Journey of a thought

As I walked down the lane,
A thought crippled across, with pain.

It’s naked. It’s shameless.
It’s peculiar. It’s restless.

Will it survive for long or
Will it flutter its wings, and escape?

Will it haste like careless babies or
Will it keep playing with its long-lost cousins?

Will it struggle to know the world around or
Will it introduce me to a whole new world?

Will it create a difference on the life’s stage or
Will it bleed blue on the surface of a blank page?

Will it shape up in a revolutionary idea or
Will it take a refuge in the corner of the memory lane?


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Two great art forms, one universal language - Story

Image
At the stroke of dawn when the whole of India united to celebrate the Sixty Ninth year of Indian Independence, I, on the other hand, at the tick of the afternoon left my home to discover India through its two unique art forms – Gond and Dastangoi . Both are heartfelt representation of human emotions that portray wonderful stories. The former makes use of colours, while the latter leverages literature and poems. One is depicted by the strokes of brush, while the other uses the writer’s sword. One highlights the relation of humans with Mother Nature, while the other, the human nature itself. For years Gond art lived in the remote areas of Madhya Pradesh with its aboriginal tribe - Gond . The art first discovered its life on the walls of the mud homes of Gond Adivasis , who still decorate their homes to showcase their inherent bond with nature. But on the Independence Day, it was displayed on an art paper and framed neatly by Sukhnandi Vyam at The Artisans, near Rhythm House, Col...
Read more

Mr. Khaki

I just saw him. The man in Khaki. With three bright yellow coloured bold strokes one below another imprinted against a red background on his khaki coloured breast pocket; a revamped version of the postal department’s identity that it underwent a few years ago. He entered the elevator when it reached the fourth floor of the twenty-two storey tower. His one minute of presence was enough for me to bring back the yesteryears in a matter of seconds. As a child I had often seen him carrying a khaki bag. Open, most of the times; closed, rarely; since the bag was always packed with telegrams, parcels, money orders, subscribed magazines, greeting cards, and emotions penned on inland letters. He used to pass through our make-shift cricket ground at a time when someone was about to throw a ball. Shrugging his shoulders and ducking his pate, he often escaped smite of a fast ball that many times zoomed passed his earlobe. The colony where I stayed still comprises of buildings standing fac...
Read more

Long live the musical concert

The other day when I went to treat my injured knee ligament to my close friend and physiotherapist, she gave me a task. The task was that she'll randomly pick some words and I've to write something around it. The words were 'Music, 21 June and Us'. At first I though it was a task, but later when I realised the fun of it, I wrote something that I barely imagined. So here it is... Long live the musical concert... It was June 21st. The longest day of our beautiful planet. Usually, the day is covered by the thick layers of black coloured water vapours, which any moment would descend. But this time, the day was quite, and pleasant. The sky was a bit smoggy and cloudy with its vast blue texture often playing peekaboo. What could have been the reason that it played that game? Seemed a musical concert was taking place up in the air, on a day that is celebrated as World Music Day. The infinite blue sheet was obeying the invisible conductor's instructions. Appear...
Read more