Society: the well

A withered stoned well,

Rotten and deep.

From heaven to hell,

To make everything weep.
Miles and miles,

Reside impalpable.

Only the crying walls,

Tearing the untouchable.
Down there,

In disgust and squalor.

Thousands and thousands,

Of snakes wear pallor.
Poisonous and dark,

With hatred in their hearts.

Between the alive and dead,

For blood, their souls arc.
Tempting the wicked,

By their scavenging mouths.

Swallowing blood, putrid and corrupt,

No water from the south.
Those sucking mouthful grave,

To swallow a breath.

Are the winners,

Of this gambling quest.
The girl, bare feet,

Aware yet innocent.

Stands by the stinking well,

Shattered, can’t pay off the debt.
Trembling her hands,

For her lover awaits her presence.

Of misfortune and burden,

Can’t digest the essence.
Can’t walk to him,

Can’t lay in his arms.

Cause he is the son,

Of who has digested her farms.
He waits in her cottage,

To argue, to claim.

While she peeps in the well,

So rotten, so vain.
Beautiful were those,

Merry days of love.

When no one knew about,

Bonded hearts with invisible cuffs.
Nothing remains anymore,

Of the relations of past.

Except the snakes from before,

Craving water for their cast.
For all those who sin,

End up in the well.

By guilt or by hands,

Bloodless parched bodies swell.
No skin remains, no muscle,

No one chooses the well to die.

Yet when the lover runs to her,

She doesn’t bid a goodbye.
With tears in eyes,

And her letter in hands.

He stands speechless,

Overwhelming regret for all his plans.
Stand naked his words,

For the promises he couldn’t keep.

Couldn’t save her from the world or from himself,

All that’s left is to weep.
But the syndrome of life,

He no longer wishes to cure.

Jumps after her,

For the death could allure.
The ruthless snakes were priced delight,

Of the fresh blood of longing.

Them, with no urge to fight,

The upcoming belonging.
– Muskan.

Mirage

desert-africa-bedouin-footprints‘Best Friends Forever’
The term is fiction. So it’ll last forever but the truth is never fiction. Truth is never surreal. It’s hard as glass. It breaks then it makes you bleed. The truth is that the fictional three words will always remain unchanged but the mouths uttering them will keep changing.
The faces will keep flipping but the promising words will always be wrapped with the same superficial forever. The people will come, use and go. The time will do all to make you wither. The change will always be unacceptable for many. The trust will always seem to be strong and lasting but it’s like a mirage in the desert.
Like a traveller in the huge expanse of swallowing sand, tired, thirsty and sweaty. Dying for a drop of water to satiate his choking throat and quench his dried up soul. A sudden sparkling lake brings him back to life, revives his hopes. He runs. Runs to quench his thirst. Runs to medicate his sores. Every step dragging him deeper into glee.
His merry heart letting tears run faster than him. As his burning feet step into the merciful water and he dips his hands to get some water, it vanishes. The glass of dream breaks and then the heart bleeds. He is back in the middle of the same slaughtering desert.
Just exactly same is what the human heart is. You trust, you lose. You believe, they hurt. You play, you win. You dodge, their sin.
Friendship, love, care. Everything is like the mirage. And you are the traveller looking desperately for them. Cause even relations have their own timeline. Everything ever born has its own expiry date. Same goes for me. Same goes for you and same goes for us.