It's my favorite timepass While standing on line during assembly, To pay bills or waiting in bus stand To play name, place animal, thing.
When I was a child, My teacher once asked Who was your favourite parent I told both of them And they declared me liar.
When I crossed age 10, They asked what's my favorite subject? I replied English And they declared me British.
When I crossed age 15 They asked what's my favourite colour I told them red And they declared me danger.
When I crossed age 20 They asked me what's my favourite game I told them chess And they declared me gambler.
When I crossed age 22 Its my turn to ask them What's your favourite thing And they declared me adult.
Once a guy came to ask my hand, I asked him 'what did you see in my pic?' He said, ' Everything' I asked him what's his favourite thing? He replied, 'Among those favourite things, your smile was cherry on the top to make my day. '
Again and again I retrack my foot One by one Try to understand Why I took them first? . Whichever train I travel They go through same route Even after ditching, I walk Through trees or river A rat sneaks showed by you. . Never was I better, Never have I ever asked A friend all I needed You came with a smile. . 20 minutes later, you came Wearing everything I imagined Sky on top, sea in bottom An epitome of horizon. . Alas I didn't know It were hands of clock Striked twelve on my face With tie hanged on fan Still I keep counting How long the knife you kept Hidden on my back.
Subject- Application for opposition for freedom of speech. Dear people, Coming direct to the point, Unless you want to point out About how wrongly I accused.
I, human among people, still suffers silently How the color of my skin Doesn't match the smell of spring.
Does it makes sense, It doesn't too me either. But the comparisons you build Like bricks of wall, and opinions How big is my head, how small is my hand how black is my skin, how thin I can be. How white is my hair, how fat is my back Come to think of myself, Can't fathom your level of maths.
A birth comes with a stamp, Even though our blood is red, A human is divided into Race, caste, sex and age. If you find similarities in these There's always sub divisons inside it.
Surely, our differences will melt, When a soul becomes dead You'll cry and write eulogies Recalling smell of spring and apologies In the end, its body as they're deaf.
Hence, concluding here, myself A kind request to all of them Who still practices knowingly and unknowingly and say sorry in the end 'Don't offer crown of thorns when alive Which you won't wear by yourself even in death. '
Signed, yours truly, A human cremented on opinions.
Dressed as Iola, She chase coffee beans while Disposing newspapers on pile Wonder how life changed suddenly Or might she ignored the early signs?
The miles compressed into few feet, The borderless circle shrunk into perfect Rubik's cube, Each brick she painted and fixed with neon tube, Wonder how life changed suddenly, Four walls became her only companions left.
At night, she walks to open Only window to watch the lonesome moon, The stars now resting on eyelids mourning, For the souls who are on verge to go. Wonder how life changed suddenly, Even a touch turns people gold.
A breeze sneaked, the newspaper slipped, A hope sizzled in the heart resting underneath, When neon lights beamed on letter where words imprint, 'Dear Violet, if you want to know how life changed suddenly, Remember, every first light of dawn, for you, comes dressed as homecoming.'
I read lots of books, I will tell you why this Mahasweta has actually captured me from inside out? Do you remember the definition of pure in olden days? A girl going to get married or is about to marry or if you are a girl there are certain criterias you must tick off.
Criteria for validity to be called Girl 1. She must be beautiful in terms of shape, size and heart ( though the last one never counts in compare to first two)
2. She must be pure in terms of body, mind and soul ( though they only see body first, the latter two they won't even bother if first one doesn't fits)
3. She must sacrifice her dreams and must obey all the rules of society even if it's against her own consciousness.
4. She is responsible to be everyone's caretaker even if she herself can't take care of herself and don't expect anything in return.
5. She must hear everything and everyone's opinions and never allowed to speak unless she is asked to.
There are many more, but these five are actually still dominating in our society. Love makes people blind and Jasp, the body makes people blind, intentions makes people blind, lust makes people blind because how can love makes someone blind, it's the trust and faith and you will never get hurt while you hit waters it still feels like you have fallen on the cushion of feathers.
A short summary below in the form of poem: A story of young woman called Anupama, who marries and after short time discovers she is suffering from Leukoderma which is not hereditary disease even not transmissible disease through one another and still they are outcasted just because their skin isn't anymore brown by patches of white and brown.
Like Rohini to Chandra, like Lakshmi to Narayana, am I to him. Just as the creeper depends on a tree, I depend on him. I cannot live without him, and for his sake, I am ready to renounce everything. Let society say anything it wishes. I do not care. ' Book Mahasweta written by Sudha Murthy.
There are many Mahasweta around and let's take stand for them.
Whose fault it was?
Was it fault of live coal That fell on my foot While running towards God Whom I worshiped everyday for everything.
Was it fault of white patch That developed after pouring water Too Cold over too hot coal had fallen, Hidden under the plates of saree.
Was it fault of the doctor, Who prescribed me the best medicine, Ten minutes to expose at sun's rays the skin, Where the white patch started to expand its width.
Was it fault of the stairs, Where I fell down and my secrets spilled Over the foot of my in laws and I stared At the moon drawn over my skin.
Was it fault of my husband, Who knew I never decieved and knew Everything about what Leukoderma brings In his home, me and in future of us.
Was it fault of God Who knew how life of girl changes When a patch of white appears against brown Even his gates to worship are also closed.
Or was it fault of mine, That I never saw beneath my husband's love, That I never saw behind my in-laws intentions, That I never knew the world worships brown more than red.
PLEASE DO HELP !!! This Anup Kumar one of my ex schoolmate and he is suffering from chronic liver disease and the only option left to save his life is Liver Transplant for which he requires Rs. 2200000 (22 lakh ) . His father is a fruit seller and its difficult for him to manage such a huge sum of money . So this is our responsibilities to make a little contribution for saving his life ... Even a little sum of money contributed by a large no. Of people can make it possible .... If not possible to contribute plz just spread this news amongst others so that this news is spread wide and he can get a help out of it ....
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You are the one holding the universe in your bones , and galaxies in those eyes . With all those beautifully crafted features ; you are the ballad which they sing in the happiest of times .
You are the sailor who falls for the storms in the soul , the scars on the heart , the clotting blod over cuts , the fire within spine . You're the perfect potion of magic ; just like Thomas Hardy's scribbles , just like Sylvia Plath's pain , just like Satyajeet Ray's movies , just like Jane Austen's phrases , just like Bryan Adam's notes and just like Vincent Van Gogh's colours !
The last ring of smoke you left through your half burning cigarette , travels to my abode and forms clouds of rain which touches the bare skin of my palms at 3 a.m . The ink you spilled writing the tales about broken things , shows me what whole looks like . The last word you uttered amidst the mountains behind your home still echos in my subconscious . Your gaze feels of the kisses done under the twilight sky , shooting a delicious poison through my veins . Your hair smells of the coffee which keeps me awake each night writing six love poems , each starting from respective letters of your name !
The musk you wear there , comes travelling to my dressing table and teases me ; caressing my cheeks and telling me the tales of your despair and intensity ! I type a paragraph to you telling how special you are and end up erasing it 'cause I find no adjective worthy for you . The most melancholic name of mine converts into the sound of wind chimes when coming from you ! The hearts I make each morning from peanut butter over the leftover bread , remind me of you !
The moon crumbles and falls into my lap when you stare it for nine seconds ; unable to call the sleep devil ! I set fire to all things that remind me of love except your thoughts ; for they are the ropes dragging me towards life .
The dark poetries you pen down remind me of all the miserable scenes I saw in the classics and I end up gulping down your touch ; grinning at the wallpaper of my phone , which shows your pencil drawn face in a devilish frame !
I couldn't write about you anymore , And now when they'll ask me to write the most beautiful of poetries .. I'd scribble in my chapped handwriting
Like a known whiff ; you are present in every drop of the ittr my grandmother gifted me on my last birthday ; advising me to use it carefully cause she knew the strongest of feelings are ephemeral . You reside in the bookmarks I randomly tuck in the books which I don't even read , so that I don't lose 'em . The brown covers of my pillows hold your vibrant touch , caressing me each time I lie down exhausted of the melancholy your absence holds .
Even the rain which travelled to my roof , initially starting from your poetries ; is a hopeless romantic just like me . Not knowing how much to hold back and how much to give ; it sobs incessantly . I'm loved , no doubt , by you ; who's the one building castles inside his bone marrow and fighting wars from reigns of spilled ink .
I wonder why I fell in love with you even after knowing love demads pain despite all the beauty it holds ; maybe because you felt like a lost home to me ; embracing my scars and broken pieces . Making me up by writing , parts of me , over and over again ; trying to see me as a whole . Darling , you're my lost last puzzle piece , how am I supposed to be whole when you're at your abode sinking in some cliché love tales I texted you .
Your love has been kind to me , never disturbing my lost head and my dizzy soul ; but always sitting back holding my head between arms . I paint you in strokes of blue , red , yellow , green , every colour except grey ; I make my brush dance over your jawline and draw a not so perfect image of you ; my lost piece lying at a distance . My colours dripping on your collar bone . And when I'm done after sprinkling some glitter of hearts and flowers , I realise I love my canvas . I'm trapped in heaven , with no ventilation . Don't let this love evaporate ; for I'm not yet done with my poetries .