source
Yes, movies are great but books are entirely a different thing. I don’t enjoy watching stuff as much as reading it and viewing it unfold within my mind.
What we create for ourselves is a lot more closer to our heart than anything else; like that crooked clay pot we mold, the colors we fill on a canvas, a poem we bleed from our soul or a story from a book we have read, viewed through our own imaginative juices, unreel in our mind.
-HA
That is all needs to be said.
down the road she went
with a letter in her hand,
summoning the post master,
she told him of her predicament-
he who was gone to war
had not returned back,
what had appeared was a sheet
smeared with a blood like seal,
she who could not read a single word
plead before the kind gentleman
to tell her what it contained,
~
the bespectacled man read carefully
and told her, her son was well,
that was what the letter said
while he faced away from her,
he handed back to her the sheet
and confirmed that her son was fine,
he had reached his final abode,
away, safe from war and hunger,
~
she shrieks, cries, wails, screams,
clutching the collar of his shirt,
and befell on her knees,
praying for who was never to return,
he supported her up and
they looked at each other,
waiting for the other one to
break that ominous silence
but it remained all still
while the sun dipped into the sea,
leaving behind a trace of red tinge.
you know that feeling
when out of nowhere,
a thought comes across your mind
and you want to jot it down,
.
not because it is an important thought
but because something within you is urging you
to bring out the flicker of that light
that passed by the contours of your mind,
.
scribble it on a piece of paper
with a blue ink or black or even red,
keep on writing till the time
you have completely puked it out,
.
then store it inside a table drawer
already flooding with many such others,
place it carefully at the top
to be read some time in the future,
.
when you have almost forgotten about it,
one day you find it lying there lifeless, still
and read it in the light of the day
and simply smile at that cold thing from the past.
The evil stands up when I stand
It sleeps beside me on the bed
It is there when I eat
And also when I try to read and write
I feel its presence-
A chill descends upon my body
And my soul craves to run there and then
But I am lost
I want that evil to stand up when I stand
To sleep beside me on the bed
Be there when I eat
Also when I read and write
I want its presence around me
Because that evil is no one but me.
That evil is no one but me
Me being responsible for my deeds
I hurt myself
I kick myself in the shins
That evil is no one but me
That evil is no one but me…
That evil is no one but me
I am the one who deals with me
I am the one who is my worst enemy
I am responsible for everything
Everything, everything, everything
That evil is no one but me…
I do not know
who I am
anymore
I struggle to see
myself within
me
I do not know
who I am
anymore
I can’t find
myself
anymore.
Draw me, sketch me, make a portrait of the being that is me
Show me who I am, what I do, which way I should go
Show it to me through your art, tell me who I am
Write me, read me, scan me, make a novel out of me
Let me know who I am, what I do, which way I should go
Let me be known through your creativity who I am
Won’t you do this for me, this much I ask from you
Would you do this for me, I ask nothing else from you
Show me, let me know- would you?- Draw me, sketch me,
write me, read me, make a portrait, write a novel out of me.
HA's Place 