//The dawn of monochromatic abyss brings forth brutal reality//
I perpetually yearn to fall into the grasps of verity. As lies often camouflage reality. One wants a pinch of ardour in this mundane life. Making us dream about ethereal world. Where myriad of epiphanies dissipate and there's no sign of truth. Only deceit prevails.
But is it right to stay in this dreamland, for the truth shall win. That is the law of nature and of mankind. Why are we giving Lies the power or superiority. The output is nothing but us falling into a never ending game of illusions.
And that is why writers are born. Some make people believe in those lies. Deceiving them that a land of fairies and demons exist. But then there are those who want to slap the harshest of reality on the face of their readers. None is bad though. For some, being in a dream might be satisfactory as they find reality too overwhelming. And some might be fine with staying real as dreams might contaminate their vision.
//Writers pen about dreams and reality, for readers to choose//
//Falling into the abyss of monochromatic tears of verity//
I want to bestow truth the laurel to prevail. But if it is difficult to handle, then I want the lies of dreams to encompass me. Taking me on a tour away from this world. A concoction of both it is. An irony in itself. Manipulating according to the current needs. But that's what readers are meant to do.
There was a tinge of sadness in her voice, when she spoke to me. I still, unable to fathom the fact, that Miss Joan Crawford was sitting right in front of me had my questions ready, but once she started to express everything that was in her heart, let go and stared at her. Her intoxicating eyes and mellifluous voice stunned me as she spoke about her life as a Hollywood legend, a mother, and ofcourse, as Joan Crawford!
I was always a misfit! My mother hated me and hence sent me to a boarding school. The nuns were brutal there, but taught me a vital thing, that was discipline. I endured a lot, keeping my calm. Never shed a tear even during the harshest of punishment. Nonetheless, the nuns at my school made me strong, like goddess Athena, known for her valour, warfare and wisdom.
But you know whenever I had to do an emotional scene in a movie, I remembered the time in that attic where I was kept for misbehaving. And all those emotions would come rushing back. It's sad, I know. I lost my virginity when I was a child. It was my stepfather. We weren't related by blood so it wasn't incest, and also that was the only proximity I'd ever experienced. I loved it, and he loved me. That wasn't sad at all.
Then I got into showbiz and my life took a complete turn. Wasn't easy, as one time it'd feel a kiss of zephyr and smell of petrichor but soon a hurricane would disrupt it all. The moppet that I'd been was dead and now there was this fire in me. I was the top star at MGM since I outlasted Garbo and Shearer. My pictures did robust business. It was as if all the fragments had fit into their respective places.
But then there came a saturation point where I was on my lowest phase. Four failed marriages, and I befriend alcohol. It seemed as some of the stars in the sky had dimmed as new ones started to shine. The title song of my film Autumn Leaves implied so much to this situation.
//Since you went away the days grow long And soon I'll hear old winter's song But I miss you most of all my darling When autumn leaves start to fall//
My leaves were falling. You know the industry is nothing but misogynistic. When Men age they get character and when Women age they get lost. And that thought prevailed during my time. But I want to confess something here, I did whatever I had to for my career. I became Joan Crawford from Lucille LeSueur. I compromised my duty as a mother making my daughter think I was a monster. I slept with those studio heads, directors and actors because that was the only way to get a role. No one has the right to judge me for it. I hope this changes though. And artists are selected based on talent.
Maybe the world will remember me for being a promiscuous lady or an average actor or maybe the plethora of frivolous things those Gossip Columnists wrote about me. But none can deny the fact that I was the most beautiful actress Hollywood had ever know. Even more than Monroe. That's for sure.
//I had always know what I wanted, and that was beauty, in every form//
Time doesn't stop for anyone. Some are chasing it, some are running away from it. An ironical being, for sure. Creating dichotomy while it slithers betwixt the passage of days, weeks and years.
Time is like music, an inebriating cocktail of mellifluous melancholia and dolent divinity.
I often feel Time can be a miracle! That vintage chair in the library reminds me of the magical times. Where I'd sit for hours listening to vinyls of old soulful classics, that Time brought me. Showering pristine saudade of melody. Making me believe that Time is a gift to mankind, that helped in its evolution.
But Time can also be a disaster! As it is responsible for creating a paradoxical thing, none other than Memory. Memory and Time are each other's muse. When one drinks the concoction of it, they either get a bitter taste or a sweet one. Something that is out of their control. Memories give Time the power it requires, over a being. Thus, making it the undisputed master.
Time loves to play with people. Either by gifting them an abundant part of itself, or by snatching away whatever is left of it with them. An unscrupulously precarious affair, that it dons as a proud attribute. Making it superior to every other facet of Life. I guess, Life married Time. To take care of its offsprings. Rewarding and punishing them according to their respective deeds. A perfect combination it is though. And I salute Life for it. Heartily!
Time Doesn't stop Can't be seen None can possess Inspite that, controls the strings of our lives
Here's my second submission for the collaboration challenge hosted by the fantastic @a_fleeing_fossil Kindly check out Episode 2, penned by very talented Rishabh @the_moonlit_guy And check out Episode 3, woven by ever amazing Jaya @colourfulgreys
Never thought I would ever fall in love. But watching him rumbling through the Crime Section of the bookstore, I couldn't help myself from leering, intently at him.
Being a girl with dark complexion and curly hair, it was never easy for me. More than half the guys I knew were way out of my league. And the remaining ones weren't interested as all they wanted was a girl with fair skin.
I was aware of my looks and the way the world looked at me. My parents, my cousins, my classmates, relatives and neighbours, they all had the same look on their face. My parents adopted me when I was a baby as they couldn't conceive one. But a year and a half after my adoption, they were blessed with a baby boy. And all hell broke loose. My brother loved me though, the only saving grace.
Albeit all of those experiences I had, made me cautious, to feel for someone or to trust someone. Self-doubt was my best friend now. And anxiety, my muse. But he was different. He looked utterly ghastly as though he'd been in an accident or something.
After talking to him I realised he was looking for the next part of a very famous series of crime books. I, unable to control, burst out into fits of laughter. The deal was that he couldn't control the urge for suspence, for the next part in that series was supposed to be published the following year.
And that was the beginning of my preposterous love story. It really was one-of-a-kind though.
We had our date nights, or what I thought were date nights and what he assumed were casual hangouts, after the book-club meetings since both of us were avid bibliophiles. My favourite genre was mythology and his was mystery and crime. But it was poetic though, that his favourite genre spoke so much about the kind of person he was. There was this unfathomable mystery about him that bothered me all this while as I couldn't decipher his actual behaviour despite the fact that we'd met multiple times.
Maybe I was going to find out the answers though, as I ventured into reading my first ever mystery novel. Him!
We are merely passengers in the train of Life. If we think the world revolves around us, then we are sadly mistaken. It is us, who revolve around the world. And that world is Life indeed.
According to the popular opinion, Life is a journey. And it should be enjoyed with its highs and lows. One can't envisage the track this train will be on. It might stop at unknown stations. Might take more time or might even start after a few seconds. But we should not loose patience while doing so. For no one will pacify us. Every individual will be having his/ her respective journey too.
There will be multiple halts. Where we'll question ourselves whether we'll make it to the destination or not. But keep reminding your head and heart that it is your responsibility to not let the evil in you overshadow the goodness. We have to be our own muse. There won't be any long-lasting symbiotic relationship other than the one that we'll have with our own self.
Who knows? One might come face-to-face with a tunnel. Encompassing you with sheer darkness. It is upon us to keep going until we see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or we may see our destination, in its verdant form, awaiting our arrival. And bestow us with all sorts of perks for we've accomplished this journey.
There isn't any rocket science that'll give you a blueprint as to how one will succeed. You just have to go with the flow, following the apt omens.
So this is my submission for the amazing collaboration challenge hosted by @a_fleeing_fossil The line //the scars he bestowed me surpass a multitude of stars in the universe// is her's. This is the second part, so kindly check out the first part, beautifully woven by my awesome task partner @lovethatneverfades
I had my very first coital. Had perpetually felt as though it was the only thing missing in my life. But as the first Sunrays of the next day kissed my face, I realised it wasn't what I'd wanted. Watching all those movies and series taught me it was always primarily about intimacy. But all I wanted at that time was him, unabashedly and unapologetically. It was more about the proximity.
As it turns out, he thought all I wanted was just a night with him. That's what he thought of me, a One Night Stand. Guess, I was the only Wallflower there and he was the king of the Dandelions. I begged him to stay, sobbing and screaming. But he left.
I never saw him for an entire month, until our graduation. Both our families decided to celebrate it together as a dinner party at a plush restaurant. And then the most unexpected thing happened, he brought a girl with him introducing her as his girlfriend. Unable to control my tears, I looked outside the glass window. The stars were shining, just like that night when we were together. I felt they were smiling down at my misery, as now the scars he bestowed me surpass a multitude of stars in the universe. And there was no looking back, for I didn't know how to conceal them.
//How I yearned to look at his mischievous grin, for contentment was something I felt after watching him do that//
We spoke at midnight. He wished me luck for my future. I did the same. There was no bitterness, he'd always wanted the best for me. He asked me if I was going to tell my parents. Was I ever going to feel comfortable telling them about me?
//Letting out the articles hidden inside the closet of my heart//
They had a reputation of nobility as they believed in the faith of humanity. But was it the real humanity they believed or a manipulated version that was passed on to them by their ancestors. I was a stardust for them, the apple of their eye. They were orthodox but it wasn't my fault. Did I commit a sin, for I loved someone from the bottom of my heart. Is love a crime? How can it be, a mother loves her child. Children love their parents. Siblings and cousins love each other. Then why are we labelling love? For who shall and shall not be loved?
And if this is a crime, then I want to be a criminal and accept whatever punishment they want to give. As I don't want to live in a world where I have to suppress my feelings. There are places, where this feeling of mine is nurtured and embraced. Where there are a Rainbow of opportunities.
Where people live with L iberty, G aiety, B ravery, T ranquility, Q uietude, I nspiration and A dmiration.
You know what sheer beauty is? Seeing a town, from above the mountains. The verdant landscape taking your breath away whilst bringing serenity to your eyes and mind. What better than an artistic town.
A town that is draped in iridescent colours, giving it a prismatic feel. Where houses are enamelled with Dreamcatchers. Walls are painted in Madhubani Art, encompassed by Caravaggio's Chiaroscuro of light and dark. Poles and pillars donning dapper Graffiti.
Handloom creations are given as souvenirs. Intricate Woodart is gifted to the newly married. Men and women wear embroidered outfits of every colour, not barring or categorising a colour as masculine or feminine. Where Bangles and Rings are worn as accessories and not a symbol of a betrothal.
Where everyone is an artist, being a connoisseur in their respective Art. And sartorial choices being a part of personal opinion and not peer pressure. Farming, a regular drill. Treated as a perk and not a peril.
A town who's morning starts with Classical Ragas, evenings with Jazz and the day coming to an end with nights presenting mellifluous Sufi. Where one can wear whatever they deem fit, dance to the tunes of any music, sipping Wine or drinking aromatic Coffee. Watching the day go by in your comfortable outfits on the wodden patio at the treehouse. Sunshine and Moonlight playing hide and seek. Sunsets bringing passion to the lovers, contentment to grownups.
What if there really was a town like this. And if there is, then I'd call it the Town of Art. As Art is the most aesthetic thing that has happened to mankind.
How to lie If there is an easy way to lie To myself and the entire world About who I really am What I really want And what my thoughts really are
How to lie To feel fine if my male counterpart Got a big raise and promotion Even though I'm his senior Way more talented than him Giving pre-eminent results from my work
How to lie If I'm unable to give a child To my husband and In-laws For they'll torment my family Denigrate their status in the society While questioning my character
How to lie Not just to the world or my family But to myself Because of the person I am in love with A person of my gender, a fellow man For I'll be termed as a disease
How to lie To my wife and kids That my superiors fired me As I refused to become their pawn For carrying out illegal activities Sticking firmly to my ethics
How to lie About the fact that I'm a sinner For breaching the rules of the society Decided by individuals having toxic perspectives As the shade of my soul Is contaminated and impure, according to them
Enamelling humans With the gift Of imagination God gave us An opportunity To shed our Cantankerous self And help us Detach from Our mundane reality Teleporting oneself To any land In this universe A planet A star A galaxy Or the moon
To be whatever We want to be Man Woman Child Animal Celebrity Politician Sportsman Artist Farmer
Say whatever we want Feel whatever we want Dress the way we want Walk the way we want Behave the way we want
Not succumbing to the pressures The society imposes on us Wanting this imagination To turn into reality Ironically!
Hapless millions in limbo in Kashmir India still indeed a land of fakirs Our support to a scamster On our eyes fakeness is plastered Chinese apps banned for sake of privacy Rapes and acid attacks carry on without leniency A woman stalked, harassed and rebuked Still such news we gobble without refute Masturbating with senseless yogis To Muslims murdered and lynched where are your apologies Trans pride for them a hard pill to swallow In bitter restrictions and shame my friends do wallow Thank you for the cumulative progress Where women are scared and science has regressed Economy you drowned in an uneducated hand Art remains nothing more than your sculpted face in odiya sand Arise dead people of my blessed land Wake and fight your wars before your freedom gets banned.
With lots of concern A fellow Indian. _______________________________ Copyright Jaya Harfkaar 26-9-2020
Note : Just an admiration note. #songc had one of the best collection of write ups from you amazing writers. All of your writeups were enthralling and mind blowing. Beautiful and brilliant. Creative mirakeeans! Keep inking.
Clocks Full of rust, dismantled works Into the dusty winds of unbridled time Adrift Far enough to fade away memories Kept your inside the glass of stories Endearing with flavours of affection Lush of smile with hairs shining bright Blinded by the appease of together times This part refuses to fade it stays inside You can never disintegrate in ardent mind Cause emotions flowed in river as one With shores signing song of love And you drifting slowly away Physically but in memory you still here Close to where things were perfect
#ffossil First prize to Rishika @starrdust and antheia di, @antheia_ cuz I literally cried when I read Rishika's post and was dazzled with euphoria as I read the latter's!! Do read them if you haven't already..
Love y'all! Will come up with a new challenge this Monday.. Do try that one!!
Hola Mirakeeans! I hope you all are safe and fine. I apologize for my late post.
This composition is basically a reverie, and as y'all know, a dream doesn't have any definite directions. You may also visualize the oddest combinations in your dreams. From a long time I was proposing to write something on my grandfather, for whom words won't suffice to express how I feel for him. Few days back was his death anniversary when I actually quilled this poem, but failed to post it. He was the only one among the world full of people who agnized the writer in me when I was only three or four.
Therefore, this is an ode to my grandfather in the best way that could be possible where I kept my two best writers in one frame- William Wordsworth and my grandfather. I wish to have this kind of dream everyday though
*'Lyrical Ballads' is the collection of poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth, and has been the landmark anthology till this day and it marked the beginning of English Romantic Movement in literarure.*
Also, it's Coleridge's 'Kubla Khan' that inspires this particular rendition.
P.S.: My favourite writers, I wanted to make the comeback with my post, and now I will one by one go through your posts to delight my senses.
//Wise men say Only fools rush in// But they are bright yet they still are my friends Colourful greys A radiating blaze Constant for me, helping in thousand ways Sunena Di Miss Yoga knows economy if you ever DEMAND, I'll SUPPLY my heart for thee. Speccy,Sid or shall I call you master of vocab You consider me a bro,I consider myself glad. Pato my bro From beyond the seas I am lucky to know such a master wordsmith The lovely Kinjo Her Heart full of love I hope that she knows We'll never fade,but forever grow.
//I can't help falling in love with all of you.//-An Elvis Presley song
I cannot match up with the beautiful pieces that you've written about me, which albeit are more fiction than fact,they still have my heart. Wrote this in a rush as exams were after Diwali,but now they've been pre-poned next week. Toh diwali main bomb fute na fute Agle hafte mera bum futne wala hai But nonetheless Thank you so much guys,I am forever in your debt that I'll repay once Modiji transfers 10 lakh to my bank account.