Stage I : Maujza "I am stalling talking to myself from a very long time now. And now my body is ranting itself, I should try a little to talk to myself", I said to myself. I decided to record my voice rather than writing on paper my thoughts as writing meant living my trauma again through words. Whereas speaking comes passive to me. I could talk about my cries at a distance while recording than writing and living them first hand.
Stage II : Recordings I sat down and opened my recorder. Recorded many short audios. Took many long pauses in between one recording as well. Sometimes I cried between pauses, sometimes I wriggled in corner but I kept on recording in breaks.
Stage III : Whimpering I didn't listen or even opened the folder where I stored my voice notes for a week and half. Then, one day, casually, I opened knowing the destruction it could bring listening to my own trauma, I did anyway, thinking it cannot be worst than this. I listened, put my palm on my mouth so that my shrieks won't disturb my neighbors. I wanted to cry but no tears came. So I kept on shrieking and whimpering at the same time.
Stage IV : Stirring. Lump. Promise. Whimpering for hours, I hydrated myself. One of the sentences I recorded was, "I don't want to die before dying." I was a person whose mantra was to Live Life Fullest. And I used to quote often to my friends, "Babumoshai, Zindagi Lambi nhi Badi honi chahiye" (Life should be great not long) That's why this line stirred me. In evening of that day, I recorded again in whimpering voice. I picked up and gathered all the courage in tatters and made a small clayey lump, coated it with thin layer of faith and closed my eyes to feel it.
That lump of feeling was me trying to go against my familiarity of being a byproduct of my living trauma and acknowledging my current situation is not right but toxic, To stop adjusting and accomodating, to move.
I decided to lift my feet digged deep in ditch for decades. I promised myself that if it will hurt, I won't push more.
Stage V : One and One and a Half Foot So, I lifted one foot and It didn't hurt that much I thought it would. I lifted second and it did. Not that much but considerable. But I lifted it again and tried putting it ahead to walk. One foot. Half foot. One and a Half Foot. Two Feet. Slowly slowly at the snail's speed. I walked and walked.
Stage VI : Boundary of No Man's Land I looked behind and saw myself climbing the boundary of the tornado I was in. Like the area of No Man's Land in war. Echoing the direct affect of ongoing war. Enjoying the scene meant staying there and in a little time I could get eat up again. So, I rushed a few steps and reached a little farther to boundary where I could feel the ruins it has been inhaling and circulating in never ending loop.
Stage VII : Third Point Of View. Unattached distance. The view was breathtaking but risky at the same time. I walked a little more and reached the point of Third person. Where I can watch all the third point of view people near me were giving me. It's like the radio broadcasts to people near or outside warzones, quite raw but still only the people in war can understand it. And I swear, It was Ugly. Pathetic. Pitiful and Unbearable. I was at 'unattached' distance now.
Stage VIII : I could walk I walked a little and realised I am enjoying this. So I walked more for the sole purpose of I could walk now. There wasn't any problem in lifting feet now.
Stage IX : Look Back Not Behind I have walked considerably by now. At a safe site where people take refuge under calamities they can't control. I looked back first time. I didn't look behind. I looked back. A distance I can put in words. And Ran. As fast as I could. Fastest from any animal I knew. I ran for my life. I ran. I ran even after breathlessness. I kept on running. Like the way therapist says, when you encounter a toxic situation, run as fast as possible.
Stage X : New Land of Misery and Metaphors Now, I couldn't see any signs of calamity that happened. It was a new land. It was the land of realisation that I've made it through. It was the like hoisting a flag after days of steep climbing, unfavourable weather and empty stomach. It was the stage where I could laugh at my misery and struggles in face, Express with metaphors describing the feelings I couldn't name before.
Stage XI : I Am UNSTOPPABLE Making a new identity. Before I had a reason. I was busy in ruins. I couldn't attain my true potential. It was just about surviving. After years of being locked in a slum room to out in the sky as far as my eyes could see. I have to thrive now. I have to make a new identity. Solely about me with badges I achieved and lessons I owned.
Walking on the sahil of Nile, Your face illuminating in reflection of stars.
Without worries and hidden pain, Without responsibilities and gain.
I will meet you there, Where you will be smiling all along And tears of glitter ooze from corners of your eyes
A vast area of blue sea With no objections and expectations of thee And as far as you see There will be vacuum where you can scream I will be there to hold your hand and you won’t have to quiver in holding it back.
No face, no shape no fame, no shame. In your heart Without visage, without silhouette You’ll find me again.
I am the kid who wandered away While you were growing up I amthe kid, listening who, you postponed everyday
I was there When you voluntarily failed twice before bleeding cerise
Cause more than leaving you wondered about the ones who you will leave When your dimples became dark circles Smile lines transformed to frown lines You shuddered your burdens Closed your lids It felt heavier, your shoulders felt weak Yet you keep on moving for you were tagged adult and to handle everything, it was difficult.
The term "anaphora" comes from the Greek for "to carry up or back." Anaphora is a figure of speech in which words repeat at the beginning of successive clauses, phrases, or sentences.
For example : "Every" is repeated in the following stanza–
Focus on a single memory or describe what you might imagine the typical grandmother’s kitchen to be like. Describe your grandma, the way she cooks and serves food, what all emotions you feel while having food from your grandma and write a poem about it!