harshad09

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  • harshad09 24w

    Obnoxious clouds
    covering the horizon
    each corner, every bit, of it
    but, but this ain't be the eternity
    it's just an eclipse
    and it would be over soon
    and there will be light
    sublime and bright

    what we are seeing today
    maybe it's mayhem of a daydream, bad
    or deprivation, a nightmare, ugly and sad
    but daydreams won't last after Sun down
    and nightmares are short-lived,
    every sunup, it's there, to make them die
    so,
    let's not lose ourselves in the hallucinations, of fear, of terror, of anxiety
    let's believe in ourselves
    let's believe in our fight back,
    let's hold on to our path, clarity and brevity
    let's be servants, humble, to humanity
    and soon there will be bliss,
    the only ethos, the only identity

    for, bliss, it's like
    those doors without handles
    you may not be able to find the handle
    as of now,
    but you can still open it
    just you need to have,
    in your armour,
    knowledge
    patience
    know-how and
    a dedication to
    perceive it with consistence

    this is my letter to the world,
    though I've addressed it to nobody
    for I meant to include in the mailing list
    me, you, he, she, they, everybody
    Come, let's join hands
    let's unite together
    in giving eloquent voice
    to an emotionally exhausting epitaph
    Let's epitomize this utterly sorry state,
    of things, of livingness,
    with some handsome garnishing,
    of compassion,
    of care,
    of sympathy,
    of precaution,
    of prevention,
    of comradeship,
    of love

    And thus, even this will pass


    We always, in our lives, remember
    our ancestors, and if ever,
    had they believed in afterlife,
    let's render our this abode,
    such a soothing, happy
    and vividly vibrant heaven,
    one such, that'd force
    even our forefathers
    to think of a rebirth

    Come, let's do it together

    Read More

    Life

    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 25w

    Rendezvous with time

    : ℜ

    .


    Walking down the lanes of nostalgia,
    diving into the semi dark semi arid plethora,
    it's my effort to gather pieces, broken,
    of all the conversations I had with time
    For I'd travel back to realtime,
    and would make reels of those meetings

    So come, let's unwind it, and let's go for slow motion mode, thus we won't be missing any details, and let's start from the farthest point, that I can memorize

    Some first glimpses, of early childhood, I'm featured as a kid, innocent enthusiastic and bubbly, a dreamer, always imagining about growing older, to be getting young, this actually was inspired by my dad, his styles, his mannerisms, his aura, the respect that he always got, whenever I used to see him, I'd see an aura always and this made me think of growing like him. And once I told him, dad, I want to be a grown-up, as much as you, he smiled with a gentle affection in his eyes, and he said, bachcha, when You grow up, my age would also grow, and he added, time, it never waits or stops for anyone
    This was the first time, I deliberately entered into a chat, with time, just to request it, to pleade, please, , ?

    Let's pan it a bit more near, I'm in my early teens, qualities have grown alongwith me, now I am somewhat studiously notorious, come, let's land in the frame, it's 5 p.m. on a sultry Saturday afternoon, the school bell has rang quite earlier and we are the last inmates, to be in the premises, courtesy of an extra science lecture, and as we all are about to leave, we have to cross the long ground, to reach the main gate, and we are peddling a stone with the shoe tips, at that time the most notorious child in our school, I see him boasting about how he has cunningly locked one of my co-student, inside the classroom. Shocked and startled we all run back to our classroom, to hear the poor little thing, yelling, shouting, screaming, begging of us, please, save me, please take me out,

    This was another episode of conversa tion with time, I had to run to the school gate, to catch the guard, well within time, before he shuts everything and leaves, he'd be returning only day after tomorrow, my weak legs start pounding the soil, and my heart keeps beating faster and faster, I can hear it, yelling at time, please, wait for me, will you?

    Let's pan it a bit more near, it's the recent past, here I am a more grown up guy, aspiring, thriving, passionate and dedicated, let's land into the frame, here I am out, after a hectic weekly ritual, I am to meet my fiancee, a well dressed me, I have poured over myself a whole deodorant, and I am on my way, waiting for the bus to come, and the bus comes, just when I'm to step up, I hear shouts around me, and I can see a goon, snatching the necklace from a fellow commuter, and running away, something strikes me, I just don't remember what I am upto, I don't think about my basic or psychological needs, I just leave the bus, and I start chasing the snatcher guy, some people also join in, and after a marathon run, I am able to catch him up, to recover the valuables, and I return them to the owner lady, to see her face glowing, a wilted sunflower blooms again, and at this point, I remember about my girl, and again in a hectic frenzy, I run across the maze of streets, to reach our meeting spot, thankfully she hasn't left, and a totally spoiled me, I am standing in front of her, my clothes disturbed, hair like unkempt for years, shoes marinated in dust, my looks rotten, like the confessions of disheveled man sobering up, but my adorable charm, she's an angel, she just looks at me, smiles, and spreads her hands for me.

    This frame, it sees me communicating with Mr. Maslow and the time simultaneously

    I would tell Mr. Maslow, after studying deeply, your hiearchy of needs, I can now say dear Maslow, it's love, at the core
    And to time, I won't allow it travel, beyond this moment, I have to live this moment a hundred times, and hence once again, I can be seen pleading, please, wait for me, will you?

    Here going thus, I can make reels, of any length, but down here, in this part of the globe, they won't allow a reel to exceed the time length of thirty seconds, so to inculcate the rest of the memories, it seems I'll have to come up with another reel, so until then can I ask for all your grace and with all the kindness, to , ?


    .
    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 25w

    Jasmines illusive

    Late Friday evenings
    apocalypses deemed
    are bliss pretentious
    wrapped in exotic jasmine
    as I keep searching drafts
    for rhymes and syllables
    either invisible, or lost,
    the world's prejudiced to say
    I am choosing my confessions
    but the mooney queen
    she knows me, my truth

    Skies star-studded bloom
    with jasmine flowers white
    like albums of memories, untagged
    pain, like petrichor, flows
    brightening the glow of grief
    I can feel all the aspirations
    evaporating, like the mystical mist
    my longings incinerate
    in a lingo of their own
    maybe to find theirs worth

    Dreams ecstatic exuberant
    boasting aloud of embellishing
    tacenda of bliss of night
    but to the prolixity,
    plethora of verbiage,
    do they really know
    being dreams for someone
    for me, they're being nightmares
    as nightingales whistle
    songs serene, mellifluous
    a lava erupts, to engulf me, from within
    without symptoms redundant
    on some days I am a volcano,
    on others, the earth

    Nights, painted charming and calm
    they're species on the verge of extinction
    or some items dearer, unaffordable luxury
    moods in a rollercoaster ride
    garnished lavishly with melancholy
    nights leave a bitter aftertaste
    mirages, prodigious, of Saturday,
    why they are rising early
    it's not even the daybreak
    and I'm still drowned in hangovers
    east, it looks like north

    Really, Friday nights, no more
    they're the jasmine bliss
    for, in each single of them
    my longings incinerate
    in a lingo of their own
    and despite eruptions
    those muted forcibly,
    I still try to emulsify
    the pain, shooting, to congeal,
    I am trying to pamper
    the wrath unrighteous, not to say
    on some days, I am a volcano,
    on others, the earth

    .

    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 25w

    The Quest

    .


    Memories, they say, are a bliss

    But, should we always be memorizing, only the things, those moments that are stamped with sun-kiss ?

    When after some years, maybe after an era, if we get to memorize these times, would it be possible for us, not to memorize this span of time, when pains, grief and fear alongwith a complete chaos, all of them sitting in the driver's seat, death fraying at the borders and life running to capture atleast some ground, would we be able to filter that ? Or we be making vanish these bad memories, wrapping them in the act of disappearing ? Or we are going to create a path, for a path is made by walking on it, are we open enough, just to learn something from this ?


    Experiences, they say, are the best teachers

    But do we always take into account, for even the best of the teachers, they're incomplete without students, studious and obedient ?

    When after some years, maybe after an era, when we all would be history, and some later generation of successors, it would read about us, in the pages of human history, what impressions we'd be leaving as trails, as our footprints on this path, for a path is made by walking on it, are we really cognizant enough, of how this walk of ours would be recorded ?
    Or we'd be having some magic wand, that'd spell a charm of magic, making, our follies, our lapses, our dirty politics, our policy failure, our negligence, our carelessness, vanish, in a single act of disappearing ?


    Times, they say, would never be the same

    But is it necessary for us, to remember it, only in bad times, why don't we think even good times won't last that long, and why do we not opt, for preparedness, for come what may ?

    When after some years, maybe after an era, when we all would be saved, safe and secure, would we all, be in a position, not to boast, but atleast to justify, what we in our personal capacities, have contributed ? It's not always in monetary terms, this time it's contribution redefined, by virtue of ideas, by virtue of offering to be a volunteer, by virtue of atleast following the rules, by virtue of not being a headache for the system implementation. For even today, barring those respectable few, who have thrown themselves into it, most of us seem to be walking on the path of only own interest and self-orientation, and as as always, a path is made by walking on it, so, despite our rants, of it's not easy, being me, is it possible for us, to unwrite, this our behaviour, with a single act of disappearing ?


    Opportunities, they say, knock only once, and also they say, inside the bloom of every calamity, there are seeds stored, of opportunity

    So, after some years, maybe after an era, when history would remember us, for our renditions, can we try to allow it, being a praise, for all our efforts, for our conviction, to fight this menace ? To do and achieve this, we don't need having cosmic knowledge or a rocket science know-how. Just being careful, behaving watchful, abiding by the rules, taking precautions, caring for others in the community, helping the needy, in short devoting ourselves in the interest of mankind, we can create history and we can create a path, for a path is made by walking on it, come let's have that walk, a walk that'd make this black chapter washed off, making it vanish with an act of disappearing.

    It doesn't need much, it just needs our dedication, our conviction, and now, are we ready for this, now that's only the question
    .

    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 26w

    Endless blue

    .

    Temptations myriad, dressed up as inclinations, they keep provoking me, to do some research, to discover a receipe to make an elixir, a panacea, some catholicon blue

    And an overexcited me, I just hop on to the task, throwing myself in it, I'd be giving my hundred percent, I reassure myself

    Opening the flask of melancholy, I empty the contents in the pot, as I won't be using water, I choose melancholy and I add to it whole grains, barley seeds of pain and grief, now I'd leave the cask, let it germinate over a period of time

    Once it's germinated, I go for malting, I am using seeds of insult, soaked in injustice. Now to this concoction I add yeast, fear and feeling of insecurity, this I do in the washback, it's labelled mind
    And without diluting it further, I leave it for aging

    Once it's properly aged, without repenting for the angel's share, I go for distillation, distilling it in the drums of hatred received. And this concoction I blend it in two avatars, one premium exotic azure and one regular mediocre blue, but both should taste stunning

    Packing them in classy bottles, sealing them with corks of unrequited advice, I place them in the prime window showcases

    Day after day, week after week, not a single enquiry, no customer seems to be ready to walk-in
    Ohh yes, it's not their fault, it's only me to be blamed

    I should have known, here nobody is interested in feeling the pain of others, everybody is just occupied by vacuum of personal chaos, to be qualified to live in cities
    where poems written by youth collapse
    I should have known, here, aged single malts, they're a cherished drink,
    aged melancholy, a wound chronic, no takers, hardly any charts, it's got nothing but to stink

    But, a seemingly whimsical me, I have produced a whole lot and now I can't throw it away, I can't discard it, I can't run away, I've now to live with the brew
    Howbeit, willingly or not so, I decide to consume the unchillfiltered turbid decoction, I'll go bottoms up, till the last drop

    But this consumption, it feels like sanctity,
    In the most disguised times, it's like buying immunity
    Immunity that'd render me strength
    Strength to survive anything and everything that comes without a clue
    Studded with rainbows and eclipses, it's my savior, now I can plunge myself into the ocean , an ecstasy of endless blue

    .


    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 26w

    Silent Revenge

    .


    After thousands of days
    and thousands of nights
    some thirty autumns
    and equal spring quantums
    umpteen views of the
    northern lights
    somewhere
    in between the myths surreal
    and truths portrayed as ordeal
    trying not to leave
    I'm dying to live


    whatever it takes
    to spread the rays
    whatever it takes
    to ornate walkways
    whatever it takes
    to hover like a fee bird
    whatever it takes
    to scream, spreading the word
    on the banks deserted of teary river
    not anywhere but here
    I find myself burning effigies of fear
    after these many moments
    that require of me
    to hold my breathes
    I won't be putting myself down under
    however I'd suffocate
    I won't be ever choosing to surrender
    for each your dagger
    I'd be answering with even deeper breathe

    It makes not what someone is born
    but what they grow to be
    It matters not how someone you hurt
    but how you take them for granted to be
    and as I have born
    I have a right to flourish and grow
    and as you have tantrums
    you can keep embarking upon foolish throw

    Not that, thus here I'm putting a blame
    don't imagine that I'm to tarnish your fame
    it's just a replica of your favourite game
    as I know in this your realms utopian
    in this your land of cherries invisible
    and of fakely mellifluous plums
    something like tomorrow, it never comes

    So, with each my breathe,
    for me, when you weaved sorrow
    wrapped neatly in my pain
    packed with echoes of lackadaisical gain
    just, I promised you tomorrow
    don't think I am crazy
    or this is something very strange
    I know, it's late, I'm a bit lazy
    but this is my style of bartered exchange
    but you can call it a silent revenge
    .


    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 26w

    You and me in August
    conclusions of inclusion,
    utopian
    it may be a best thing,
    to daydream
    to let myths prevail,
    in airs cosmopolitan
    to dump realities rude,
    somewhere in ninth downstream
    and nine is my favourite number

    You and me in August
    some realistic myths
    aromatize it fantastic,
    when my stubborn heart
    beats a melancholic rhythm
    numbers un-memorized
    encircling facts surreal
    playing opportunistic
    favouritism, love-hate
    it's a new number nine algorithm
    and nine is my favourite number


    You and me in August
    dreamy passionate outburst
    villainous burden, possessiveness
    starts playing foul, deciding goals,
    hands covered with yellow paint
    and mouth sewed with ruined eulogies
    obituaries to the closeness
    of nine light years between two souls
    and nine is my favourite number

    You and me in August
    Meanwhile
    I sing come September
    for, nine is my number,
    favorite, robust
    and a calendar, to it,
    nine means September
    and only March,
    it's destined to play the prelude
    to sing,
    April come, take this heart away
    farther than each month
    and each month's attitude
    March,
    none but him have the certitude,
    after me,
    you've still nine more symphonies to play
    and nine is my favourite number

    You and me in August
    though we have
    burdens to carry
    there are still
    hundred and twenty days
    meanwhile,
    come let's craft some trust
    out of doubts
    and its molten slurry,
    come let's dedicate
    this whole of September
    to adding rhymes,
    to put more metaphors,
    still, to write some beautiful piece,
    in hand,
    we'd be having ninety more days
    and nine is my favourite number

    You and me in August
    let's try to be fine,
    though pretending to be
    for despite the apocalyptic disgust
    September would come carrying
    hues, petrichor colored
    and mirages painted grand
    despite horizons slumber
    everything's gonna be fine
    for, September, it means nine
    and nine is my favourite number

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    You and me in August

    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 26w

    On the esplanade
    deserted, semi-lit
    it's 2 a.m. already
    a long drive casual
    it's turning out to be
    an imagery surreal
    a fantasy strived
    it's like constellation
    ethereal

    at this hour
    when the world around
    it has fallen asleep
    you are in a car
    with a beautiful boy
    hearts left to pound
    sounds amplified beep
    glasses rolled up
    dopamine glides
    rollercoaster trips

    interlocked hands
    time travel faster
    dark light strands
    sentiments foster
    as he moves and
    moves a bit closer
    denials deceptive
    fight to evade closure

    fog, thinner membranous
    makes night scintillating
    Triggered ignited hues
    passion desirous calling
    as if portraying fall
    chills keep riding the wind
    either to or not to mind
    resolutions keep falling

    unleashing aura
    of touches intimate
    jeopardy finds flora
    repentance to hibernate
    colder airs shouting
    excitement and thrill
    despite air-conditioning
    backseat seems trademill

    bodies entangled
    breathes colliding
    interlocked lips
    expressions avoiding
    green each, turns yellow
    orange red and brown
    groovy mazes shallow
    uncovered mellow
    skin thrown away
    velvety party gown

    his fingers attempting
    to display workmanship
    record graphs fluctuating
    charms spelt of body worship
    sprinkling aurora
    Autumnus sets the harvest
    a night of assumption
    becomes home to craftsmanship
    Horae rewriting seasons
    allows flow of bewildered zest

    Monarch butterflies
    seem getting off to travel
    intimacies untwined
    smears foggy to unravel
    moans fill the clan
    silence after the storm
    eve eats the apple
    cocks crowing, it's dawn
    fort each joyous charm
    creases boasting crumple


    #napowrimo

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    SPRIGHT LIGHT NIGHT

    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 26w

    .

    Patches, abrupt, of time, unassented, unkempt, doped with spillage, turbid, of musings, keep adding to the skyline, vulnerability of being painted in chaotic gray, peace, or for that matter sanctity, appears to be a drain, utopian, and we keep consoling ourselves, every time, to find a hideout or a rescue, we keep it calling a day
    .
    .

    The mourning sea breeze whiskers us away and willingly or unwillingly though, leaving convictions left along the shore, we just tend to allow ourselves, getting drifted away. It's not that we cannot fight or retaliate, but the reason behind this, it's just a fact, that we have left the way, purposely, to put our righteous say. We're just lost in our favorite recipes seasonal or not so, we just keep shunting in between rhapsodies and ballads, their legacies, to hide our inefficacy, each risen day. Nowadays our musings too, they have mutated, they too tend to follow limitations or scopes predefined, neither do we care for our thought processes. We think a damn, about them, their being transperent, crystal clear, or even their being refined.

    .

    We're a newer version of this species of homo sapiens, we're cognizant or concerned about our favorite loud music and blacked thoughts, we choose them to be left undercover, using every rabbit hole as a dumping ground for thoughts provoked profound. And thus we keep proclaiming ourselves, a clas apart, stupendously astound

    .

    Swooning over every adoration, parched, arid yet with a pretendence moist, we keep tripping on a hole, in our loudly flaunted paper heart, we just keep pampering our alter egos, letting them ride over every solidarity. Our narrations, alongwith our narratives we are busy making them ooze radiance nugatory, we are our own favorites, busy keenly in just filling up the middle void, we are like addicted to turning every blessing into disguise, we're grooming a pathetic identity
    .

    Not feared of anything, we tend to smoke, sitting on the rims of storages volatile, enacting always, to be Ignatius, writing a letter every occasion, as if to tell, don't you worry child, soon everything's gonna fine, we're turning out to be a clan, whose favorite tendency is to be fragile. Taking blatant opportunistic stand every time, cowardice is what we tend to hide, through each act of our so-called bravery, that we perform each time, just as a mime. Vocal sporadically, opportunistic deafs and dumbs, we're a concoction, deceitful of paradigms, contrast and weird, it won't be exaggeration, by any means, we're happy boasting, we are all peaceful cowards

    .
    ©harshad09


    #napowrimo2021

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    Paper Hearts

    ©harshad09

  • harshad09 28w

    ©harshad09