, assuring the success on blood soiled chains. Morally fed soul of mine ravages at this juncture; it still trusts in love, although yet to recover from past injuries bought in the love’s conspiracy.

The sunlight is warm, grazing over green trees outside the open window. At a certain time of the day, the Sun bathes my dark pestered room, throwing a shine of hope on my face. It’s the time when my friend in my shadow visits me. He shares his thoughts with me, conjuring me about life; What is life?

As the Sun rises up in the sky, friend in my shadow recedes, and he is away when its all dark again. He left me a note yesterday… When the Sun was bathing me in a spotlight of hope today at its time, I read the note:

“Life is beautiful outside your open window. Free yourself from the chains that never physically existed. Free yourself from the captivity laid by chains of your diverse mind. I am waiting, outside your open window….                                                  -Anshul"

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Brain-sick's Diary #3 >> Cold Emotions

I am swimming in a pool of thoughts. In a silent room, doors closed, panes in windows shut, and lights from my laptop screen is the only source; unveiling a part of my face, more of my hands on the keyboard. With denial of connection somehow with brains, here is something my heart wants to spill out. Its my birthday today. And I am wondering, why did the God select me for my mom. Could this not have happened that some other baby was lucky enough to get into my mom’s womb? Why it was me?
There are questions that are unanswerable. Then I wonder why do such questions have to exist, when answers to them are never found. My mind throttles deep down into such thoughts, mesmerizing me with unanswerable questions.
On my headphone, its Coldplay playing… 'Fix you'.

‘When you try your best, but you don't succeed

When you get what you want, but not what you need

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse…

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?’

How true this song is. I cant explain the sufferings, affection that got killed, in course of events that I faced and left them behind on my timeline. But somewhere, I lie struck in reverse. Is the past so dear that we tend to overlook the pleasant and optimistic present? The formidable past, that’s what heart believes, keeps poking from under the veil of sewn stitches. 

It has been quite a span, and I haven’t come up here with a post that’s significant. It was this song by Coldplay, that pushed my fingers onto the keyboard, and pinned down emotions of abstract blend on my blog.

I have been busy with my work, my college, my tries at photography and in mesh of complex thoughts. But I expect to come back here with colors in poetry… 

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