Tag: writer

Hope, a dear friend

~ Shivangi ~ 2 Comments

Dear friend Hope had settled down in the corner of my mindspace like an unwelcome guest indisposed to leave. With utmost politeness, I tried to raise this subject several times over tea or during one of our late night dialogs until I couldn’t be polite anymore, ‘don’t you think it’s time for you to leave?’ I asked, almost agitated. 

‘But didn’t we have such a lovely day yesterday? So much positivity!’ Hope answers like a child brimming with possibilities. 

‘Look, not that I do not like having you around but this time I truly believe it’s a lost cause.’ 

Hope is quiet for a moment as if carefully choosing her words. 

‘I will, I promise. Tomorrow.’ She replied in her placid voice and that was the end of our conversation. 

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months but Hope was showing no inclination towards leaving. On the contrary, she regularly had a nice little get together with her other friends such as Delusion, Irrationality, Over-optimism and Fantasy.  

‘Oh, come’on! Don’t you see their actions? How blind are you? It’s high time that you leave. Please.’ and that was when I first lost my temper.  

‘Also, Acceptance wants to move in and he can’t until…you are OUT, you know.’

For once, Hope seemed to be embarrassed. ‘Of course, yes, I will,’ she muttered under her breath trying to get her bearings together, ‘I’ll start packing right away.’ 

Hope had such a pleasant face that it made me second guess myself every single time. 

But, I was wrong. Three years passed, maybe four. At some point, I realised that Hope had no intention of leaving at all. Whenever we had a fight she would just disappear for a while and then return saying that the ‘situation’ has changed/progressed and she is, wait for it, ‘hopeful’. So I decided to throw her out of my limited but precious (head)space.

I try to drag Hope outside my head but she refuses to even budge. Unable to contain my anger, I end up punching Hope’s face. For a moment she doesn’t react but then she kicks my guts so hard that blood spills out from my mouth. I am furious now. I leap at hope and pin her against the floor. My hands are closing around her frail neck but she is rapidly moving her limbs trying to break free. In that moment, I know that I want Hope gone forever. I am crying because I haven’t killed many things before. Just some childish dreams here and there. Between my tears, I tell Hope, you must die. I can’t live with you. And then just few minutes later she stops moving. She’s dead. Hope is dead. Yes!  I am exhausted at this point but also giddy with triumph. Look, I got you. Now I can live in peace with Acceptance.

Ah, how lovely. Acceptance indeed is lovely. Healing will join us any day now.

Only a few days have passed, as I lie with my eyes shut on my bed. Or maybe I was walking through the market or was it the office corridor. I was perhaps in the kitchen chopping a perfectly round tomato when I spotted something lingering. The ghost of a lost cause, my dear friend Hope. But at least, I lived in peace for a full week after all. That’s longer than ever. 

Until one fine day, she never returns at all.

//“Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.” – Friedrich Nietzsche//

I should have known

~ Shivangi ~ Leave a comment

I should have known that the world has become a shallow place,
a little vain
But the values from antecessors
Remain.
To give us a reminder of
What we’ve lost
And what we’ve gained.
It’s a confusing
time to be alive
To be forever torn
To be a semi-fit
Rather, an ill-fit
To have a grounded body
But a fluttering soul
Like a bird about
to take off
And off I would have gone
If I could
But only that
I cannot be everywhere.

do everything
not possibly.
There’s a limitation
There’s a price to pay
For one to be born as
Nature’s proudest experiment
To be its finest creation.
or a cosmic joke
Equipped and armed for
any adversity
But,
Only on the outside.
There’s a universe
Vast on the inside
That cannot be
Fathomed
Can never be fully explored but
Only survived.

Ashes

~ Shivangi ~ 2 Comments 
I walk through ashes
Left behind
From the fire 
that consumed my dreams.
The ones I concocted 
As a little girl
Sprawled on the grass
Under a tree
beneath the sky
Of chocolate houses 
And unicorns 
Swaying with the swings
thinking-
monsters are four legged
And fairies have wings.
The dreams 
Uninhibited Vast 
Lark, Open. 
 
Quite a fire it was 
Ignited by a spark
Of doubt. 
 
I walk through ashes
That fly
From the fire that
emblazoned my reveries 
The ones I concocted 
Sitting in the classrooms 
Bedrooms, parks and places 
Comprehending the
quagmires of the system
And their measures 
of artistry
Knowledge 
Decorum and
Duties  
Via books and lengthy monologues 
Telling me about the foundations 
And a way of life.
 
Quite a furnace 
it was 
Ignited by incongruity
Of the preacher that practiced
Hypocrisy and atrocities. 

I walk through ashes
Left behind
From the fire 
Which consumed my dreams
From when I was younger 
And walked with a 
Cloak of invincibility
That years 
Will bring clarity
Less, if not much 
Half, if not full 
And a Change
shall commence 
Sooner or later
For 
They must 
see their oversight,
their error.  
The dreams 
of walking alone
For those who seek love 
are weak and imbecile
And friendships don’t fray
Just as flowers don’t wither,
That honesty must win 
hard work must pay.
 
Radiant it was 
The pyre of 
My visions and dreams
Or lies force fed to me 
In legacy. 
 
And then the world tells me
They think I have changed
In ways they don’t recognize 
Of course!
Of course,
They do not recognize 
The immolation, the devouring 
Of my dreams, in the fire
That raged within me 
An inferno in my core 
That singed my soul 
Time after time
They tell me
I am not the same
But they do see a
Flicker of
light in my eyes
And 
a fleck of ember
When i speak
at times. 
Caught off guard
I don’t know what to say. 
I lean forward
Closer to their ear 
Unsure how else to cover  
I clear my throat 
And I tell them-
Likewise.

Illusion

~ Shivangi ~ 2 Comments

What if all

I had been

Seening till now

Was a mirage

An Illusion

My mind’s tricks

And games

And now that I have fallen

Flat on my face

The spell has been broken.

The Paradise has disappeared.

I see nothing for miles

Just me

Amidst a sea of sand

But I wonder-

Who tricked me?

A feeling tells me

From the memory or a dream-

Perhaps

I did.

I am Not an Object

~ Shivangi ~ Leave a comment

art asian butterfly color
Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com

I am not an object

but they tell me

to become one

To polish my scars

and my Blemishes

so my edges remain sharp

untouched by age.

Like I never fell

Like I never faced

life as it is.

Like I am new as ever

waxed and furbished.

and I do.

and I attract

other objects like me.

comes a day, they sense

I am more than what they see

fragile, vulnerable and shatterable

and alas, even human.

Some stay, some lurk

but I count my blessings,

for only objects that leave.