thehemantkashyap

Using metaphors to excuse my lack of imagination.

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  • thehemantkashyap 3d

    Has been a long time since I wrote something for my muse, so here goes.

    Also, *waves*, I hope you've been good, dear reader.

    #pod

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    Monsoon

    I must insist that
    I am a desert, of rolling
    dunes, singing medleys to your soul
    devoid of any oases surrounded with
    palm and date.
    I usually am a rocky plateau;
    repetitive, old and painfully predictive
    Yet, you get lost in the simplest of domains
    don't you? I lose myself in me. Strange.
    The only monsoon comes around when
    you gaze in my general direction;
    it is as though the wind rejoices
    at the mere news of your existence, the
    gods part the skies down on me and
    drench me to the bone, letting me know
    that my muse smiled that day.
    I truly live for those few minutes, those
    immeasurably precious moments of transcendence,
    of becoming a harbinger of life rather than
    a ruthless suppressor of it.
    The monsoon comes, and it goes, and
    winter rushes in, to claim what
    all had been your gift. The petrichor,
    the warm green grass, the
    cotton candy horizons, all gone, gone
    in place of a stark cold, dry, black winter.
    Winter claims my core and my hell freezes over
    I lay asunder, my mawkishness leaves
    a bitter taste in mouths
    of all who read me, calling it a curse.
    I wait again for the monsoon, oh you
    of a thousand years of rain, and a
    million years of sunshine
    till then, I lay beneath, untouched.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 4w

    Well this is a totally random post. I was working late into the night when I thought I might use my heavily sleepy brain to compose something. Here it is. I hope it's not too shabby.

    #pod

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    Touch

    I float in a vast
    expanse of space, alone and cold.
    A mass of black coldness
    engulfs my senses, rendering me
    blind, deaf and numb, every
    time I try to move there is a
    pressure on my chest. I
    might be underwater, drowning in
    a sea black as the ink I
    drench paper with a shameless
    frequency. I could
    be drowning in all the wasted ink. A terror
    ravages my mind each time I close
    my eyes, as absolute as a God, as
    vague as one too; leaving me breathless
    and on my toes like a scared cat, unsure
    of what I need to do. I feel
    absolutely nothing, the aether
    I am swimming in, traversing in
    mindlessly, knows nothing of me
    I am a part of a whole, yet
    it leaves a black hole inside my ribs, crushing
    my bones to mere atoms. In ignorance
    of my existence, I have craved
    a touch of knowledge. I want to
    be in the know of how it
    feels to feel, whether I am a sole soul, or
    is there an other human, sharing
    my macabre life and all the monsters
    that I hide within
    just below the surface.
    I scare away the brightest of stars, I bear
    a cloak of night over my shoulders, like
    black wings, shielding the
    entirety of my vision. I want to know if I would
    ever take flight. I stand on the edge
    and contemplate.
    I hope to realize that the hole
    in my chest is a self-inflicted wound, that
    the terror stealing breath from my
    lungs is a mere mark of my mortality. I know, yet
    I unleash unspeakable horrors on a poor notebook, berated
    by my futile attempts
    at salvation, at escaping. Perhaps, a
    touch of sun is all I need, a touch of sun
    some sleep and a pair of arms to pull me
    out of this sea, this abyss.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 7w

    This one is based on a concept in Law, known as Mens rea, which is Latin for "guilty mind". It is defined as, "the intention or knowledge of wrongdoing that constitutes part of a crime, as opposed to the action or conduct of the accused". Here's my take on it.

    @laxitha, I came around to it after like 3 years xD.

    #pod

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    Guilty

    I reside within the boundary
    of black
    and white, it is as easy as a breeze on a mid-September
    night, to get lost on either side
    of the eternal divide.
    Sunset and sunrise are the borders of
    my kingdom; my domain is
    littered with stars, and yet
    it's so dark.
    I find voices guiding me on
    my various quests; I have
    angels on my shoulders
    so what if they are the
    fallen ones. I wade through
    dark forests and quicksand
    all the same.
    I haunt myself and I
    am my own prosecutor, owning
    the dreams and all the moments spent
    in a limbo
    all the same.
    I hide behind a hide
    of a human, yet inside I am
    nothing but an endless,
    bottomless,
    pit, swallowing all things color.
    Sometimes, I wish I at least dreamt in
    technicolor, but then those would be
    claimed too, so I
    quell the thought in its crib.
    I know my sentence and I
    serve my penance, but I
    don't know what I am guilty of.
    Maybe
    of spending my days within the
    blackness of night, or perhaps
    of hounding my own mind to
    submission; I might never
    know.
    My angels hush me anyway, and
    hand me a pen, to
    commit sins on a paper, I
    suppose it is better
    this way.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 9w

    I don't know about this one to be honest.

    #pod

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    State of Mind

    I can't look my own reflection
    in the eye: it's been ages
    since I've known truth
    I've known things, people, places
    all but for the hell of it.
    My head is filled with clouds
    and dust; I have no idea how to make sense
    or make anything else, for the matter.
    My tongue is made of silver and the
    heart is made of stone
    it appears gilded
    because the Sun is setting on me.
    I live inside a bubble,
    under the proverbial stone, beyond a veil
    I am alone down here, but am I?
    It is so dark that I can't be sure.
    I am constantly under the shade and
    under the sun, so often that
    my skin looks akin to a desert, devoid
    of anything but anything.
    I paper the cracks in my soul
    with lies, so much so
    my walls look like the Berlin Wall.
    It must come down
    but it's still '78 in my head.
    I wonder when it will
    end, if it will end with my end
    or that how many people will
    suffer because of me, with me.
    The fog never lifts, and the light dies a few steps ahead of me
    and I keep on wandering within.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 13w

    @greypages_ hey, Janvi. It was your birthday yesterday and you asked me to write for you.

    I know this made you happy, so I'm gonna share it with everyone.

    #pod

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    Mere Mortals

    "What are humans, if not just a handful of stardust wandering around contemplating our existence when in reality there is no meaning to it? That in the end the Universe could not care less about the fact that a bunch of sentient beings exist on an average planet around an average star in its irresistible march towards infinite entropy?"

    "Nothing else, really."

    "Just a small collection of atoms working together to form life."

    "Isn't that something incredible?"

    "Yes, yes it is. It's so incredible, in fact, that it is just a fluke. On the grandest of universal scales, we are just a fluke. A joke. A disturbance in the cosmos."

    "But we do make a dent in spacetime, don't we? That means we do matter, right?"

    "Child, the Arrow of Time claims all. You stand no chance. Even if you did, you are too divided, too greedy, too stupid and too frail-minded to actually survive beyond the Age of the Stars."

    "But isn't that..."

    "You are such a bright spark, aren't you? Why do you hold such hope for humanity, so primitive in their ways, so rudimentary in their beliefs?"

    "Because it's the Human Condition. We have hope against all odds. Hope is ingrained in our being, hope is how we survived, how we evolved."

    "You think hope is something to be proud of, Young One. You are mistaken. Yes, humanity has its home amongst the stars, but humans are..."

    "I know, I know. Humans are imperfect in a million ways. Is the Universe perfect? Is it not full of voids and galactic clusters? Is it not as imperfect as humanity?"

    "It is, but know that the chances of humanity existing were so unimaginably small."

    "We still endured, didn't we? We still thrived, albeit not in a way I'm proud of, but our ancestors got through multiple apocalypses, events which would have wiped them out. We have billions of years of resilience."

    "A blink of an eye, my child. That's for how long all of this has existed. The universe is still a newborn."

    "A blink of an eye to be sure, but look at us. Look at me. Look at how far we have come from the blink of an eye."

    "Your mortality is what stands in your way, Young One.”

    "Yes, we are mere mortals, our species has existed for no meaningful amount of time. But as you said, the Universe is just getting out of the womb. And so is humanity."

    "You make compelling arguments for one so young."

    "I am just speaking for myself, and I know that our faults are the reason we keep on improving. Our faults are not something that pulls us back, it is what propels us. And I know that we'll find our way back home, sooner rather than later."

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 17w

    My Dadi passed away on 2nd June, 2019. It was really unexpected and had a toll on not just me, but all of my family. I thought before the day comes, I can put in words how it all was. I'm sorry if it's a little depressing and long.

    #pod

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    Dear Dadi

    It's been almost a year now, Dadi, since you went back to your home.

    I had the absolute honor to have known you for all of my life bar the year I've suffered without your presence. You were my grandma, my biji, whom I could trust with my deepest, darkest thoughts and know that they are safe. You always did tie them up in your dupatta and tell me that no one's gonna know, and I knew.

    You were always the part of my life which wasn't really visible, but you were a spine to me. You assumed the role of a background character gracefully, without any complaints, but you were always there when I stumbled, when I fell and I knew, if something hurt me I could run back to my dadi and the world would fix itself. I never realized you were the one who fixed my world when I wasn't looking.

    You taught me how to walk, how to talk, how to run, how to jump, how to smile, how to laugh, how to be me. You built me from the base up, sculpted me when I was just a baby, into someone I can be a little proud of. I hope you're proud of me too.

    One day, you suddenly went. You went with a smile, and I knew you went someplace far better than this mortal world.

    I couldn't celebrate your life as you would have wanted us to do, because Dadi, you just went too soon. I was shattered. I was broken. I was barely me. But I knew you'd want us to move on, but it was the hardest thing I had ever had to do.

    It's been a year and your memories just fill us with joy, Dadi. Rest assured, I've healed, to an extent, and I'm going to remember you as you would have wanted me to.

    I read somewhere that grief is the cost of love, and for the most part, writing about that grief is more difficult than actually having to go through everything again. But I've leaned from you to be strong, and so, for the sake of the bond we shared, I'm standing here, leaving blots on my notebook, the sky a mirror to my heart's turmoil.

    I love you Dadi, and I miss you.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 20w

    Well I don't know what to say about this. Too many scientific innuendos and a ASOIAF Reference, it's a mosh pit of ramblings.

    And oh, Ex Astris is Latin for "To the Stars".

    #pod

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    Ex Astris

    I sometimes pretend that Home is a
    million million milion million miles away
    and I'm just here, stuck in a
    world I don't know.
    I look up and
    down and around, forward to and
    back to, but all I see is despair
    hopelessness and yet, and yet,
    the night remains full of stars, unassuming.
    For all the fires burning in the world don't make the night brighter,
    nor the cities outshine the stars.
    I am but a flicker, a speck, a drop
    and I think I say it for
    everyone, that we all are anything but.
    I am nothing more
    than a collection of molecules
    that decided to cooperate,
    riding the wave of entropy till I disintegrate.
    Till I become one with all.
    That is why I love the night so dearly,
    how everything there is
    today, would be the same tomorrow,
    and for a billion tomorrows more
    until winter comes for us all.
    The night will stay, unwavering, until winter comes for us all.
    Nothing will change, however.
    We are ash and dust, and ash and dust we shall be.
    I am, too, a pile of dust, and
    I could not have hoped
    for anything more, for I am of the stars
    from the stars
    and to the stars I shall return one day.
    Until then,
    Home is wherever the night is full of stars.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 22w

    Talk. It helps.

    #pod

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    Scars

    My mind leads me to believe
    that my skin is a canvas
    that I can scrawl on it
    like a journal I can revisit and add to:
    no wonder I like my
    hoodies and my full sleeves.
    My friends tell me
    that my words feel beautiful,
    but I can't really tell japes
    from compliments:
    sad, really, but oh well.
    Once every day
    I'm forced to look
    to look at my work
    my masterpieces:
    verses and prose
    and an occasional quartet.
    I fear that my words
    are not mine to read;
    I don't comprehend
    the reasons behind,
    nor the depth.
    I scratch and screech and
    utter utter gibberish:
    and the audience applauds.
    Someday, I'm afraid,
    I might run out of space
    I might have collected far
    too many memories.
    That rugged old canvas
    is a hot mess of obscenities now.
    Sometimes I fear I fear too much.
    I hope to shed
    the covers someday, though
    To be like the wind:
    unbothered and unwavering
    ephermal and forgetful.
    I hope to transcribe
    my scars someday:
    To be like
    Bukowski, Neruda, Poe
    someone of that lot.
    For my soul still
    lacks the fingerprints of my demons.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 37w

    Eudaimonia is actually an element in ancient Greek philosophy which literally translates to "human fulfilling". It is a state of perfect health, wealth and knowledge as described in ancient Greek texts.

    #pod

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    Eudaimonia

    Everything I touch turns to dust,
    there is no escape, no cleansing;
    my very bones are full of rust.
    No matter, so long as I can still hold a pen
    I will be fine.
    Waves upon waves wash over me
    I choose to ride them carelessly;
    I don't fear drowning anymore;
    as long as I can surf the wave, I will be fine.
    My voice never sees the light of day,
    what does it matter if my mind doesn't too?
    The world is chasing its own tail,
    therefore, so should I?
    No regrets, so long as
    my ghosts don't haunt me
    and my skeletons
    stay in my closet, I will be fine.
    The world has slipped into tunnel vision
    aiming towards - what exactly?
    Happiness?
    All we see is an opportunity
    stepping on feet, standing on shoulders
    justifying all means to the end.
    To what end, I might ask but I don't.
    I'm a part of the crowd
    But, so long as I keep
    a mask on, I will be fine.
    I am a nonentity,
    a formless non-being;
    an assorted group of words,
    some letters on your screen.
    No fears, as long as
    a pair of motivated eyes
    still searches meaning in the fabric I weave
    I will be fine.

    ©thehemantkashyap

  • thehemantkashyap 39w

    Zelig: (n.) (North American) A person who is able to change their appearance, behaviour, or attitudes, so as to be comfortable in any situation.

    This is literally all of us these days. Yet I don't know what I was thinking about when I wrote this.

    #pod

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    Zelig

    Chameleon-esque
    is how you define me best
    and for good reason, too
    I come forth prepared
    a new day, a new shade
    to fit better in the
    picture you make of me
    A shade darker
    or maybe a shade lighter
    my tongue is sweet and
    smile more plastic than Bakelite
    I am here to remind that
    the sweetest dagger
    plunges the slowest
    and the slowest venoms
    taste the sweetest
    diplomacy is the language I speak
    A pinch of sugar
    or a pinch of salt
    as according to
    what your palate needs
    I am grey
    always present yet
    never in your line of sight
    I'm the very embodiment of neutral
    dressed in the colors
    the background enshrines
    I'm hidden, am I hidden?
    Look for me at twilight,
    amongst a few pints of aureate sunlight,
    or between the patches of starlight.
    Choose wherever you like, but be wary,
    for I hide in plain sight.

    ©thehemantkashyap