The Silence, it's Murder!

A laugh and a giggle,
Such frivolous waste,
A hidden expression,
Just waitin' to surface.
Yon' solitary mind,
Wander doth mazed,
Through letter and kind,
Searching.
Ever,
That reason to bear.
Speechless in stare.

A growing feeling,
Upon the hand unused,
Reeling.
Screaming.
The tiny voice inside,
Dreams,
Ideas,
Fore from their hide.

The hand squiggles, the lines that were,
Bound leaping, out, a-fore,
The hand that squiggled paused for more,
Squiggled on, spilled all o'er.

What a waste, to mind does come,
'twas that time to laugh in a drone.

Alas the masterpiece finished.
An eye around cast long shadows,
The places that laughs once hallowed,
The payment, overdue ensured,
The shadows got longer, as the words flowed.
Lay in the burden of words, his own,
Lay the hand, and the words of his own.
Words he freed, words, his home,
Words, his only companion.

He lay,
Mind astray,
Back in the day,
Eyes, ears every way,
Upon every lie he'd say.

The laugh the giggle, all that waste,
Back onto his expressionless face,
The reigning disparity within his head,
And once again the words were dead...
The words, his own, the words, dead.

Every Man For Himself

They say that sometimes realization can dawn upon you in the least expected ways and times. For him it was one early Friday morning. Lying awake for some reason till early in the morning and staring at the wall above him, dreaming as dreamers do with eyes wide open. Letting his mind free and standing by, watching it breed in its natural habitat of thought was something of his recent hobby. That poor beast that he would keep tamed all day as it was a societal menace,was leaping about making the most of this temporary freedom. He knew that the forest of HIS thoughts was a dangerous territory, a dark place that scared him too. But every early dawn he would still let his mind foray through it.
Today he felt different. Not the usual self that just silently followed his mind traversing the forest. Today  he felt limp, something kept dragging him back. He looked down upon himself and gasped… he was in crutches. Crutches that he had to keep holding on to, to keep from falling. Crutches below which his ability of free thought and action were smashed.
Independence of thought, opinion, and action is a treasured possession. He now felt deprived of this very basic human need. As he slowly limped along the trail of thoughts that the crutches carried him through, he remembered something he had learned recently, “Like attracts like, this universe is built upon that principle”. Were his own actions and thoughts to blame for his current situation? A coach chugged along in his path, he stumbled into it only to see many coaches were in tow, all chugging through the forest. He surveyed each coach, every time dawning upon a new, yet related, aspect of him being responsible for his state. At once he saw all those overly ambitious attempts at pleasing others at the cost of his feelings. Moving into the next, there he saw that time, when he instituted his foremost rule of never giving anyone the reigns to his feelings and how this had only let him down over time. He was now no more the rider, he was ridden by emotions. It was snuffing him out. The urge to break out of it all, to break these crutches and be on his own feet once again, was his only thought. He started to run, haplessly limping all the way… he ran and ran away from that forest, away from those memories that suddenly were more haunting than pleasing. He kept running far, just running to escape it all once and for all.
The capability to think for oneself is something we take for granted more often than not. Value it, value the fact that YOU can CHOOSE. Choice maketh a man, ‘tis said, and rightly so.

The Other Side Of The Moon

The prince of the darkness, yet not princely by far,
Every night, watches over the dozing population.
Over the calm, sleepy wind, drearily rustling the proud tree.
Observing the last of the midnight bird, and its unsuspecting prey.
Passing by the window of that boy, that the sun spoke of,
Naughty little brat, but in the streaming moonlight, a harmless angel.
The cool moonlight that drenched the burning sands of the deserts,
The naughty moonlight that stole peeks at cosy, cornered, lovers,
The magnificent moonlight, that cut through the dark forest,
The soothing moonlight giving company to distressed souls,
The creepy moonlight, frightening humans off the zombie’s-land,
The majestic moonlight, cutting through the blinding darkness,
Giving eyes to the living dead, and taking them from the rest.
The soft feather, trampled all day under the reign of the sun,
Floats freely guided by the moonlight, and upon the drowsy wind.
Smiling upon all the wonders, in their true state that he sees,
The moon, in all his glory, shines brighter with pride.
The spotted moon, himself, for days, turns away and sleeps.
As the bright face that lit their ways, now wanes away,
The lost wind, now stops to blow, and rests till the light returns.
The proud tree, a glory in the white, now stands ignominiously hidden.
The feather, with no companion or medium, lies… caressing its wounds.
And the distressed souls, distressed, now more, sit distressing further.
Sans the saviour, the blinding darkness, fills every waking corner,
As the hoot of the owl, adds fuel to the fire that blazes in the night.
The cheer dies down, amongst the lovers, as the gloomy darkness sets in,
The wicked dark, reflecting only the wicked in that little brat’s face.
The land holds its breath, waiting and praying for return of the calm moonlight,
For the other side of the moon, is dark and eerie, not a very pleasant sight.

Goodbyes

A lot of things crossed his mind as he walked past the last cycle chained to its stand. The week that had passed was something that had left him mesmerized, dazed almost. And in that moment that he walked back, a moment that had decided to make itself feel at home and linger, time just ran back.
It was an exciting thing for him. A long anticipated moment that had finally seemed right around the corner. He was going to finally be with what made him happy. With what made him feel like himself and more. With what gave him a word to define cuteness. With it, meant the world to him. And now, it was coming to him, to be with him, and be his… All the excitement, he could not contain! He would sit all day, as his books stared at him, longing for attention acting all desperate by throwing up random highlights and “Did You Know”s. But they were to get none of him, as he counted down the days, to hours, to minutes to seconds.
At first he did not know how the situation was to be handled. He always saw them in the open or under adult constraints. But now it was all his and he was in it’s possession. Its face, its walk, its playful gestures, everything that made him forget the existence of a life outside of the realms of this new world, this new world of fun, of being fun, of being himself, open and free. And he wanted to make the most of it. As he spent more time with it, he learnt more of it. And it only played along very happily. In return, he made it get the best, and only the best. Never leaving it hanging, and always getting it what it wanted. When it was happy, he would be exhilarant.
They had fun together, as he sneaked it into places that were deemed out of bounds for one or both of them. Not wanting to let go, he sneaked it into his home, without knowledge of anyone, and had fun all night as sleep took a seat ordered some burgers and coke, and watched contently as the two played around. Never letting the other feel a moment of emptiness or loneliness. He treasured his time with it. The smiling moon, after watching over them all this while, finally took his leave and left them to their ways. The sun, wanting a peek too, scrambled its way through the sky, only to find them peacefully perched and greeting him with warm smiles and even more warmed hearts.
It wanted to explore, he wanted to explore with it. They made moment after moment happen, and moment after moment happened with them. They played under god’s nose, and in the devil’s den. And nothing beat their company and they made a new friend… TIME.
Even time seemed to enjoy their little squabbles and childish giggles. “Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations”, said some great man. As the time came to part ways, and goodbye was the word that fought its way through his throat and grumbled as it squeezed between his clenched teeth and fell out in one agonizing flick of the tongue. A goodbye that seemed to summarize, in a moment, what they had built, over that time. He hated that word. He hated everything about it! The way it sounded. The way it was spelled. The way it FELT.
But it had to be done, and he could just turn and walk. Not having enough courage to watch his love part from him. Not wanting to watch it leave, just as he sniffled to hold back the drop that was so eager to run out his, across his cheek. He walked off, away from the van that carried his beloved away. His pup. The one he had got for his birthday, the one that he had wanted throughout his childhood, and had finally been rewarded on HIS most special day. Now it was going back home, and his heart was going back to its shell. Every step through the mud felt like walking through quicksand.
The cycle still stood there, laughing at him, chained to its stand… and laughing.

The World That Was Not

She used to be the centre of attention. And she loved it.
The yesteryears had been tough on her. Living in a shell, she was almost used to herself being alone. She would relish moments away from people, from the noise-mongers, from those who chose to trade their inner voice for a thousand phony ones that would always pamper and stroke their faulty ego. She was proud. Not being one of the attention seekers was something she prized. They called her a loon, a social-recluse! But she did not care. A place, a world of her own she did create. And a million copies of herself, each carrying a single thought of hers! A creative wonderland! They called her lonely! But she denied that. This was not loneliness, it was SOLITUDE!
She WAS the centre of attention, and LOVED it!
Yet life was tough on her. She never really understood why. Why was it, that at times she felt this pang in her stomach? an occasional feeling of emptiness? Even though she drifted into her world, her thoughts would only manifest themselves into dark, hollow eyed, nothings! She hated these phases. Tears would seem to push their way through the corner of her eye, and overpower her vain attempts to hold them back! They would run freestyle, cheering along the depressing outline of her face. Tears, rolling happily down, doing somersaults along the edges of her lips, frowning.
Where were HER prized friends now? She hated them, this instant! There arose a conflict in her head. Amongst the emptiness that previously filled that space, this conflict grew on her. Whom was she fighting here? Was it the dark side of the world she was so fond of? or was it her? She had no answer. And the emptiness that was ruling over her also offered no clues.
This was her. a few years ago. This was her, in her last life.
Things had changed now. She had long broken up with Recluse, apart from many a boy, since then. She was NOW, exactly what she hated THEN. And still she felt no pangs. They loved her. She loved being loved. She got used to her new life. With people around at all times, it was like living her dream. A dream that had risen from the ashes of another that suffered a painful death, long ago. Her inner voice, trampled by the volume of the millions that now flooded her previously dogged head! She knew her mistake. She knew she was wrong before. Wrong about loneliness, wrong about solitude!
Then one day it happened! Déjà-vu. This time these were not alien territories, she knew this place. It was one she had created and destroyed long ago! Her favourite haunt now haunted her. This time her friends came for her. This time they offered her solace, offered her happy thoughts. And it lit up the dark world she was irked of! But now a new conflict took roots in her head. She was in a brighter world alright, but she was in crutches. She could not walk in this world by herself. If support eluded her, she fell back into the deep chasm of nothingness. She had become dependent! Overly dependent on others to live her life. Despite the world brimming with happiness, this thought spread like the light in her head.
Autophobia, Eremophobia, Monophobia, all meant nothing to her. Yet they all defined her. The fear of loneliness is one that has no definitive and permanent cure. This fear is often compounded by the natural desire to connect with others and then finding that this natural desire is denied by circumstances that are often outside the control of the phobic personality.
As she sat with herself, she looked within. Retrospection, a guiding light. She looked back at her past life, and her present one. Then it dawned upon her, that loneliness is not a factor that is in her hands to control. It is just like the blue moon, sounding like a myth, but existing all the same. It was a phase, it would pass. She could hold it back temporarily, by indulging in activities, but it would only come back stronger after a while.
This is not the end of the story. There is no end to it. It is something that never dies. Loneliness attaches itself with people at its will. It is in our hands to turn this into solitude, that is willing loneliness… In the words of Pablo Neruda:

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves
with death.