What if?

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What if you wake up,
One fine morning.
And don’t find me
Sleeping by your side?
What if I wake up,
In the middle of the night.
And slip out of your bed
Walk out of your life?
What if I leave no clues,
And no riddles behind.
I’m playing no games,
I’m gonna feign no smiles.
What if I say no,
To all your smiles?
Give no answers
And leave no justifications around.
What if I tell you,
That I don’t feel the magic anymore.
All the pleasures are drenched,
And all my screams are dry.
All smiles are thoughtful,
All touches hold a meaning,
All reasons are excuses.
All actions are abuse.
I miss it all,
I miss it a lot.
Those moments of blind trust,
And uncounted purposeless awaits.
Those stupid ugly gifts,
Momentary thoughtless smiles.
Those sudden screams on streets,
And fighting each other, walking miles.
What if I start again,
Doing all that I used to?
Would you accompany me?
Or would you prefer your crew?
Would you wait again?
Again for me like you used to?
Or would you this time sound,
The other way round?
Would you tell me to grow up?
Or leave all my fantasies?
What if you’re not ready
To absorb me wild again?
Just tell me now,
Without thinking of your gain.
Just tell me whatever,
Truth’s hidden in your vain.
Just tell me already,
I don’t want to wait.
Just tell me now,
Would you wait for me till dawn?
Or would you walk out
On me like a con?

Muskan Arora

 

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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.

It’s Time

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It’s time. Like everyday the clock has struck 1. But unlike everyday I cannot sleep.

I am tired, and it was a long day. My eyes feel the burden of hell and my body lifted the sky, my skin has been seared to the sun, yet sleep walks afar, the unknown, the un claimed road. I am running behind it, the faster my gait, the smokier it’s outline gets.

Something is killing me inside. Every inch, every fibre of me can feel it. Did I go wrong somewhere? Did I forget something? I did it all, as scheduled, yet I feel uneasy this time. It’s not the first time, though I am oblivion stricken withal I remember it. Every part, in every way.

I had to save her, but I couldn’t. Again. I failed. Again. She cried. Again. I tried. Again. Then lost. Again. Though she trusted me. Again. And I ran back to hold my loathing shattered pieces together. All over again.

I am tired of it, but I cannot abandon it. I hate it, yet cannot strand it. How can I ever separate my own self from me? Cause she dies everyday, every second, inside of me. She the moment she last breathed in my arms, since the very moment, I was left alone to sail a boat which already had a sinking deck. No island to surround. No destination to swim. Yet every past night I successfully deceived myself to the blinding clarity of moving on and forgetting but all I actually achieved was a hollowed soul, perishing deeper and deeper. Emptying my sordid body.

All I discovered is that forgetting you is like sinking into a void which had nothing but you. No land to step on, no water to quench, no air to suck in, only you.

But today that I learn to allow myself to accept it, accept the burning reality that it was no one else but me, me who did it all. It feels like I am allowing the fire to consume me when locked in a burning house. Like I am no longer desperate to open the windows and jump out. Cause it was me who set the fire after all. But I forgot that if I have to burn the house then I will be burnt inside it, alive. Like the house, you engulfed me inside of you, and I am no longer alive, cause I already died inside of you. I wish I never had let you fall for him and alas, I would have never poisoned you to death.

That Strange Feeling

“It was like the strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I cannot express in words.
Like somewhere, very far, away far from the city and away from the villages. Somewhere no people reside. Away from all the civilisation and society. In a place where the sun blazes like a furnace.
Where there are only dead mountains standing, with no life in them. No spider, no crab.
The ocean stretches but no fish and hence no man. Just an empty barren piece of burning brown earth. The pernicious winds penetrating the languish mountains.
The sound of falling rocks, clattering against each other. But the dead remains dead, and all that resides is nothing, all that hears to those screams is emptiness, and all the bears those winds is silence.”

Argument

A nothing grazing my head. The sound of silence absorbing into my ears. Like buckets full of water, I feel frail and heavy.
The trance of black taking over and feeding over my emotions, digesting my ability think or even feel.
I feel like I am letting go. Running off, everything. The fear of loosing set far, not a shadow to be seen. Just emptiness and the nostalgia of the want of feeling nothing is taking over. Engulfing me as a whole, mouthful.
Thoughts getting paralysed and affection getting choked. Body getting numb and eyelids bearishly heavy.
Words draining off my core, leaving the surface and letting go. Like they never grew on the barren platform.
Don’t know if it’s the same, or the ability to deceive my own self. Not about me, not about nothing but the argument.
The argument between the want of being stranded and the feel of being wanted.
Choice being material, or being eternal. The argument now making my numbness go, unwontedly.
Harder I try, farther I loose,
To the material than eternal. The argument never ending about absolutely nothing I can do.