#mirakeeRoar

2083 posts
  • absynth 3h

    (r/t)ough (d/c)raft

    Creature of clay
    Waddling in word play
    You are here to slay
    And make hay
    While the sun shines
    If that's the way
    Creativity is defined
    Wait Dorian Gray
    Till you run into the night
    And ugly faces come into the light
    As the hunger makes a display
    Of its stark naked appetite
    And you witness the cabaret
    Ricocheting as a bullet in your insides.

    Lies lies
    All these lines
    Leading you astray
    The more you write
    Why why?
    No reason to provide
    Cry cry
    As the night watches with despise.

    Overrated emotional tides
    Teeming outside
    The chequered board of black and white
    The moon is going to test you tonight
    With hypnotic tugs
    To lift the heart off its feet for a while
    Then letting it fall back into place
    Except that the place is not the same anymore
    For the chest has let the darkness take over.

    The borrowed shine
    Finds it hard to breathe
    Alienated in its own home
    Like it's an escaped convict
    What can it leave behind
    Before it dies?
    How can its cratered eyes identify
    The reasons to live?
    Lies lies lies
    All these lines
    Let the heart cry itself to sleep
    With loneliness as its lullaby.

    ©absynth

  • writernoble 22h

    Who is Jesus?
    He is the giver of salvation
    The only name that can save
    A person from eternal damnation
    Unequalled one born by virgin birth
    Lone person to die on the cross
    For sin of the world
    The peerless human to resurrect
    From the dead
    Only one to ascend to heaven
    And the sole one who assured us
    He will come again
    That's who Jesus Christ is
    ©writernoble

  • absynth 2d

    unpacking

    Hello baby!
    I brought you a gift
    And you know already
    The reason behind it
    For we feel a bit bumpy
    In this relationship
    And buying a gift is easy
    Than dealing with the emotional deficit.

    For the honeymoon phase
    Now hides its blind face
    Somewhere inside the sands of time,
    All clumsy on its two ostrich feet
    But still a great sprinter
    Dashing towards the finishing line.

    Those birthdays we don't celebrate anymore
    Are now just normal dates in the calendar
    With No frostings, no sugar
    And are replaced with such ease
    By the hand picked love
    In all its bland organic flavors.

    But we are now so used to daily rituals
    And a gift of fate is one of them,
    The content inside no longer matters
    As compared to the joy
    Of tearing the cardboard to shreds.

    The glittery wrapper is just a pretext
    To see a sparkle in your eyes,
    The bubble wraps we can pop together
    Between our fingers of ice.

    Don't hold them back
    Those scissor sharp words
    And snip the ribbon of silence now.
    Let all the boxed cliches
    Fly out of the window
    Leaving behind a present
    With just the two of us.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 4d

    superglue

    A half hearted goodbye it is
    That always pulls me back to you,
    You can't be suppressed just like a sneeze
    And I can't recover from this bout of flu.
    Infect me a little more please
    Then serve me a medicated brew
    So that everytime that I wheeze,
    I want to inhale only you.
    You caress first like the cool breeze
    then a gale of a girl you turn into,
    With always a new tease up your sleeve
    You seek new peaks in all plateaus.
    Immune to all our past deeds,
    You repeat the same mistakes fresh and anew,
    You must be a lunatic to laugh at your memories
    And toss them aside with such ado.
    The balls of lust you swallow with such expertise
    Then spill out the cud on me, Eew!
    The kinks, the kicks, the slime and the grease
    Now are my sweet treats for messing with you.
    .
    .
    .
    I'm dripping wet in my excuses and pleas
    For my lips are sealed shut with your superglue.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 5d

    turmoil

    Does giving words to your turmoil bring you peace?
    Yes but the silence is no longer mine.

    Does the pain ever go away?
    Yes but it returns with a tighter cuddle everytime.

    Is writing a therapy for you?
    Yes but its side effects are stronger than the malaise.

    Does it give you a purpose in life?
    Yes as long as it's unattainable and keeps me dissatisfied.

    Do you love being a poet?
    Yes because I can always write to hide.

    Do you ever encounter a writer's block?
    Yes but it's not as stubborn as my turmoil.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 1w

    s(e/ta)nd-off

    Infatuation finally passed away at 3 am today after being starved to death by the hunger of attention. As per the words of the only two witnesses on its death bed, Infatuation had been battling a virtual addiction for a long time and was utterly upset from the lack of attention paid to it by two enamored individuals. It had tried its best to win over passion with its charms of seduction but had been unsuccesful due to the limited availability of one of the partners. This failure had further propelled Infatuation into uncontrollable bouts of nonchalance to the point of numbness. Loss of self respect was also reported.

    The two witnesses said that due to this malaise, Infatuation had lost its appetite since the past few days and had been unable to cope with the monotony of daily routine. This had affected it to a point where it couldn't feel its soul slipping away from its virtual frame. None of the two witnesses were willing to accept the dead body. Hence it was set loose in the flowing river of the past without any rituals of expectations and regretful mourners.

    The two estranged individuals however agreed to pay their last respects by staying silent forever.
    Anyone else interested in paying homage to Infatuation can do so by rewinding their memories to the river of their past. But please leave guilt aside. And silence your phone notifications before you start.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 1w

    a plenty

    All those curves
    Stretched in a straight line,
    All those free verses
    Longing for rhyme,
    A face too close
    To be read by the eyes,
    Breaths not enough
    To feel alive,
    The flavor of passing hours
    Stuck in the wind pipe,
    Lips drenched in a thirst
    Unquenchable and dry,
    A desire hard to touch
    But hollow inside,
    A dream real as love
    Streaked with fetishes and fantasies
    But the heart unmoved
    By these oxymorons aplenty.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 1w

    time lap-se

    The year was 1999
    Though it was 2019
    If one didn't believe in parallel universes
    But only relied on conversations of the moment.

    A 20 year gap sprawled its calendar legs
    Between them in bed
    As if the bedroom was the screenshot from
    Rip Van Winkle's dream
    And a 20 year old bug had crawled its way
    Beneath their skins
    reshuffling the chronology of their breaths
    As they reminisced of a time
    Where they didn't exist in each other's lives
    But in a reality which caught up with them eventually
    And made them swap their pasts
    And clink the glasses of their vulnerabilities
    as a toast to a better future which
    Now slumbered with the faithful lap dog of forever in its arms.

    Was it that they were just biding their sweet time
    Before the future woke up and rubbed its sleepy eyes
    And felt out of place for a while
    Till it was told that it had been asleep for ages
    And needed to believe whatever they said
    If it really wanted to give its best shot
    In a new world which had moved on from
    The old taverns of fairytales to
    The turbulent cocktail of a life shared?

    To have turned wise beyond repair
    Seemed like no wisdom at all,
    Carrying a keg on their shoulders
    Which weighed heavy on their hearts
    Only to realize that the elixir had turned bitter
    After reaching the hill top
    where there was place only for one
    So that the other had to jump off.

    So they light up,
    Inhale the poison in their lungs
    And talk of a childhood where everything was possible-
    A time of brewing rebellion
    inside the pot of repression
    Because forever is a mongrel asleep anyway
    And may never wake up again
    But Rip Van Winkle survived the fairytale
    And maybe they too can
    Without a moral or a happily ever after.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 2w

    sho(o/u)t out

    Close the windows tight
    Because mouths are about to open,
    Draw the curtains and snare the light
    As a sole Jehovah's witness to silence broken.

    Baby we need to talk, right?
    To decide who's the wrong one.
    Same as all the other times
    When we hate in unison.

    Thorns in each other's sight
    With fresh memories of a rose garden,
    The fragrance is choking our insides
    After all the hard work that's been done.

    The colors were too bright
    As we missed the dark spots while gazing at the sun,
    No wonder we ended up all teary eyed
    And all our frozen smiles are heart broken.

    Love is now a constant fight
    As opposed to the respite of tranquil emotions,
    Making peace is what it looks like
    With this paradox robbed of all passion.

    There's gunpowder running in our veins tonight
    Helpless against the charge of loose tongues
    The windows are still shut tight
    Bang bang! We are dead my love.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 2w

    deadline

    7 basic principles of art
    From which I was supposed to choose one
    As emphasized in the guideline of today's prompt
    But sorry if I got it wrong
    For the movement of words extends beyond
    And is in contrast to what has been asked,
    A single principle is a broken pattern
    Balanced by the other six extras.
    The rhyme, the rhythm shouldn't count
    Because it's a poet's crutch
    That leaves me with only unity
    To lend the finishing touch
    And if I'm asked about the eighth principle
    I must say it's a deadline under pressure.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 2w

    कभी दिमाग़ कभी दिल कभी नज़र में रहो
    ये सब तुम्हारे ही घर हैं किसी भी घर में रहो
    -Rahat Indori

    (Translation:
    Sometimes in the mind, sometimes in the heart, sometimes in the sight
    All these are your homes, stay in which ever home you like.)

    (Mentioned the sher only because the writeup was inspired by it.)

    #fighttofreedom #nooseofconvention #happinessisacrime #bagpack #wod

    #writersofmirakee #mirakee #mirakeeRoar #pod #readwriteunite #wordporn #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #mirakeeapp #writers_paradise #writers_together #mirakeepost #mirakeefamily #mirakinity_mibe #writersunited #writersbureau

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    f(l)ight to freedom

    He still carries a home on his back
    even though he remembers leaving it behind
    But it's the heart that still feels the cracks
    for all the sordid memories of the mind.
    But his freedom was always under attack
    Inside the four walls that had him confined
    Nonsense! said his mom and dad.
    What do you know you little child?
    Get a regular 9 to 5 job dreamy lad
    And bring us home a dutiful wife!
    See how your head is jam packed
    With all the books you read day and night!
    Don't go about painting our faces black
    In front of all the jeering relatives!
    Enough of the wisecracks, don't answer back
    To the ones who gave you life!
    Even his siblings had their back
    Though they knew what it was like
    But after all who wants to be bad
    In their own parents' eyes?
    He wished he was as lily-livered as the rest of his pack
    To heed that piece of advice
    But the noose only tightened instead of going slack
    Till all his tears turned to ice.
    Then there was no looking back
    As he finally made his choice
    Inspite of all the backlash
    He took the flight to freedom that night.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 2w

    b(u/i)tter (kn/l)ife

    The butter knife hates being awakened from its slumber every morning only to have its stainless steel face dipped in greasy reality. Of course it doesn't have a greedy tongue like its human so it speaks through its teeth. Rather rebels through them by stubbornly clinging onto the remnants of butter. Perhaps it doesn't approve of the buttery morning kisses it shares with the slice of toast and finds it to be a hot and dry lover. What an unhealthy and unhappy human he must be who first takes voyeuristic delight in this sight and then gobbles up the toast before her steely eyes.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 2w

    Dear silent stranger

    I guess I should start with a formal greeting to address you but I think I better skip that because formality is a tag very difficult to get rid of. It's like most of us stay stuck there without peeling it off lest the exposed wounds rub off on our skins and permeate deep within. Also showcasing sympathy from a distance is a great insulating mechanism without losing worth in someone's eyes. And most of us are too drowned in our own sorrows to be full time empathizers for the agony of others.

    But anyway, my only greeting to you is that I believe in you. See now you must be saying to yourself that the guy is a hypocrite and practising the same emotional distancing technique here. But let me tell you that this is not an escapism but an initiative to propel you into taking control of your own life and being responsible for yourself. Actually I think this is the exact state from which the interaction between us should begin so that it can be strong, honest and symbiotic. But then we can't force things, can we?

    And please trust me when I tell you how hard it is to open up and empathize with someone without either giving them a sermon or boasting about your own achievements like this was my struggle, I suffered too, I'm like you blah blah.
    But you really seem to have captured a secret spot in the continuum of my breaths right from the moment I started addressing this letter to you. Maybe even before. Like you were always a part of me. But I didn't express it for the fear that mentioning eternity and forevers might have scared you away. Maybe now you are even cursing under your breath saying "Damn! Here comes another one with the overused proposition." And you are right so I won't talk any more about it.

    I don't know what you will make of this but I'm in dire need of someone to lighten the load I feel inside. Ironically, calling it a load makes it sound skin deep and lusty. It's more like there's a sinkhole in my heart that's swallowing up my will to live with each waking day. I keep feeding it with new ideas, thoughts, interests, people but it's a shameless glutton. Swallowing them up all and still beating on unashamedly. It's like in place of a heart I have another growling stomach starving for salvation that ingests anyone who comes too close to hear its rumblings. And I put off my shower today to write this letter and now I feel like a sweaty lover who sweats not from the exertion of love making but from the agony of waiting. Till the sweat dries off and I'm pickled in the jar of my own body and marinated by the inability to verbalize my true intentions and longings for you.

    By the way what do you think of people who struggle to pinpoint their feelings accurately and yet want to form a connect or bond with someone else? Is it their fault or of the one they want to bond with? Or is this so common that being capricious is the only way out of this conundrum? See! How I switched to the third person so cleverly and hesitate to address you directly. Well, I totally believe in communication but then the phobia of ending up with the same result after all the endeavors and efforts makes me guarded, discreet, too wary to end up with the same story all over again. Do you think you have a cure to this abstraction that hides a sinkhole behind the fervid tapestry of emotions?

    I was never good at writing letters, but nothing to lose when nothing seems no longer good. So I make an attempt to reach you expecting that perhaps your sinkhole is bigger than mine and you could swallow me up eventually. Then atleast one of us would be at rest. Yes I'm being selfish talking of obsolescence while leaving you behind with the same kind of turmoil. Or I can swallow you up if that's what you want. In both cases it's like swallowing up the distance and coming closer till one of us ceases to exist. But then I'm not really sure whether you really exist in the first place while I can pinch myself back to reality.

    There's a limit to the impact of lengthy discourses when it comes to winning someone over which after an extent only magnify one's own solitude. Therefore I think its time to say goodbye, that's the last formality I shall impose upon you. I will wait for your reply though, even if it's not in the form of a letter. Maybe a face, a person, a memory then. For death doesn't come so easily you know. Till then your silence is a reply I shall make do with.

    Yours silently,
    wanna be communicator.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 3w

    S(no)w (e)scape

    Rumble rumble rumble!
    The avalanche is coming.

    Tumble tumble tumble!
    Emotions start cartwheeling.

    Grumble grumble grumble!
    As promises start trailing.

    Trouble trouble trouble!
    Forevers are crumbling.

    Fumble fumble fumble!
    With words that are no longer healing.

    A jumble jumble jumble!
    This labyrinth of feelings.

    Bubbles bubbles bubbles!
    Only growing bigger and never popping.

    Shuffle shuffle shuffle!
    Through this playlist of memories unending.

    Labels labels labels!
    Of the stubborn past never peeling.

    Humble humble humble!
    Once were this love's beginnings.

    So simple simple simple!
    Till expectations started barging.

    Subtle subtle subtle!
    Were the mixed signals hearts were receiving.

    Little by little by little
    The cold started encroaching.

    Icicles icicles icicles!
    Grew thicker with each misunderstanding.

    Battles battles battles!
    Where every victory was a losing.

    Sweet sweet truffle!
    Too frosty for the feasting.

    Happy happy couple!
    Too enamored to heed the warnings.

    Amidst the scuffles and ruffles
    Balls of hatred started snowballing.

    Futile hustle bustle
    As frostbite started settling.

    Love in shambles shambles shambles!
    And a silent spectator to disaster incoming.

    Finally gobble gobble gobble!
    The avalanche devoured hearts like dumplings.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 3w

    th(c)urs(ed) day

    Thursday was a cursed day she believed
    When things would go horribly wrong
    And the dread of it made her finicky to an extent
    Where she would never schedule an event
    on that particular disastrous day.

    The superstition she bought
    Was not really her fault
    Because that's what she was taught
    By her mother
    Who in turn bought it from her's
    And so on.

    Then she grew up,
    Walked into the world,
    Fell in love,
    Got her heart broken,
    Started doing things
    she thought she could have never done
    Till she ran into a man
    With whom she could lose her inhibitions.

    She confided in him
    About the thursday fear
    And before making any plans
    She would always consult the calendar
    He said that he would convince her
    That all this was a figment of her imagination.

    So one Thursday he managed to coax and cajole her
    With great difficulty
    to go out with him on a date
    Which to her surprise went quite well
    But she shrugged her shoulders
    And said that it was a mere coincidence
    But then another thursday came
    And they went to the bank,
    No trouble at all in withdrawing cash.
    One thursday more
    She received the appointment letter for a job
    Another thursday they made love on the floor
    and didn't get the Friday cramps.

    Finally she started seeing thursday
    As yet another day of the week
    And now whenever they talk of that fear
    They laugh at it
    But jokes apart
    She said she would give him the credit
    For getting rid of her Thursday superstition
    He said it was great fun
    Breaking conventions together.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 3w

    Couldn't resist a prompt on books.


    "Not everything was found in books
    He realized after reading books
    So he started from scratch on a blank page
    And let ignorance do all the hard work."


    #doublebind #dilemma #offrecord #notknowing #nobooks #wod

    #writersofmirakee #mirakee #mirakeeRoar #pod #readwriteunite #wordporn #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #mirakeeapp #writers_paradise #writers_together #mirakeepost #mirakeefamily #mirakinity_mibe #writersunited #writersbureau

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    double bind

    A world without books means
    That this poem would never have been written.
    Now whether that's bad or good
    Is a personal interpretation.
    But how could we have understood
    The dilemma of such a situation
    When there was no record as such
    About its existence in the lexicon?

    No bindings and spines
    To keep our thoughts grounded,
    No way to define
    Our fears unfounded,
    No prints fine
    To show the other side of the coin,
    No straight line
    To keep our emotions aligned.

    But ignorance is bliss.
    Didn't we need a book to tell us this?
    Though what we never had
    We could never miss
    And everything would be as it is
    Untouched by our views
    But for the memories of a history buried underfoot.
    For had it not been for those books
    We would have never realized
    that all our differences are so much alike.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 3w

    #roadie #templeboy #masterpurrfect #appleofmyeye #petfurc
    @writersbay




    ROADIE

    I'm called "Roadie" by my hooman slave.
    I'm a very talkative ginger tom cat and let me tell you that I'm no one's pet but only my own master. And I always make sure to tell my hooman slave that with my actions and my frequent miaows.

    I like being the boss around the house.
    I'm a spoilt brat who needs morning hugs and kisses to get my day started.
    My hooman slave says that I'm two years old but I don't care about the numbers.
    I still love to suckle on soft cloth while sitting in the lap of my hooman before I have my breakfast maybe because it still reminds me of my biological mom from whom I got seperated.

    My hooman says that I was just a wee kitten when he found me standing in the middle of a busy road like a moron as vehicles zoomed past me.
    I was a scrawny, starving and shabby sight covered in black grease oblivious to the dogs barking at me from the other side of the road. That's why I was named Roadie (and even respond to my name with a new sounding miaow everytime) because even as a tiny fur ball I was never scared of the world but only longed for wanderlust.

    Also I'm a crepuscular creature and go nuts in the mornings and evenings. I love running around the house at full speed and like playing musical chairs with every piece of furniture in the house. I love hopping from the chair to couch to table to bed to window and sometimes even on the bookshelf. I also like toppling over books from their racks and break into another sprint when my hooman objects to that. There's an exclusive pin cushioned chair in the house which serves as my scratching post and helps me to destress my hyper self.

    I also love following my hooman into the bathroom and the bathtub there is my favorite haunt where I get to sprawl like a king while my hooman is doing his thing. I have two litter boxes of my own where I can do the thing in peace but still it's lots of fun being a prick.

    And talking about being a prick, biting my hooman and doing somersaults in bed are some of my other favorite hobbies. Some times when I'm in a good mood, I dig my teeth slightly in his hand and go to sleep. And at other times when I'm my usual bratty self, I love to scratch with my razor sharp nails and bite like someone possessed. My hooman tries to be patient and tries explaining to me that he has no fur on his body like I do and hence can get hurt easily. At times I feel sorry for him so now I'm learning to behave and quietly go and sit at the foot of the bed whenever my hooman says that he wants to be left alone.

    Also, now I'm learning to differentiate between play time and snuggle time. And by snuggle time I mean the time when I crawl into my hooman's lap without giving a damn and irrespective of the fact that he is busy with other things at the moment. Sometimes I crawl on his chest while he is scrolling through a shiny screen and love wagging my tail in his face rendering him blind till he is forced to stop whatever he is doing and snuggle up with me. Then I really get cosy and start purring like there's a tiny motor in my throat.

    And yes, my hooman also likes to call me "Temple Boy" because he says there was a temple on the side of the road where I was found. He once told me that it was also inspired from a true story titled "The Temple Tiger" by Jim Corbett that he read as a kid. Whatever, but I listen to my hooman now and then as he talks about his daydreams aloud and some geeky stuff that bores me like anything. After a while I give up on the pretension and start gazing at the roof with big eyes like I just saw a ghost hiding in the ceiling. And when my hooman takes my name and asks me a random question to check whether I was paying attention to his banter, I simply yawn at his face, look the other way and start licking myself clean pretending to be very busy.

    My favorite foods are mainly Whiskas and parboiled chicken. But sometimes my hooman also feeds me cake, chocolate, ice cream and cheese but only in small portions because they aren't good for my health. And it really pisses me off when I'm told to stop gorging. Sometimes I also make a quick snack of stray cockroaches, lizards and other insects that find their way into the house. Hunting them down is my favorite sport.

    And yes, the kitchen slab is off limits to me. Once someone says that I make up my mind to prove them wrong, that's the way I was born. Now I and my hooman seem to have found a middle ground where he shouts at me and I sit down at the threshold of the kitchen showing him that I can disrespect his so called authority whenever I wish. My hooman says that we need to talk man to man about this someday. I yawn as usual for I know that I'm the master and he is the slave.

    ©absynth






    #writersofmirakee #mirakee #mirakeeRoar #pod #readwriteunite #wordporn #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #mirakeeapp #writers_paradise #writers_together #mirakeepost #mirakeefamily #mirakinity_mibe #writersunited #writersbureau

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  • absynth 4w

    voice over

    Sound check... sound check...

    (*heart pounds faster*)

    Going on air in
    3 seconds
    2 seconds
    1 second
    GO!

    (*In a husky baritone...*)

    Hello! This is RJ Love live from heart station.
    My warmest greetings to all of you out there
    Who dare to listen as I speak.
    And to all those as well
    Who have a deaf ear for my voice.
    My sincerest thanks to the former
    for bearing with my mushy chitter chatter
    And my sincerest apologies to the latter
    For not being able to fulfill their expectations.
    Today all I want to say is that I'm not perfect
    Even though it's something
    many of you must have realized by now
    But still I must speak
    before many more raise their eyebrows
    At my silence, patience and existence.
    I want to say that I try everyday
    As hard as you all
    To not fall for the image
    That has been created by modern age
    To define my face as a commodity in the market
    And my voice as a replaceable social trend.
    I too have been a victim of typecast
    And been tangled in the sordid frequencies
    and bandwidths of people's past.
    So here I seek release in a voice
    That you all feel vibrating in your chest as heart beats.
    I want to be relatable for once inspite of all my flaws.
    I'm really nervous and I admit it openly
    While live on air
    Even though it's bad for my trade.
    Now that's enough confessions for the day
    And I must take my leave now before you
    Say that this is a crazy RJ.
    Please feel free to address all your questions, queries, fan mail, hate mail, secrets... whatever to my email id rjlove@heartstation.evolve
    So goodbye all my dear listeners and nonlisteners
    Until the day we find our way back to each other
    And here ends the radio show
    Just like all forevers do.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 4w

    Sunny summer in the mind,
    Dark winter in the heart;
    A poet was born
    In their equinox.


    Please bear with the bibliophilic blabber here but it was necessary to process my thoughts and recollections.


    #freedom #libraries #booksoverfriends #summerescape #summer #wod #healc
    @writersbay


    #writersofmirakee #mirakee #mirakeeRoar #pod #readwriteunite #wordporn #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #mirakeeapp #writers_paradise #writers_together #mirakeepost #mirakeefamily #mirakinity_mibe #writersunited #writersbureau

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    summarizing summer

    Since I was a child summers to me were synonymous to freedom.
    Freedom to do the things I always loved and heal myself from the drudgery of academics.

    The summer vacations were the times when I could keep the text books aside (because I never completed my holiday homework in time and would always submit it late much to the chagrin of my teachers).
    Instead I would dive deep into story books, novels and their enchanting worlds reading like someone possessed all day long until tears streamed down my cheeks and my mom would shout at me and say I would lose my eyes. Or read on the roof lying under the hot summer sun until I was drenched in sweat and my mom would scold me and order me to go inside the house saying that I would have a sunstroke. I complied with her orders even though I couldn't help smirking at her exaggerated bouts of anger.

    Summer to me also is synonymous with libraries.
    I had a strange fascination with libraries both big and small. Not only for their treasure trove of books but also about how they looked from the inside. The fact that there were tables and chairs there in a corner where one could sit and read with peace and quiet any time they wanted. And not only during summer vacations. Maybe spending more time in these places which were a home to so many books made me empathize with the books better than I empathize with real people.

    I would build a TBR list to keep me occupied for the whole summer vacation that consisted of books acquired through various sources and means.
    Well the thing was that our school library loaned just one book to us for the whole vacation. So I would use my dad's influence as he was a government doctor at a university. I would raid the university library with him and would borrow around ten books at once. Hence I got exposed to graduate and post graduate english literature material from the age of 8 onwards alongwith the old and unabridged editions of Aesops fables, nursery rhymes, Canterbury Tales and Chaucer, Arabian Nights, Panchatantra, Jataka Tales, Hitopadesh, Indian and Tibetian folklore, books on ornithology etc.
    Then my sister was a teacher at a convent school and she could borrow 4 books for the vacations. So that added to my kitty. The books from this library usually were the lighter reads like Enid blyton, Robin Cook, Archies and Mandrake comics and the famous English classics like Three Musketeers, Man in the Iron Mask, Great Expectations, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice and so on.

    And then my greed didn't stop there as I borrowed more comics like Tintin, Tinkle, Amar Chitra Katha, Champak, Chacha Chaudhray, Nagraj etc from the neighborhood kids either directly or via my brothers and sisters.

    And then we had a huge collection of Russian literature at home where I devoured the Dostoevskys, Gorkys, Chekhovs, Tolstoys, Turgenevs, Pushkins alongwith the Russian fairytales and sci-fi.

    So if I had to summarize summer then I will say that
    Summer to me is freedom.
    Summer to me is a balm to relieve the migraine of reality.
    Summer to me is an initiation into imagination.
    Summer to me is an infinite library.
    Summer to me is the musty smell of books.
    Summer to me is the season of literature.
    Summer to me is the genesis of a writer.
    Summer to me is the bright camouflage for the chilly winter in which I was born.

    ©absynth

  • absynth 4w

    my miscellaneous fears

    • The fear of losing my ability to see dreams. As in actual dreams without the ambition that one sees with their eyes closed.
    The fear of not being able to ponder about their seemingly illogical but subconsciously symbolic shots and sequences the next morning anymore.

    • The fear of not being able to express myself in the simplest of words without the ambiguity of unsorted emotions and disjointed thoughts.

    • The fear of not being able to reach my fullest potential in the areas of my creative interest irrespective of the sense of achievement they provide.
    But rather a fear of missing out on those things which could keep me more passionately involved for a lifetime.

    • The fear of laziness and lack of discipline in my life which creates an extra burden on the imaginative mind to keep the hostile body together.

    • The fear of permanently scarring people who come into my contact with an overdose of bitter truths.
    The fear that I will end up hurting someone whenever I want to do them some good.

    • The fear of going completely bonkers one day and losing the crutches of intelligence and wit.
    I fear what will the world look like then especially when its so hard to bear even with common sense.

    • The fear of saying 'I love you' again and again to someone without loving them back in the way they want to be loved.
    The fear of silently watching death part us and our seperate definitions of love.

    • The fear of getting undressed with someone in bed and then not being turned on by their efforts as if my body is disrespecting the trust placed in it by another exposed body.
    The fear of breaking a heart before it makes love.
    The fear that I may end up making someone dread intimacy forever.

    • The fear of never being able to differentiate between selfishness and self love. The fear of pushing all those away who put me in this situation.

    ©absynth