Free of the Stabbing Pain

You know that fancy,
Having a broken glass in hand
Sharp, and striking it through the wrist
Over and over again!

Tearing everything in the path
The threads, the skin, veins
Gushing blood and moments of pain
Counting till the last

Visions of all the was
the knives that stabbed
cups, full of poison
and that helplessness…

And now free, free of everything
Free of all the stabbing pain

 

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Ask for Alms!

I was recently travelling back home when an elderly person boarded the vehicle and started talking about his personal miseries, ill health and how he is a father to some 2 ladies. He also mentioned his dearth of monetary resources.

While asking for help, he held out his cap in his hand. A cap. Which is often seen as a symbol of respect and dignity.

What must have befallen this person to openly talk about his misery, ask for alms and even hold out his respect to others? Even knowing the fact that they may as well disrespect the dignity he is putting forth. What must have befallen him to not think about running into an acquaintance or someone recognizing him? Or the cold he must have felt while uncovering and displaying his injuries.

What could it be? What kind of misery? What sorrow? Test?

Dread

I could hear his tormented voice
its breaking into a wail
pain, anguish, agony

Tear-streaked face
Innocence; questions in eyes
frantic attempts in sheer fear

Giving in, I console
Brazen, insensitive hope
blinded by some positivity

Justifying statements
His plans are the pest
there’s prosperity even in the loss

My audacity, I forget
his pain wasn’t some easy trial
death staring him in the eye

The dread of losing his father!

Reflection

Thoughts manifest into reality
the feeling you give out
comes back to thee

Numb, lost, immature
unable to comprehend
what world, emotions
This emptiness!

I sought answers; road to my destination
the burden of questions heaving onto me
attempts to shake off everything
friends with solitude; company!

What would reflect back, I wonder!
Emptiness? Numbness? The answers I seek?
A detailed map to my destiny?
Some moonbeams as company?

The dark veil of moonless nights
Untreatable sleeplessness
Shroud for all the misery

 

For How Long

I had someday, against nature
taken that one step; dreaded
I knew all that could go wrong
impacts, outcome

Nevertheless, I found the courage
for once to risk it all
the reward too lucrative
for once, vulnerability ceased

A surge of courage, strength
a step towards the dreaded journey
Fear, excitement, adrenaline
How does it sound?

Ever witnessed flight of a bird
a broken wing, nearing death?
It breaks into flight, not merely for its sake,
to escape… Alas!

Why didn’t it know its fate?
the flight of a broken wing
How far could courage take
or service of a fake smile?

I repeatedly ask myself
“For how long?”

Chained to Chores

Busy, bustling, daily chores
A life full of demanding more’s
Ah! The clock goes too fast
Just can’t do enough!

With hands full, I hear a call
A familiar, cherished voice
somehow it felt different
So wrong, painful

I look back, the source of the voice
Dad crumbling, drenched in sweat
something seems utterly wrong
the panic on his face

I run, trying to get a hold of him
save the fall, the anguish
But midway something hinders my run…
A chain round hand.

I try jostling it away
breaking free and going over
somehow seems too strong
Ah! What do I do…

Somewhere I comply, negotiate
I get timeouts and return back…
like a dutiful slave!

 

 

Passive Aggressiveness

All life through they taught how one should behave. How it was important to respect elders, seniors. And how maintaining a low tone and containing your disagreement is a way of showing this respect.

Did any of those realise they were teaching kids to bottle up emotions? Hide their true feelings? They were teaching, training them to use a paint brush, to put up a mask. Why did the world have problems with real?

What would happen if a child openly disagreed with his parents? “Dad, I don’t want to pursue science. I love commerce.” How does this simple admission hamper respect or relation? More so, it would help them understand each other.

But we so want to control everything that we forget where we should and where we should not talk. Some things are personal. Very close to heart. And when someone else takes away the right to express it, exercise it or pursue it, we change. We either revolt, blow up, throw up arms in protest, “This is what I want and I won’t bend”, or we bottle up. Keep emotions to oneself. Put a fake mask of happiness and do as told.

No doubt this mask makes everyone else happy. But has anyone ever thought how it impacts the person? How a lost dream and a fake smile kill him. Everyday!

This pushes one to a new zone, a mentality. Passive Aggressive Behaviour. Actively they don’t show their disagreement. Ah! Who listens either way. But passively they make sure they avenge themselves. Everything behind a mask of agreement and respect.
If we imagine scolding a child and that child breaks your favourite mug, “Oops! It dropped out of my hands”. While we mourn the loss, the child enjoys. Tit for tat.

Ah! And how many times have we been asked to do something we don’t want to. “Is it done yet?” “Ah! I am working on it. Just that it won’t happen.” We are not born procrastinators, we tend to acquire the trait on demand.

Though we see everyone calling sarcasm a sign of high IQ, it again is passive aggression. Just hidden underneath a translucent veil of humour. Sharp and ready to sting.
But at the end why should there be any need of such behaviour? Why should someone ever feel the need of a mask, a paint brush. Why should anyone ever do something just to please people?

Why care for respect and fear when it can drive you to such fatal behaviour. Once this behaviour was listed as a mental disorder. But so many people depict this tendency that now it is merely behaviour.

Why should there be passive aggression at all? Why not be and let others be real?

 

Lost Happiness

I reached home to silence
Unusual calm, peace
I wondered,
Howcome there’s no noise;
No mischief being played
I searched the garden,
The whole house
And everything empty
Worried, I wonder
When was the last she remained in
Never quite at a place
I find her in bed
Temperature, discomfort
And there goes my heart
To hear her chirp again

Helpless!

Fondling her, caressing
Praying silently under my breath
Reminding myself, recalling
His mercy, His wisdom
I tell her how
He purifies us by pain
Tests the pious
With trials
Yet, I was speechless
When in her innocence, she asked
“What sins would He write off me
And why this trial?”
My helplessness couldn’t be more profound