k_kshitij

All that I carry...

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  • k_kshitij 1w

    The Moment

    The moment between saying goodbye and leaving,
    Unable to walk- these limbs froze momentarily,
    Went deliberately unnoticed - silent heaving,
    The voice box chocked temporarily.

    The moment between saying goodbye and leaving,
    All I could remember was a smile,
    The dreams this heart kept weaving,
    Wearing skin of love, was guile.

    The moment between saying goodbye and leaving,
    I could feel something dying,
    White hopes to self, I kept giving,
    Someday this lightning was to strike, all along which I was denying.

    The moment between saying goodbye and leaving,
    Grows a tranquil sedateness,
    While there is no peeving,
    What follows is a lumbering restlessness.

    The moment between saying goodbye and leaving,
    The ego impelled the hands to push away,
    In all wrong fallacies we kept believing,
    What if once, I could've uttered : 'Stay'.

    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 2w

    mu- seek

    When the music dies
    Stand by my side
    Offering obituaries
    To Silence~
    Her mother.

    Music:
    Whose accouchement
    From Silence's
    Uterus
    attuned
    With the universe,
    Opening it's tiny eyes
    With the first note,
    It's baby steps
    Sprinting
    In mother's shadow.
    Gradually growing into
    An adult,
    Finally culminating
    To peak of its life-
    And finally unite
    To Eternal Mother
    Silence.

    When the music dies
    Don't weep or cry,
    Keep it in your heart
    It's fond memories ~
    Hum it's tunes,
    Strike some chords
    Hit some beats
    Blow some air
    And it shall
    Come alive.
    Music never really dies,
    Nor do the Musicians.

    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 2w

    I imagine the last day of this life and wonder whether the regret of silencing the voice I loved the most would haunt me till that day !?

    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 3w

    #free #September #Fire

    Sept - Embers


    Is it still burning,
    The fire we ignited?
    Or are these just singed
    Which we are giving air to?
    Afraid of becoming cold.

    Re-kindling;
    Charred flames
    One more time,
    Everytime.

    For scared we are-
    Of the dark,
    Of the end,
    Of the unknown.

    We keep pumping breath
    In the corpse,
    Hoping against the hope-
    What's burning never gets doused.

    Unaware, as we are,
    What's perennial is the dark
    And all the embers
    Of all the bonds we create
    Are transcendental:
    Changing existence
    Finally to submerge
    Into the eternal dark.
    The Reality.
    The Infinite.

    ©k_kshitij

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    Sept - Embers

    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 10w

    SHUNYATA

    In a world busy gauging value of everything,
    All I care for is becoming Zero:
    SHUNYA!
    Which is the awareness beseeched by Orient seekers,
    Which is described as Shiva by Hindu scriptures.


    Amidst all the impermanence, the only permanent is Shunayata.
    Where everyone wishes to fill more and more,
    I wish to empty whatever there is.
    Trying to fill all, something gets left out,
    But emptiness can be complete-
    Nothingness: Shunya.


    And No, I don't claim to become a Nihilist.
    Shunyata is not Nihilism.



    It is a soul devoid:

    Of emotional ebb and flow,
    Of all that one claims to know.

    Of Joys and Sorrows,
    Of yesterday's and Morrow's

    Of experiences and expectations,
    Of all the humanly relations.

    Of the good and the evil,
    Of the God and the Devil.

    Of Desires and rancour,
    Of defeat and conquer.

    Of many and few,
    Of me and you.


    All I care for is to experience that bliss,
    Yet I know, until blessed it shall be just my wish.
    Just a wish.


    ©k_kshitij

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    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 14w

    Places

    "Jamie, you know people leave but places don't. They exist holding back all the memories, fragrances, scars, bruises, a passage of time - it's art and architecture, fables, myths and tales (that failed to become story) and a faint history."

    "Places: they are cursed (or blessed) - to be mute spectators, and to be perennial. - Unlike humans their reminiscences perdure. The memory inscribed in places can never be obliterated."

    "They keep-safe the giggles of small children that played around the banyan trees that once held its ground. They hold the footprints of all the mammals, Reptiles, Birds and insects that have walked thereon. The stains of blood and sweat still embedded on its heart just under the cob-webs formed by time. The fading fragrance of all the flowers it buried in its womb waiting to permeate with just a touch. A touch that shall break the coarse shell formed with layers of some dust and a lot of time."

    "Places are introverts, waiting for that someone with who would listen to them without it requiring to speak. Decipher their silences without the fear of being lost in translation. Yet, those able to understand their language are now a rare breed."

    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 16w

    Am I back?

    Don't know....

    Just needed to let this flow....

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    TWO STRANG'ERRS'

    Who were we?
    Two strangers.

    Your soul - cloud brimming convectional rain,
    Mine - a peacock caged in translucent glass pen.
    You decided to disembark from your supernal trajectories,
    Drenching my skin, slowly slithering through the minute slit over glass surface.

    Enticing me to break all the glass ceilings that grappled,
    Venture out in the mellifluous rain -
    And I, pecking the glass enough to break down all the shackles
    Flew out to drown in your rain,
    Squawking merrily in joy of rain, of unison.

    But you, were just a cloud:
    Transient!
    Moving away where the winds carried;
    Showering the waters
    Dampening yet another peacock-
    Whose feathers more pretty,
    Whose dance more merry,
    Whose squawks more attuned to your patters.

    And I, an unsure peacock.
    Whether to wait for the winds to change direction,
    Summer clouds- Are they meant to stay?
    Or re-build a glass pen, this time impenetrable-
    So that not even a drop might enter.

    Who were we?
    (Convincing Self)

    Two STRANG'ERRS'.

    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 56w

    @mirakee @writersnetwork

    You scratch my back, and I scratch yours.

    This ain't me.

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    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 56w

    #promise

    hai kaun jis se ki vaada ḳhatā nahīñ hotā , magar kisī kā irāda ḳhatā nahīñ hotā

    - Ashar Hashmiji

    ...........................................................................

    Promise Premise

    A promise of love, I gave, I keep;
    Stationary I remain, although you skip-
    All I did, was failed to caution,
    All you believed, one false notion.

    Moon-like love, perceived in phases,
    One murky night, was counted ages.
    No blame on you- seeing all through naked eyes,
    For failed promises, ain't responsible murky skies!?

    ©k_kshitij

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    Promise Premise

    Moon-like love, perceived in phases,
    One murky night, was counted ages.

    ©k_kshitij

  • k_kshitij 56w

    Life is too short to let your birth-gifted uniqueness evanesce.

    ©k_kshitij