#melva_j

49 posts
  • melva_j 11w

    SILK

    You're like fine silk
    made of special threads
    in unique weaves
    The kind that glides through finger rings
    The kind they don't make anymore
    The kind people wear their chappals out
    searching for
    In the small old shops
    that have rustic lamps,
    in the alleyways of meandering streets
    in Calcutta
    Only to realise under the flickering yellow lamps
    that they will never get to have it
    That it will only be a thing of their imagination
    The silk of their dreams.
    You're the silk of men's dreams.
    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 16w

    Fallen, lost and strolled too far

    When I walked on the edge
    I was afraid I might lose my hold
    and fall over
    So I thought I'll descend back,
    But it was never possible,
    The step was too low or
    what was beyond kept
    Luring me into the, abyss if you may
    And then I thought,
    Alright I'll just let me fall,
    I'll figure out how to climb over later.



    During the fall,
    I was afraid I was gonna lose myself
    Not whole but in parts
    Yet eventually lose
    a bit of the essence itself,
    Lose my way in the dark depths
    Of this emotion, whatever it was
    But I thought, no, it's okay
    I'll just find my way back to the cliff.


    As I strolled through the bottom,
    Trying to find the foot of the cliff
    But in effect, wandering further away
    With each step,
    I kept thinking,
    What if I stroll too far and never return?
    But my pace kept steady
    Or got quicker, I should say
    And I thought, don't worry,
    You'll return.


    But here I stand now,
    Fallen into,
    Lost myself to,
    And strolled a bit further to
    You.


    Here I am stranded on your shores


    I don't see any boats to take me back
    Nor can I swim
    I could try,
    but I can see that I'll drown
    So I've decided to make a tent,
    Start a fire,
    Rest for the days
    And wait for the boat
    That will eventually pass by.


    What gives me hope
    When I lay down in the sand
    And look at the night sky,
    Is the thought that somewhere
    In the island that's me,
    You are stranded too,
    Fallen, lost and strolled too far
    Just like me.


    ©melva_j

  • myuwrites 17w

    A fundamental equation that we have all learned, whether a medical student or with an engineering background, we all have come across this equation in our times. When there were all sorts of Nasty, Weird and tough to remember formulae, there was this one relatively simpler and easy to remember equation.
    Just to recap for the readers and the people like me who suffer from selective amnesia, this formula was a mathematical expression for the amount of Work done when a force ‘F’ is applied to an object and it is displaced with a distance ‘S’. The unit has always been Joule or Newton. Meter.
    In case you are too scared of the equations or variables, much to your surprise, our mathematical discussion ends here. For me, this equation carries a complete philosophy in it. Since my childhood, may be because of my teachers, this formula has always offered me more than just to solve those questions at the end of chapters’ exercises. For me, it defines and outlines our personal, social and spiritual behaviors.
    To explain the phenomenon, in very layman terms is if you are pushing a wall of your home/office or of your classroom in frustration or for catharsis, no matter for how long, I will have to regretfully inform you that as per the above mentioned equation, ‘ absolute no’ work has been done as the wall would be right there where it was supposed to be and you have been putting all your forces and efforts, in vain.
    Now start to look around you, imagine the people near you. See Your own self as well. Evaluate the scenarios and the amount of work we actually do in our lives. The amount of efforts we put in and still remain unproductive. We exhaust our energies and consume our time, still are unable to displace those ‘walls’ in our lives. Let’s analyze some of the ‘F’s in our lives:
    1. Whining: The complains will not let you solve anything, they won’t let you gain anything, instead, they will destroy your energies. We have folks in our social groups who will keep whining about the problems, issues, things and even people. We all have done it at some point of our lives when we want to put the blame on others rather than taking the lead to solve the problem. We all want others to act and react, like the way we wish to and when our expectations are not met, we see a problem and then a time comes when others start avoiding us.
    “Living in the past is living with regret, living in the future is living with anxiety, living in the present is living in peace.”—Lao Tzu.
    We put so much effort, so much force (F) to identify the problems yet with no tangibles in hand, and no displacement, at all. Work in these scenarios eventually comes out to be nothing.
    2. Plans: The most important promise is that which you make with your own self. Our so many empty promises let us fail a number of times in front of our own eyes. For example, the numbers of chapters once we promised during a prep week before an exam, promising to start going to a gym for four days straight, new year resolutions, vowing to spend more time with family members, thinking of calling our friends, and all those minute tweaks in our lives that we want to have with short and long term plans. These plans are processes which all need efforts in the form of our time but sadly empty and broken promises only result in an output of zero, but again we just keep pushing another wall of our life and for nothing at all.
    3. Indecisions: Have you ever felt butterflies in the stomach, just because you are unable to decide? It is When a certain percentage of you is not sure what to do and the other portion doesn’t know what to do. These indecisions, these delays and the inability to take initiatives can make you end up being a prisoner of your own indecisiveness. The hesitations in choosing an option is worse than choosing a wrong one. They make you miss the ‘displacements’ you might have made even with all the efforts you had or you would put in. Lacking the ability to take timely decisions is more of a mindset. Sometimes trusting the gut is all we need. As Winston Churchill said — 'The only guide to a man is his conscience’. The delays, to me, eventually leave us to ‘No work’ as well. Even then, if you want to be indecisive, at least be decisive about that.
    4. Mere Talks – In this era, how many of us haven’t watched or listened to these inspirational and motivational talks? Further, we sit in gatherings of our elders to gain a drive from their life long experiences and stories. They all give those good vibes and a refreshing feel that everything is doable while we tend to develop a ‘go getter” attitude in ourselves. All this digestion, grabbing of ideas and harvesting notions in ourselves, need time. But remember, One Talk, One Advice can’t make careers or lives. We all want to spend this time a.k.a. putting an effort to concentrate to these talks but with no implementation associated with it, only brings us to the same outcome. Unless the comfort zones are not crossed, unless you don’t take the blame for what you are lacking, unless you don’t hustle enough and unless the thoughts are not transformed into actions, we are still talking of ‘W=0’
    5. For the last part, I would like you all to process your thoughts in an unlike manner. Let us see the other side of our lives which we all want to explore. To many of us, we have been sent on this planet where life can sustain, with a reason. Each one of us is brought with an aim, a goal to achieve. Whether we are making those empty promises or processing thoughts without any implementation, we still have to be connected with our Almighty. We in our own constraints and limitations, carry the burden of doing Almighty’s work. Before I can further comment, I would like to mention that by no means I am an authority on this and you may or may not agree to my opinion. For me, work for the Almighty should be a byproduct of prayers, supplications and good deeds along with our relationships with other people. Deficiency in either of the equation variables of the spirituality will not be enough for us to relate the amount work to be done for HIM.
    For me, ‘F’ is the strength you show for the Dos and the Don’ts, designated by your own faith. How well you have walked on that straight line. Time bound prayers and other practices demand our physical and mental efforts. However, ‘S’ in the equation of this part of our life is the Deeds. How well we spend our lives, affecting others in a positive way. How well we treat our subordinates, our workers, our family members, acquaintances, strangers and beggars.
    Just for a second, imagine attending your own funeral. Going there with your family members, associates, friends and colleagues. The ones you have been knowing all your life. How would you expect them to talk about you? Yes, the Almighty won’t need their stamp on the work you did in your life, but the personality you would like to leave behind may have an effect on others’ lives. Imagine an orphan praying for you even after you are long gone. An old lady raising her hands and praying for your soul for all the goods you did in your life.

    Before I can conclude, I would like to ask you one simple question – While we always are honing ‘To Do lists’ in our lives – have we ever considered of making a ‘To Don’ts List? We should get rid of all the time and energy sucking activities which don’t let us displace any distance.
    Keep displacing - Keep Working –



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    W=FxS

  • myuwrites 21w

    In 2008, I was working as a ‘Junior Engineer’ and that was one bizarre job title as there was no ‘Senior Engineer’ in the company. The company was located at the rare side of two storey plaza near the PTCL main office in Abbottabad. I was living with parents in a government accommodation, as my father was due to retire in few months from his Military Service.

    At the time, securing job was not that big an issue, neither leaving one. IT and Telecommunication sectors were booming. I found that job in my hometown right after my bachelors. So, staying with parents and finding a job as early as that were definitely a dream come true. However, that job as a Junior Engineer was not going to last long for me as I was leaving for England for my Masters in a two-month time.

    My office timings were 8 am to 4 pm and like every other country mate of mine, Friday was a day where we never think of real work and our weekends start on Thursday. This day has always been ritual, not just a simple day. No wonder Mondays are heavy and ours are heavier, but who cares.

    On Fridays, I normally used to leave the office around 1230 hrs. So I could pray my Jumma Prayers in a mosque near my Army House (Not the same pronunciation as of the “THE ARMY House”)

    One Friday some time in April, I was strangely stuck in my work and like a split of a second, the clock was showing 1300 hrs., and yes, I was still in the office. I decided to offer the Jumma prayers with my colleagues at Al-Badar Masjid, a Tablighi Markaz of the city. The mosque was located adjacent to an Imam Barghah. The city never had a major inter sectarian issue of any sort and even as of now both prayer places exist in pure harmony.

    However, those years, Pakistan was in grip of rampant violence. Terrorist attacks, clashes, suicidal attacks, insurgent and sectarian-related incidents, target killings and assassinations were common in our lives. Every other day, we used to have bomb blasts in almost every part of the country in all sorts of the places including schools, govt offices, mosques and what not. Everyone was terrified – Every day was so unpredictable. People used to avoid going to cities like Peshawar and Rawalpindi or for that matter any movement away from their homes.

    One of my friend’s wedding unfortunately was cancelled due to an attack at a mosque in Rawalpindi on a same day where many were brutally killed there while attending Jumma congressional prayers.

    Back to the Jumma prayer I was about to attend!! Few days earlier, there was an attack on Imam Bargah in another city, due to which country was under siege yet again and situation was tight enough to make people stay away from big gatherings. Yet I was in a Markaz right next to an Imam Bargah for reasons that were not in my control.

    A gentleman with an itchy beard and wearing woolen shawl was standing next to me in the second last row of the gathering. Initially I didn’t care “but” a shawl on an April’s sunny afternoon changed my mind or more appropriately blown my mind away with anxiety. When Imam sb said ‘Allah oh Akbar’ I instantly lost the track of time.

    I was literally sweating buckets by then. I could not ‘forget’ those 2 rakaats in which I ‘forgot’ everything – from praying to standing there or even breathing – My focus, my attention was on his movements whenever, he used to adjust his shawl – I was honestly expecting him to tear the place apart and I knew that if that happened I would not hold a slightest chance to survive. Those 5 minutes were the longest 5 minutes of my life. I actually felt the theory of relativity happening to me that day. In those 5 minutes, I recalled almost every good memory I had by then, with few wishes and few regrets as well. As soon the Imam sb ended the prayers, I never looked back and ran like a wind.

    Fear of death can do to you especially when that fear is of ‘your closed ones’ losing you. I never wanted to pray like that ever in my life again. Even I turned out to be a terror-stricken and a panicky one, I would always choose my nearby foji mosque in future – a well-guarded one for that matter.

    Now to the present!! Yesterday I wanted to go for a Maghrab prayers in a mosque which has recently been opened after Govt orders amid #Covid19. But considering the fear again – fear of looking at the people around me even with those 6 feet of social distancing – I would not stop staring at them – might not focus again on my prayers – and this time it is not just for me – but for the family members I care for, and for the society I live in – for many I might become a carrier. I will not be able to pray with the peace, with the same zeal, that I always cherish – the kind of connection we all want with the almighty in these prayers – I choose to stay indoors, as I will settle with might be a lesser reward but I don’t want to compromise the fear of this sort which has to be for only my Allah –

    – – – – – – – –
    Stay Safe – Stay Indoors – Please


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    The 5 Mins

    .

  • myuwrites 23w

    After the Preamble . . . . .

    ___________________________________________________

    In his customary escape from the monotonous camp routine, Miraj approached the barbed wired wall. A cigarette in one hand and a match box in the other, he briskly walked to his usual spot. As he lit up his cigarette, an Indian Jet on a routine exercise flew over the camp. The deafening sound soon started to fade away as the jet disappeared into the clouds. However, this brief phenomenon caused Miraj to reminisce to the memories of Dhaka, to that neighborhood, to his house where he resided before “The Fall”.

    The cacophonous sounds of jets was not something unusual for him and his family. Back in Dhaka, every night, the Mukti Bahinis (Bengali insurgents) on the ground, with their handheld flashlights, used to direct the bomber planes towards civilian targets. Bomber planes used to fly low to pin point their targets as national air strips were crippled and were not in order. The nighttime air raids were conducted to terrorize the non-Bengalis settled or posted there, and to make them constantly anticipate a knock-out blow. To add fuel to fire, there would be vociferous sirens to create disorder in the masses. Every time just before the drop of the bombs, their acceleration through the viscous and gloomy air would create a hissing sound enough for petrifying each potential human target.

    There was a lake a furlong away from their house. The lake was surrounded by the neighborhood on three sides. Some of the soils were waterlogged while most were sandy with gritty texture as the area comprised of semi-arid land. Then there were a few patches of dry sand which was fine and white. His family, like other families would visit the lake to get a semblance of a beach. The evenings by the lakeside were as serene as the lucid lake water. Many would try their luck with their fishing rods while others would just sit there for the view and fresh, cool breeze. Kids would sink their feet in that sand for hours, throw sand on each other and build all kinds of shapes.

    Once the war began and peace was disturbed, they all decided to make trenches in the square area in front of the lake, for safety of the families. Miraj opted for an L shaped trench where his family would spend their nights. They used to take the essentials with them to spend the unforgettable nights.

    The squadrons of bombers, cruel bombers, would drop the bombs at their will and in a jiffy, would open up the face of the earth with gigantic holes of up to 10 feet in diameter. Once the show was over, people would crawl out from their hideouts and amidst crying kids and hysterical women, would look out for the missing family members. Many were killed and could never see the next dawn, buried under tons of debris.

    Miraj started to revisit that fateful night just before The Fall. His family was in the trench as per routine. The power was out. In the distance, they could hear a squadron of roaring bombers, approaching fast. All his kids were awake, quivering with terror and Ameer, the youngest among them, was hiding in his mother’s lap. They were all scared to death as they were not sure if they would live to see the daylight.

    In all that chaos, suddenly, there was a bang!! This was followed by an eerie, frightening silence and then a high-pitched whooshing sound started to ring in everyone’s ear, as if their ear drums had been damaged permanently. The darkness became darker. They were all disoriented for few seconds. The mixture of smoke, blasted sand and fire powder was blinding. When they finally managed to see around, they saw Ameer and his mother lying injured near the bunker’s destroyed wall, breathing heavily. When the smoke further cleared and others came to help them out, Miraj saw two undetonated bombs lying in the wet sand. The percussion of those bombs hitting the sand was huge enough to rattle the wall and eventually flatten it and almost buried them in a living grave. Had the landing area been of a rigid composition, no soul would have escaped absolute annihilation.

    Suddenly, Miraj was brought back from his thoughts by the sound of another Indian jet. It dawned on him that he could have lost his family forever. He just stood there with a disbelief looking up in the heavens wondering if he needed to be thankful for the narrow escape or regretful for a miserable life at the POW camp.



    To be Continued…



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    POW - The Undetonated Nostalgia

    See The Caption for the Story - Event 01

  • myuwrites 23w

    Every day was a struggle. Conditions they faced were brutal and many never made it out of that POW camp alive, which was stationed at Meerut, India. All the surviving families from a recent debacle were coming back to Pakistan as prisoners of war after the Fall of Dhaka in 1971.

    Each prisoner was there with a shattered soul. Every sunrise would surface a wish in them, to return home safely, a wish that dwindled daily at the twilight. The horrid place itself was destroying the hopes of any survival of the fight of surviving.

    Most of those men and women were in their best health yet they were feeling if life was giving its last dance before the eternal end just like a flickering candle. The minds were weary and their small worlds. pitch dark as they were anticipating to be left away from their country, their homeland to just die in isolation. However, death was not that easy, the next day would bring a greater risk of more life.

    At the later part of those gloomy evenings, when mothers used to sing lullabies to their toddlers, they also felt the tears well up in their eyes. They were not able to comprehend the relativity of time.What to make out of that and how to pass that. All they wanted to see a neon light at the end of that long, long but a dark tunnel as HOPE.

    So many strange faces at the start of the two-years long journey and most went on to become acquaintances and associates while some became Best friends for life. They shared tears, smiles and laughter. The camp had become an extended family for them however, depression was a common factor in all those personalities and that was slow poisoning them. Every face had a visible hopelessness yet they were there fighting and eventually most went on surviving from those mental traumas.

    In all that, a family, headed by Mr. Miraj with his pregnant wife and 7 kids, was also among the prisoners of war. His eldest son, Bashir was in mid-teens who along with so many other kids in the camp, had to put their studies at halt due to that life changing journey. Miraj, in mid 40s, was a civil engineer. He was posted in, then, the East Pakistan on an official assignment. He was there at a complete alien place with his family a year earlier to the fall.

    He could observe, that in the camp, many were weak and some malnourished, slowly wasting away to dust and nothing. He was all calm in that chaos of silence all around. He was not a chain smoker but seldom he would go near to the fencing wires and used to light a cigarette and see the other side of the fence with the smoke around his face and in all that solace.



    To be Continued . . . .



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    POW - The Preamble

    With all the time in hand-I have started to compile a series of true stories that i have heard in my childhood,in my teens by my grandfather & by my father as their experiences-during their 2 year stay in India as POW after Fall of Dhaka in 71

    Will post the stories in the caption one by one

  • melva_j 23w

    Letting you go

    Every time I step into this house,
    My gaze wanders to the room in the East
    As if a habit I can't seem to stop
    And always, I find the empty bed.
    The pillows perfectly placed,
    The bedspread neat, without creases
    The cotton sarees have left the hangers
    the dressing mirror is stained,
    And I can't see my face in it anymore
    All the plates in the kitchen
    have been dry for months now,
    And the weeds have started
    creeping into the backyard.
    Leaning on the kitchen verandah door,
    It finally crept on to me; the void
    The absence,
    which was left of her presence now
    And I weeped.
    I didn't want to,
    I wanted to keep my tears
    I wanted her to stay in that suffocation,
    In that ache in my chest,
    Yet I let it flow,
    I let her out.
    I lost her twice, once in her deathbed
    And the second time
    When I finally let her go.
    ©melva_j

  • myuwrites 23w

    One after one, those jets soared majestically through the skies as their engines reverberated the walls with some deafening roars. Beyond the glass panels of the viewing gallery, a 16-year-old Nauman was staring at the group of scampering ground traffic controllers. Neon yellow jackets on those lads were catchy enough for him. He was also frustratingly eyeing the main clock right at the top of some sort of registration desk. He had no idea about the purpose of that desk placed there with at least 3 airline reps behind that wooden block.

    The iconic control towers stood tall some hundred meters away from all this ladies and gentlemen in the departure lounge who were all checked in, to this delayed flight for the last few hours.

    Those giant plasma screens with all the detailed information were getting updated periodically. Usman while snacking his fifth packet of chips was looking at those flight details periodically as well. He must have remembered all the data by heart by then.

    Then there was Maha, leisurely watching the Hustle bustle of the passengers she was busy in judging her co-passengers and imagining their relationships, habits and family backgrounds just like a profiler. The Sherlock Holmes inside her was awake who was examining everything with healthy skepticism.

    A Crying infant was there too, making his presence felt from the corner seats. The cries were impinging on everyone’s awareness. The couple was holding him while trying to make him sleep but they were new to the Murphy’s Law of Toddlers which is to do the exact opposite whatever their parents want to have. The couple was hoping against the hope, tirelessly. Was it hunger – a soiled diaper – or just a longing to be held? His parents were definitely frustrated and nervous as many elders generally tend to get judgmental with all those raised eyebrows and deadpan remarks.

    Ehsan on the other hand, was agitated, querulous and worried. He was low on his nicotine level and was searching for a smoking corner. It was at least three hours that he hadn’t puffed and released his worries.

    Right in the middle of the waiting lounge, there was an old lady in her cotton house-dresses and orthopedic shoes, knitting a sweater to kill her time. She never wanted her gnarled fingers to be idle and rest in that fiasco. Right next to her was Aisha, her granddaughter who had no plans to knit in the near future. But she was getting the instructions from the real time tutorial of “How to knit”.

    Hamza was flaunting his gadgets pretending to be busy in his music. He had those big headphones on him and was wiggling his head on the beat of music audible only to him. His fitness armband was giving him constant notifications that he had been sitting there for ages. All he wanted was to keep an eye on the battery levels of his devices.

    Muzammil, a retired diplomat was busy in having conversations with the available authorities. He was asking them some pertinent questions regarding the availability of meals for the waiting passengers. All those who were listening to his arguments were nodding in agreement. Had it been a plebiscite that day, he could have won that election by a clear margin. He was a popular man by then.

    After a wait of so many hours, that final call from the speaker came up that the plane is ready to be boarded. A guy in a neatly ironed uniform came up and addressed all the bizarre souls in a dignified manner, “Ladies and Gentlemen, This way please”. There was a shout of Hurrah by Asim who already had his power naps which he might have saved for the journey. All the passengers swiftly started to move towards the boarding bridge where the plane was taxied to.



    Clearly – They were all United by Despair – Yet Divided by the Conventions.









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    THE DELAY - A SCENE

    .

  • melva_j 23w

    Often

    I wish to be the rain you love so much,
    So that I get to visit you
    every once in a while,
    During the cold evenings,
    When the sky is an unthinkable mix
    Of crimson and blue,
    Just how we were,
    And yet make that beautiful view,
    Just as we were.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 24w

    Dear Sadako

    Every day, for years
    You expected tomorrow
    To be kinder
    The day to be warmer
    And the night to be calmer
    And your hopes, you folded Into
    a thousand paper cranes,
    Expecting them to free you.
    Yet you knew, in your heart you knew,
    That tomorrow was going to be worse,
    Much worse than today
    And in that you had found a strange calm
    A strange satisfaction.
    You had learnt
    that the beauty of today
    Was in the understanding that
    It is possibly much better
    Than what tomorrow is gonna be
    And today,
    You were less of a Hibakusha
    Than you will be
    Tomorrow.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 24w

    HOME

    I let the garbs fall off at the door
    Untied the mask at the living
    Took off the necklace by the mirror and
    Removed the body paint by the night stand.
    Releasing my body, naked,
    I let it hit the mattress with a thud
    And the ache made me smile.
    The day's chapter was done
    And tomorrow will be another story.
    In the constant theatre that life is,
    Home is the only place I was me.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 25w

    BEFORE

    Before you stop looking at me,
    Erase the memory of your eyes from me.
    Before you drop my hand,
    Guide me to walk by myself.
    Before you pack your bags
    Make me forget your scent in my shirts
    And before you leave,
    Teach me how to not love you.


    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 26w

    I TRUST YOU

    I tread by the shallow stream
    Doubting whether I should wet my feet
    Or drench my skirt right at the hem
    And get back on the shore
    And not paddle deep
    Or if I should take a dive
    And explore the depths,
    what if it brought me to the hidden oysters
    I step back every minute
    and look at the sky for a sign of any kind
    A star that shimmers,
    Or a comet passing by,
    That would let me put the blame
    Of my momentary decision
    On that magic of the universe
    And call it a twist of fate
    A draw played by the hands of time,
    Yet deep in my mind
    In the floor bed of my heart,
    I know that I want to immerse myself
    In the clear water of the gentle stream,
    On this cold, yet bright night of the full moon,
    And abandon myself in that oblivion.
    Then, right there, that's where I see you
    With your arm outstretched
    And the most reassuring smile,
    As you take my hand in yours,
    And guide me into the water
    All the while facing me, just how I beg you to,
    And the smile never leaving your face,
    Becoming the guide of my mind
    in the conflict it is in now,
    Your eyes could drown me
    In the black orbs they are
    Yet, they twinkle in the moonlight
    Making me believe that the
    'magic of the universe' I was hoping for
    Is right there, in you.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 31w

    DECEIT

    To reach a heaven we have never seen,
    We forgo the earth we walk upon daily,
    To please a god we are yet to meet,
    We sacrifice other of his own creations
    If empathy and love is what God is made of,
    Am telling you, he is disappointed now
    Cause the heaven is on this earth,
    You've just turned blind to it,
    And the god is in you,
    You've just forgotten it.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 33w

    NOT ALONE

    Today I sat on my swing
    Rolled my head back and laid down
    Gently being swayed by the wind...
    The world looked easier then, upside down
    Cause everything seemed to be
    barely hanging on
    Just like me.
    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 35w

    CHERRY BLOSSOM

    Unlocked gates
    Familiar doors,
    By the greying church,
    Lie the tombstones
    I walk by them,
    the roof just a timber Skelton,
    The stone walls cracked,
    The church was merely half
    of what I had made it
    The tomb stones
    With their names erased,
    I don't remember the bodies anymore
    But it all didn't matter
    as I walked past them all,
    To the cherry tree
    That stood in blossom,
    Our holy memories
    I built the church with
    And our hatred
    I left buried at the graveyard
    It all didn't matter here,
    when I visited you
    every once you blossomed,
    And although I have taken her hand
    and we've gone on adventures
    far and wide
    and my journey is perfect and
    looks perfect till the horizon,
    Here in this trail frequented
    Here in the pink blooms,
    You will live forever in me.
    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 53w

    On this World suicide prevention day, let's try to define something that eventually leads way to the 'thought of escape'.

    #melva_j #mirakee #reposter #pod
    @writersnetwork @writersofmirakee @readwriteunite @writers_paradise

    Read More

    DEFINING DARKNESS

    It feels like am pregnant
    pregnant with a child
    that won't come out
    that eats on everything I take in,
    eats on my happiness
    and at 3 Am it decides to kick
    And crave for attention
    crave to be acknowledged
    I try to pull it out through my hairroots
    I try to dig it out with my nails.
    Clawing at my skin at a frenzy
    But all am left with is blood on my nails
    And the child still growing in me.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 59w

    This is the conversation between two strangers who
    Crossed paths beneath a random lamppost in an unknown city. To the strange traveler who voiced his regrets and hopes, I became the girl by the lamppost.


    #melva_j #mirakee #reposter #pod
    @writersnetwork @writersofmirakee @readwriteunite @writers_paradise

    Read More

    Regrets?

    Decades of dead moments drifted by us,
    Even the frozen corpses
    Of the thoughts we shared
    Lies forgotten in the thickening fog,
    Before I die in your memory,
    I wish I could fold my feelings
    as paperboats,
    And let it float in the sea of my silence,
    Hoping one day it will reach you.
    And that is my last hope to be immortal,
    My last hope, to be remembered
    - The lone traveller
    with a tale to tell.

    .................

    Why are you stubborn?
    Why do you wish to be etched in?
    When all you are is a cluster of dust,
    A clump of flesh and blood,
    Why do you thirst?
    Isn't it enough to flow unleashed
    Like the rivers?
    To fly un-harnessed like the wind?
    To live fearless like the ocean
    Yet to go quietly like the night?
    Isn't it enough to be the sand
    That sticks to her feet as she walks on,
    And isn't it enough
    To remain a part of her,
    for just that long?
    - the girl by the lamppost
    in that unknown city.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 67w

    RECURRENCE

    You 'visit' me again
    like you visit one of your hotel rooms
    In your cross country trips
    Like the room you book
    To settle your luggage
    And wash off your dirt
    Like the room you just come back to
    For the night's rest
    And you leave me
    Like you leave those rooms
    The beds unmade,
    Wet towels on the floor,
    The cup left with coffee stains,
    And the air still reeking of cigarettes.
    You leave me like the shattered bottles
    And the crushed beer cans
    You leave in the trash
    In these rooms,
    The rooms that know
    That you'll visit again
    And I know too.
    But I still keep longing
    For you to 'arrive',
    Arrive like you come back to your
    Favourite streets,
    Arrive like you walk through
    That familiar door,
    Arrive like you arrive home.

    ©melva_j

  • melva_j 69w

    "Nobody is free.
    We are caged within a body
    We didn't choose."

    "Nobody is unblessed.
    We were born with a beautiful attire
    We didn't work to earn."
    ©melva_j