THE WRITER WITHOUT AN AGE

Long time! I have been busy with internship and sorting a few things out for myself. This piece was written back then, in a long time (of a few months). This is separate from other works. More concrete and comprehensible than the usual complex jargon. I believe it is extraordinary to write ordinary because ordinary alone would touch the hearts of the mass and complex is to be cherished only by a few and be marred with a lot of interpretation.

Picture: Pixabay CC0

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3:53 AM 2/05/2018

Now I must write
But know that I write for you
Now I must speak
But I must speak that to you

Because reader alone
Could imbibe the words they read
The writer must thus
Write the word that reader need

If the word be an idea
Then it must be thought upon
If it happens to be a feeling
Then it must be felt along

And that we are only limited
By the bounds of our imagination
The writer wrote boundless
Now the reader must flow along

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THE GRAPES ARE SOUR BUT I’VE GOT HONEY

11:42 PM
09/02/2018

THE GRAPES ARE SOUR BUT I’VE GOT HONEY

Pardon me
If I pen this
As an extinction to an epiphany
Pardon me
If my words
Extend well beyond standards
I can tell
How annoyed
This disorientation tastes like
But did you know?

Alone they walked
Couldn’t find an asylum for their thoughts
Unshod their soul
To get up again
To fire walk and topple

The fox kept complaining about the grapes
Little she knew I kept balancing on a thin line
Just so that I could get to the other end, but
I fell over and over and over and over again
There was fire below and I burnt myself
The line is thin and would break the next time
I will take a walk on it but to hell with it
I shall just fall again like that ant who kept trying
To climb to get sweet, sweet honey
From the shelf and it was high and she couldn’t climb
She’d said, “I’d use the elevator”, didn’t she?
Used one and went to get the honey
While I still balance to get to the next side
I got past this time but you know
The line could’ve broken and I could’ve fallen
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve who’d’ve cared?
What are the odds for such a thing to happen
After all I’ve been falling for quite some time now
The ant took the elevator to get some taste
I barely got past the thin line on a thin rope
But we all get to start somewhere right

LOOK I GREW UP

11:13 PM

09/02/2018

Third of the “Birthing Trilogy”

LOOK I GREW UP

For a moment I thought I am sufficient
Not just for me but those around me
For a moment I left all the worries and
Wandered right into the jungles of my imagination
And I, with what all my creative juices had procured
Something extraordinary upon the free flown
Landscape of a never ending sentence
Hoping to find a conclusion out of a mess
A mess we term life
And as soon as I thought about it junk crept in
And a thousand thoughts fired in my head
Lit me up from the inside
And the heat was too much I could choke
I was being good mama
I was going on my way, I thought the right
Isn’t it good if it works for you?
But maybe it isn’t if I am doing it all the time
And I just forgot about my folks
My loved ones who couldn’t understand
That bravery isn’t fighting men
For things that don’t belong to us
Neither is making them wage war
Against one another and monger for more
I guess I haven’t grown up yet if I think it is bad
Life is a chaos and we continue to search for meaning
I deem it bravery to declare that love is my only God
Instead of moving in the dark doing what I don’t
The only thing that I think is true is when
“I” stopped using “you” and worked together
When “I” loved “us” more than “self”
I think I am sufficient if I can still love
I think I am brave enough if I could fight just for that

ONE SONG IN WOODS

1:08  23/08/2017

I ventured past one Shisham tree
Ever so starker and ever so green
How suave those leaves, all glee!

I toppled down as soil was damp
I hobbled, for one knee had bent
It is tough to work on this ground

The woods seem to stare at me
I see eyes in bushes over there
The woods sing for the hunter

The woods cry for the hunted
The gunpowder is damp too
My gun can shoot no more

The bushes now move
On their own perhaps
The king  has come

My kingdom too
The king jumps
I jumped too

A silent gun
Had eaten
Me

THE NEWBORN

Happy new year to all! ❤

1:30 PM

19/10/2017

Second of the Birthing trilogy.

Before I had my own little appendages
Few little senses, a face of proportions
A sound that would become my voice
A voice that would govern the sounds
I was only a chunk of little matter to be
I did not conceive you, you hadn’t me
You would then name me and tame me
To become like everyone you’d ever be
I have taken birth for your own needs
You want to make me prolong a breed
I have taken birth for your own needs
Make me the only toy you  won’t break
You would rather play with my life
Then let me take myself in my own hands
If I don’t have for a name a guardian
God save, you would rip me off my hands
Take me to a booth and make me sell
My own self, and make me a vendor too
I born anew to become the old brood
For sake they say we have a choice
But two makes not a choice ’tis tragedy
Whether I live or die is not the choice
But what I can do with all my time is
Until I have none and you the guardian
I am a new tree, new leaves and trunk
I am the latent storm, I am a newborn

THE PRECIPICE  

7:31 PM

18/10/2017

First of Birthing trilogy.

We are all children to our present self
And we want to grow out of it
It is tough to take birth
It is tough to continue living
But we must do it because we are born
And we have been brought forth in this
World for the satisfaction of our humans
Because the bestowed miracle: a human
Exists and thus exits the taste for joy
To give us purpose we have given us so much
Why do you want to take it away
By spending yourselves, you the ignorant
There is a lot of time to grow up
The day you know you have grown up
Matured from the heaps of tragedies
That you survived the sins of your ancestors
The legacy of them, and their curses
Their traditions, cultural values, and beliefs
Congratulations, you have stopped learning
And you have become the perfect AI
Growing up and growing out are different things
It is good to stand on the shoulders of the giants
Some of the giants are the gods
The giant and the miniscule that runs this world
Is also the God
I write of a God, who knows not the difference
Between the saint and the satan
The murderer and the murdered
The predator and the prey
The number and the outnumbered
The criminals and oppressors and
Hunters and gatherers, the savages
The mundane and out worldly
The vis-à-vis and the precipice

THE BARD NOT ON HEMLOCK (PAROXYSM)

Conceived 11/11/2017 (7:00 PM)

12/11/2017 3:36 PM

The bard was high
The bard was not on hemlock
The bard did sigh
No words came to make a talk
As time flies by
And the threads entangle all
Tricks come nigh
The bards sing about the hoax
Hoax came alive
Alas! how long may the song last
The strings collide
Like never before they send
Forth to mesmerize
But my kin; riffs and friends
Tension did arise
Senses that once worked well
Now did only lie
The bard seemed on hemlock
None can justify