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Freedom on tenterhooks

The winds howled like the midnight street dogs
While the moist air caressed my cheeks,
 It cooled my brow, brought me back to the then.

 Lying on the stony pillow, I was,
My balcony wide open, lending my privacy to anyone passing by,
 Did I at the least care, ironically not.

 Back from a long lost reality, I was,
The time when I had found innocence in every child’s smile,
Truth in every friend’s word,

A blend of passion and talent in every artist’s hand,
Bountiful faith in every theist’s eyes,
There were green, brown and the transparent,

 Boundless and not possessed they were,
The unclaimed lands of a generous king.
 They replenished and were so.

 It loomed on me, they barely exist,
And in the turbulent present,
They dissolved like snow under sun,

The chill lasting longer in memory.
Rather there is, brimming coffers behind the artist’s success,
Greed and uncouth desire in many theists’ eyes,

The ghosts of innocence in the child’s unmet smile,
The green sawed down, the brown bloodied,
 The transparent warred upon, the little left after exhaustion.

 Times have changed, I wondered, 
Like men’s organ beneath their bosom.
The enigma tethers mankind,

 With the longest rope of freedom,
And crucial it is to know,
That rope is never unbound and in tenterhooks,

 Time it is to remember,
 When the rope breaks free, freedom is veiled,
And pleasure turns a hazy dream.

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                                                                    Image: Internet
If you had missed the previous chapters of the story: Click here Chapter 1Chapter 2

CHAPTER 3


It was the fall again, they had gone for a stroll outside the university campus into the beautiful park where snowy trees surrounded the white spread and there were very few passers-by due to the freezing chill.
The two of them hovered around enjoying the beauty carpeted around them. Maureen had already gone down, working her gloved hands into the snowy layers. She started rolling a huge ice ball with a grin on her pink face. Steve looked at her dazed by the tinkle of her eyes and the jingle that her laughter spread in his heart.  The moist wind ruffled her blond hair, some of which fell onto her face like a wave onto the shores.
Steve just stood there with his hands folded, his lips curved into a mesmerizing smile and his eyebrows were arched in sheer amazement of what was happening to him that moment.   He felt…

Being humane

Every dawn dooms with wail


I never opine but in my daze,

For I am human, humane.

Image courtesy: Internet

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012





















What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…