Skip to main content

Composure

Because success tastes sweetest when it is earned; when your blood, toil and tears get burned.
Penned down to make myself realise that I will live in a castle engineered by me.

'The dreams, aspirations and wishes are deep
That in the night make me weep.
But everything has to wait they say
And here I am all-eyed for the great day.
I'll earn name and fame on my own and then comply
Will give wings to my dreams and make them fly.
So nobody could be held responsible if I fail
In the room I would lie alone and wail.'


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Letter to a Lethal Timid

"I quietly but persistently punished myself, shredded off the skin until nothing was left except the scent of blood on my fingers. I worked very hard to not let the black spot grow into cancer and slosh me down. On countless occasions, your needling, needless remarks pricked my conscience, and my head bursted like a dropped watermelon. You, dear hater, would never know severely have I been sliced by your venomous words. My vigor drained by the end of the day only to hear the slow pulse of its job half done. Saddened, I would scratch my wounds too deep for the healing and then let them open. I remember the nights when my insecurities hemmed in and my sense of fear filled my mouth with hot, dry air and made my body light. I used to watch you with eyes of hate before I realized that you are nothing but a pile of uncemented bricks that would never take a form, and I pitied you. I could clearly hear your enviousness and malice thudding loudly like a horse’s hoof...

Dispatch to a Friend

So this friend came to me the other day and accused me of being a paradox. He complained that your scripts talk about being vigorous and iron-willed while you, on the other hand, seem to be feeble and obscure; that you are a contradiction, full of falsehood and you drop lines on the piece of paper that you’re literally not. I let him had it at that while, because I believe I am good at pushing a pencil and am not blessed with the gift of gab. My dear friend, to you I write, I am a meek valiant. I sob at the sofa in the middle of the day, panting and yearning for something far-fetched. I am a miscalculation of theories and sentiments. While I scribble dauntless and lionhearted beliefs, I might be the most timid and reticent human being you have ever met. I am the one who fragmentizes inward and sheds bitter tears in a dark corner, rather than howling back. This ideal, prototypical girl in the back of my mind that I write about and that, in the heart of hearts, I aspire to ...

The Loss of Reason

She needed a Shut. A complete barricade from this hypothetical world of good and bad; to an empty field of nowhereness. She realised she had gradually begun shedding her covers of innocence and truthfulness. A mirthful girl changing into an enigmatic elf. Human voice no longer interested her. Deep inside, the turmoil was growing extravagant that she knew she needed to hide. The speedy waves could otherwise wash away everything. She had been harmless all her life, but was now growing into eternal, intriguing mysteries. Dark places gave her solace while populated places haunted her. Her heart became a secret garden with high walls. Sunsets fascinated her more than sunrises. Was she hallucinating? Her wide eyes gazed a faceless object she craved for. But what did she crave for? Did she yearn for a vacuumed space? Oodles of questions clouded her mind for which she did not seek answers for. This day was different. She did not have the fortitude to face the truth. The feeling when you don’...