Have I lost you?

Have I lost you

In the midst of the ocean 

or in the thin air

or in the fumes of our fury

or in the blames of men

and women and children

Have I lost you on your 

flames of ego

wrath of your turbulence inside

Oh song of the nights

Did you just die

or live forever

only to be whispered

 around the corners of the streets

and in the melancholic mood

Have I lost you my friend

and love

My enemy of  my own life

my music echoes in your ears

I know it for a fact

and you can't deny it

for I may live, but as this mass of flesh

and you may have been dead 

but live as a soul of many

you will never see.   

At War

The war has begun. It is getting tougher by the day. The battle field is unrestricted and uncalled for. Nevertheless, it is bound to happen. Question is why? The answer to that question is another question: Why not!

It gives a beautiful perspective of how to think during a war, can one think at all? If you do, you are a master. If you don't, a slave you are. Well, a slave to whom/what? A slave to your own misery and a castle around it. Built so tall that if you jump from it, you will die. But if you climb and stay there on top, you are an achiever. You win. Its not a great deal of distance between the feeling of fresh air and tangles of death but it's a great deal about what you actually want. Embrace changes around and within you or ignore it, to get used to it. Well I shall leave it to a hopeless/hopeful reader and the writer self.

I came across an adorable and emotional piece of work, an account of someone's life and the expression of joy and sadness at the same time giving out a sense of belongingness, yet sadness in its own sense. It actually prompts me to write my version of a story. A story filled with jolly rides and lone castles. A story confusing enough to make any sense at the end of the day but worth writing. 

Few years ago, a girl wanted so much from her life and freedom from expectations all around her, that she, decided to join the war. Not everyone gets to be in the war but she tried managing home and qualifying for the war. She pushed beyond certain boundaries and voices to finally start a journey to war. Well, who wants a journey to war? Absolutely brainless! But she felt freedom to fight was way better that bound to win. Boundaries never made her feel like an achiever. She chose the battlefield upon her home ground. She moved ahead with conviction and perseverance to explore her survival skills. Challenge was what she was working on. She was a peaceful girl but why did she chose the war? I think it is utterly senseless. I think she was to acquaint herself with the other side of herself. A vis-a-vis with her reflection.

Days, months, years passed by. She was happy preparing for the war, won small battles, sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded. Didn't matter. It was still survival. She was preparing for 'the War'. It was to come. The weather had to b right. The opponents had to be in the right frame to fire. She was to be in her perfect self. But it between something happened. A rose flower looked so appealing in the battlefield that for a fleeting moment the war seemed ridiculous. he purpose lost, conviction broken and she? Well she went to pick the flower up. She didn't want the rose to be crushed by the arms and legs. She started growing rose alongside, took care but she was loosing conviction on the war! That wasn't right! That wasn't her! She was ought to be free. She had to fight. The rose helped her gain the conviction. After all, roses are best remembered with thorns. On a fine day, the thorns grew evident, rose was dead. Conviction took its time but was revived and fresh. She learned a lot by nurturing the rose again a war time.  She knew, it was not just her who saw the rose, there were others who saw it too. But she gained back her pride, many did not. 

Few days before the real war, she was sinking into the feeling of a real fight on the field when she encountered a soldier. This soldier looked calm for a war but since he was chosen, he surely was fighter. She didnot care but passed by. On a tiny corner of her head, she realized that the eyes of the soldier formed an imagery. Something one wants to see but can't due to less clarity. She hated haze. She wanted to form a better image. She had a problem. She couldn't stand emotions. But she wanted them too. Conflict you see. She met the soldier, this time with a purpose and not by accident. She tried to form that image. There was still an air of conflict and confusion but she couldn't have let the thought die down. She was practical but absolutely crazy. She met him, they ate, they drank, they talked, they wrote, they talked more, they wrote more, they thought more and more and they both formed a reliable image of each other. I dont know if that was her destiny but it moved like a fire, the motivation of a war, the belief in freedom made them dependent on each others training. Now they wanted to fight together. Could they? I don't know!

The war is on. It shall be over soon I heard. They are together.. fighting for it, I heard too. They fight it out with tears, smiles, anger, longing, touch, love and pain. I heard they like it. I heard them say that it is worth fighting for together than alone. It actually relieves you from jumping off the castle and brings in hope to breathe fresh air on top. For some reason, you are bound to each other. Not good not bad. But emotion. She hated emotion, yeah. But she wanted it too. She choses to let go of the roses and thorns but embrace them not alone this time but with a companion. The change is here, Battle is still on. Difference? Well, they have to go a long way. Many miles, many roses, many thorns, many battles, no predictions. Only emotion. Only love. 

My stage

It was little blue, may be a little red..I think more of a mixture of both. I could feel the air; pure and unpolluted. For  a long time I was craving for such a feeling. There I was, in the middle of nowhere and on the top. I can narrate you a story of a my life in sixty seconds, or may be less than that. Its not surprising at all because things are in flashes, they are past..recent past, old memories, new dreams, all of them I guess. That is a moment you don't experience often. You are not there on top often you see. 

What have I achieved? Oh ..thats a great question and I shall have a great answer delivered at your door step, well wrapped..in a box with no secret at all. But you cannot return that answer to me. Also it's priceless! The answer is everything and nothing. I know that..is not at all satisfying. Thats crisis. I will tell you a better story. Maya, my favorite girl from the next door is worth mentioning in my story as she is the lead actress in the drama and I take the backstage. I adjust things at the back but she is the one narrating and facing things. 

Maya lost her arms in a car accident. She choose to live and not die in spite of all she had to go through. What about her parents? Uh well they survive but they cannot take care of her. They have injuries from the same accident which have made them forget their own daughter, forget each other, probably forget their own self. She for god's sake remembers her parents. Today, when I see her..I feel she was my best find ever to play the game of life and role of a woman. She uses her feet not just to walk but do more useful things like painting and sketching which fetches her money. You know there's some hope in life if you try hard. She was taken care of by an NGO ..thank god some NGOs work. She was given food and a shelter. She is alive to see her parents but they are in a old age home. Happy to be new beings, forgotten in this big world but happy in their own world. Maya had a gift and that gift was useful only when she lost a part of her body. Her gift is being hopeful and bigger gift is her art. She used to practice using her feet for art as a child. She had a habit of challenging herself, may be she foresaw her life? But she, after two years of inner war with her mind and body feels she is never too late to play a role in my drama. Today she acts in my theatre. She is natural. Her emotions flow. She struggles with gestures because she has no arms but its fine. She manages beautifully. Yesterday, we invited her parents to the play as guests. Maya was happy to act in front of them. We had organised an art exhibition for her too after the play. She is getting recognised in this world. She lost her arms but not her identity. Thank god...or thank Maya herself for that. 

Well why did I start telling the story to you? Oh..it was a part of my memory..flashes, frames, scenes, emotions... I wish I was strong like her. I wish she was my shadow instead of me being hers. She calls me her life because I set the stage for her. I call her my life because my stage will not be set without her aura. She brings hope ..which I have lost it today. I hope she comes and stops me today. Its early morning..I hope she gets up, finds me and stop me. I think I need a push...I am in between the clouds and the sand. I think I will just take a step or wait for her? I hope she comes. I hope she saves me. 

Hunger

Hunger strikes everyone,
lotus feels it too,
mad mad world,
says she can't be beautiful,
she can't be pink anymore,
she can't float well,
Oh! she can't be happy.

Hunger strikes everyone,
lotus feels too,
she stops eating food,
she leans to the water for
love and care, she can't drink much
as she is already in the water,
she craves for the green leaf,
to touch thy texture,
but she fails there too.

Hunger strikes everyone,
men feel too,
they kill thy neighbour,
for feeding their dirt,
their bad mad soul,
they die never peaceful,
the hungry hungry skulls.

Hunger strikes everyone,
lotus feels too,
she drowns in sadness,
but one day when the sun is glorious,
she screams out loud,
she is beautiful I say,
she hears her words,
she floats to the greeny green,
she hugs thy love like never before,
she eats, breathes and drink even more,
for she knows that greeny,
will love her even more,
the world is beautiful,
with all those scary men,
her love is graceful,
she is back to her chores.

© Kalpita Rashmi. All rights reserved, 8 hours ago

Afternoon memoir

I was sitting next to my large closed glass window, with very light curtains decorating it. The cream coloured  curtains were swaying in the wind like a damsel's freshly washed hair. It felt peaceful that day, quite unexpected in all these years. There was a sudden urge to break open the window, an urge to feel the shattering of glass and the tiny little pieces of it layering the floor, ready to prick you anytime. Transition of thoughts, my god ..its painful sometimes. It makes you purposeless and again full of purpose at the next instance. Anyway, I was just smoking my lungs out..it was great fun to see the smoke circles filling the room. May be I wanted the smoke to go out of the window. But not peacefully. I surely wanted to break that glass window. Probably I should have broken it long back.

I am an artist. My problem is I am always in love. I don't know if thats a problem though- but I feel so. I am in love with my brushes, I love my fingers, I love my canvas, the messy oil, the dripping paint, I love my wife and my life. But as always, there is a 'but'. I feel caged sometimes, caged amongst the feelings of closeness, the warmth and the fury of being a romantic, a war of inert souls within. I am also in love with my past. Now that is what creates the 'but'. I have always felt that a present is because of a past. I could never leave it behind. I can cherish it now. But you see, I still smoke! That is constant from my past. Yes, probably my art too. 

I dropped a lot of tears those days. Yes, I could not have showcased them in front of random individuals. Everyone has those poky judgemental eyes. I am writing about it today. I too loved someone in the past. It was beautiful and then more beautiful and then most beautiful and then I don't know what was it. It just got etched in my memory
 and I flew away, she flew away too. That my friends, was The most beautiful feeling. I thought I lost my integrity, my soul to an individual but mind it. You never lose them. They just blurr out and hey! you again see things clear. My art saved me. I could eat my canvas up any day or night. I could die in front of my paint brushes and not regret. But then life isnt that cruel. I have a competitor now to die for. My life, my wife 'Rose'. She tells me that I am a mad man, a bad man, a cruel man but she still loves me and doesn't leave me for heavens sake! Oh lord can someone tolerate me..now that is something. A feeling which binds me. Once in a while I feel like jumping out of the window and see if I can float free in the air, with birds and trees around. Man, that would be magical.  

Well, I still smoke and I am a romantic. But I am in love with life and I have a predominant urge to be bound than break free or break the window. I do want to break the window for the fun of it..you know as a curious child, irritate my wife and get on her nerves. But I don't want to jump out to die or something. I want to live for my canvas of life. It is not yet filled. It is in the process. It has dark patches but wow, that adds some perspective to the painting and lot of amazement to my little brain. A mere tear drop was actually never mere. It was sinking towards gravity. It had a heaviness and it was let out to flow. It was meant to , to create space for more to form. But fresh ones, of joy and peace, for love and only love of life and yeah for the burnt cigarettes. I will quit but time is not right. I have irritate my wife much more than I do now. She should never forget me even after my death. Thats a promise my friends. A definite one.