Where to?

He went away
to look for the answers
of the questions that
couldn’t let him sleep.

He was handsome,
brimmed with enthusiasm;
pledged to fight alone,
but it were the city lights
the kisses and hill heights
that made his questions drone.
His changing seasons of life
got stewed and tossed
and the air of distraction
got them blown.

Then he went far away,
worked and earned for bread.
There he found his love
married, wished a life happy and gay.
They bore a baby, a boy
thereby he worked harder for toy.
Many years went away,
all the questions and the answers
got locked in his heart one day.

Dates changed so did his wife
who once promised for life,
she took their son and left him
he was depressed, dull and dim.

Then he went farther away
into the wild, some place in ruin
There he sipped his tea
revisited his memory.
Have had turned bald and gray
he was tired everytime, used aid to hear,
yet whenever he’d meet you, he’d say
“can you answer my question,
oh wait, what were they?”
-R.

Instagram Account

I’ve been quite inactive on WordPress lately, and that is because I have started handling my Instagram writing account. Here’s the link to my account, hope you checkout and follow.

https://instagram.com/picturesquepen__?utm_source=ig_profile_share&igshid=qt6jdjg95adh

Regards.

The Man

The city has seen
the rise and fall
of a man with strength
The man of choice.

The child who ran on streets
fastening the tyres with sticks.
Too quite to bother anyone
yet dreamy, fiery eyes to put
to ash and dust everyone.

The young adult,
rebellious and exploitative.
Shouting with blooded sticks
Too loud to awake the street
And fire in his eyes shuffled with
lust for the love of his life.

The old man, poor man
walking and tumbling on streets
struggling to stand with sticks.
Calm of the millpond
inbuilt on the wrinkled face
yet disgrace in tears
rolling down the cloudy gaze.
-R.

Will

There is nothing you can’t

The only question is will you?

Pc: Instagram

December Daffodils

Reluctantly untangling myself
from the quilt fazed
between my hands and legs,
my head still sleeps
where heart shouts out loud
to not to miss the first
December mist.

With cheeks all pink
nose as red as if the ink
I put my shoes on
and step out to see
the Daffodils bloom.

A morning so blue
yet yellow,
sun hidden in clouds
yet shimmer,
December is dark
yet the Daffodils manage bright.

Messy Witchcraft

Bed of roses

Sheets of thorns

Tree captures love

Leaf breathing desires

Body spells mortality

Soul drowning in sins

Mercy demands pardon

Forgetfulness defining mysteries

Hope lifts the spirit

Expectation surging pains

Blessings inflate consents

Voodoos selling free

This is called the Chaotic Magic

Synonym for Messy Witchcraft!

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CAPTURING MOMENTS

I was sitting idly in a beautiful, captivating garden, gridded with trees that erected a canopy over my bench. The ribbons of sunlight allured the appeal of my diary that had some white and blue flowers printed at its back cover. Those immortal flowers seemed to have attained life as the strings of sunlight strike on the translucently shiny petals as if a mortal magic poured some elixir into them.

Sparrows, parrots and pigeons formed a musical band and collectively chirped in the most melodious tunes that I ever heard. Squirrels, taking part as instrumentalists, bit nuts creating a humming twitter that added sparks of inner sentiment deep down my heart.

There was almost no one in the park and even if there were; clicking selfies, landing kisses, troubling the band and some doing nothing. But he was considerately there.

My glasses reflected a young adult, who seemed to be still a kid at heart. He carried this placid, secluded, resting appearance and wore a calm like a millpond on his face, as a mask hiding some of his scars and revealing some, which he might be proud of. The charm of his charisma was crystal clear in his closure. He might have caught any of my attention if he did not have his mobile phone right in front of anything that was worth a photograph.

Though having this poise, still psych; he was as restless as the squirrel nipping nuts, hopping from one scenic beauty to another photogenic thing. He was as edgy as those troubled birds, flying over shorter distances and yet again repeating. He snapped everything and I wondered why because if he was a photographer, he must own a camera or if he was just a breezy prodigy he must have got friends. But there wasn’t either.

It was an hour of observing him and gradually just staring with absolutely no thoughts, as if stuck into a labyrinth with no plot or as if facing the supreme, yet no wishes to make. In that hallucinating phase, I might have let my eyes to meet his but nothing. I was into some utterly different world just when my phone beeped and all the attention that I guarded in my fist strained down from the vacuum between my fingers like grits of sand. Thereby, I decided to leave.

I put my glasses off, collected my stuff, picking up my diary I realised that how in a strategic moment those transient artificial flowers ran into solidarity on entering my bag’s dark, bidding farewell to the pretty sunny noon.

In no thought, I gave him a glance and grabbed my bag, I turned to leave just when I heard a click sound. Aloof, I turned back; again a click where flash dazzled in my eyes, it was him. I stood there cold into utmost perplex whereas he looked at his phone for a few seconds, then held his head high putting a smile on his serious, tempestuous face, like a tide in still sea.

Giving me no time to react, he said in his muffled voice-

“Capturing Moments. That’s it.”

He winked and left.

(a picture I clicked of him taking another picture)

Solivagant Maybe

Neither blazing in sun

nor lazing in shade,

neither wantonly flying like a bird

nor in the vicinity of the earth.

O dear tripper, what do you seek?

Leaving the east winds

abandoning the broken cot

vacating the butter from milk

quitting the woven cloth,

you’ve crossed the Seven Seas,

have given an excuse to experience

that’s what you do.

Yet even in the Colombian deluge

your heart sprawls brittle,

a drought of pain,

the cracks of absence

why do they allure your face?

Neither testifying saline

nor pleased by sweets,

neither loving someone

nor remembering the old ones.

O dear traveller, what do you seek?

Withdrawing the joining hands

departing from the nation of colours

disappearing from the moist soil

scooting the spring flowers,

you’ve far-flung to some distant land

have given an excuse to explore

that’s what you do.

Yet in the bustle of NY square

your heart breathes solitude,

an isolation created in the sense

the loathed forlorn wanderer

seeking devotion in hell.

True Wanderlust

I expected the college day-trip to be the usual-casual merriment of getting together. I expected to have the picnic lunch including hams, sandwiches and fruits; the chit chatting all around and playfully jumping in that transient natural background. I expected to leave for home with nothing but a pack to reminisce.

But my expectations were the antonym of what actually happened.

I left with a new meaning, I left with the exclamation of actual wanderlust!

It’s this guy Lee.

Lee was quite like the usual guys in college, mocking professors, bunking classes and having all the whoopee possible.

So far this was how I knew him, until today.

Where everyone was enjoying, he sat close to the edge of a dale from where the whole scenic city could be viewed. His face composed a calm like that of the water in a pond on a random spring day. A sensation of liberty was distinct on his sunkissed face.

When everyone else gathered in groups to have lunch, he took his part and went back to the same spot. He sat still but the tides in his eyes were violent like an y

eagle, wantonly flying in the heights of the sky which it owns. Lee telepathed himself into another world with no mirages.

In the place filled with people and creations, it was Lee’s unpredictable desire for freedom that caught all of my attention. It seemed that he paused his world for some time, paused not to question but to appreciate; to amble.

His aura evoked the senses of daring and bravery for strolling, and I sat in awe wondering about Lee’s thoughts.

The adventure to get somewhere was transparent in his motionless yet so observant activity. This made me curious.

What made the fun-loving, charming stud, Lee so subtle?

Have lost control, I went and sat near him. For minutes he did not notice me, whereas, I tried to glance and spot what in the cityscape made Lee to not even blink his eyes. It felt like forever, because he was in some other world from where I had to call him back to quench the thirst of my inquisitiveness.

“This is so not you Lee. Has something happened? I mean I’ve never seen you so quiet.” I offered him a string of questions yet maintaining an empathetic tone.

“Curious, are you?” he took few moments to lose his attention and then responded as vaguely as he could. He continued-

“sometimes it’s not significant to interrogate everything. Like..” he took a resilient pause “like what is Heather doing in summer days?” he said caressing the petals of the Heather flowers blooming next to him. “It’s fine not to know everything,
unless you raise the question why.”

“Rains are so majestic till you answer it with the water cycle.

Creations are primitive until you emerge the term evolution.

Flowers are supposed to just blossom until you declare them a mode for reproduction.”

“Every why can have an answer but at the cost of losing the beauty of its mystery.”

I turned spellbound; words abandoned me for some time.

He sensed my perplex and said to console “nothing, it’s just the air. The vibes here are so good that I can’t resist myself to look and appreciate.”

“oh..okay,” I said in a lisp and left as fast as I could.

It cost me the whole tour to analyse Lee’s words. My spirit of oddity had taken a new birth. Today is the exact day when I know the meaning of hashtags at the end of some posts, the Instagram bios and the phrases rolled over tees.-

WANDERLUST- the strong desire may not be to travel but to cherish!

PC: shubham dubey

Complicated Men

Men- a three letter word, where thesis fail to describe it.
“They are emotionally unstable, lustful awkward in expressing, commitment phobic, cold blooded.”
The way most of the women take them and how society expects them to be.
Contradicting as always-
Men are weak in expressing but they are not stone hearted. Yes, they are sexually quite a more vulnerable than woman which is logical by the way. Their biological system is composed of hormones that are way more responsive than in women. How is that their fault? How does this make us to conclude that they are mean spirited? The essence of the matter for men being so firm and objective is- the seclusion of never-satisfied society.
Society raises judgemental sites on the masculinity of men as soon as they urge to convey their sentiments in generic. Our culture’s orthodox perspective views crying and weeping feminine. This view leaves men with no choice rather than humour or anger to express themselves.
How many times have you heard your parents consoling your brother when he falls from his bicycle and gets hurt and is just about to shed–“shh.. boys don’t cry” Who made this rule? Is crying or weeping a trait copyrighted or made a patent of by women only?
Also these days the #TooMuch trending #MeToo movement which made us down to conclude “men are some jingoistic incestuous insects craving only for sensuous activities.”
Sorrowfully, our media made us believe that all men are same, vicious. But interrogating–are men some sapiens who walk and talk of some chauvinistic crap they are made of? Or is it just how are media showcases them? Here, the part that is left outshadowed is that all the accused men committed the sin when they were at their highest distil and power with an extreme superiority of being answerable to none. After 20 years of being harassed how did you now gather guts to come out? A slap then and there would maintain a better dignity then now. The matter shrinks down to “today it is sweetu tomorrow it can be #MeToo.”
Why is our system so objective that whatever a women says is accepted to be truth at another level;though being passed with a line of judgemental looks. Imagine if there was a #MeToo movement from the male side. Ask to yourself would you ever believe any allegation proposed by a pitiful man? No. No one would.
Hence, Men are not immune from emotional plays than women, its just their inability to freely express their notions.
In my opinion, men cripple in senses. Emotional conveying is not allowed to them.
Their silhouette is tough, firm, resilient but the dark body lies timid and coy. They err and hence prone to heartless considerations.
The need of the hour is not to conclude with which sex being suppressive or superior, it is expression for all!
For an egalitarian surrounding the perspective for men that has been maintained over years needs to be manipulated.
Its not their fault to have an erection.
Randomly, if men had vaginas and breasts they would be accepted to let their eyes flow in public.