Here we are, living in a world where we are all treated differently. And because of this fact, we too begin to divide our selves – unconsciously. We oversee all similarities, we oversee the bonds that everyone shares, we forget that we are supposed to be united. We indeed, forget.
We forget the fact that we are human. We somehow think of only our lives. We tend to forget the 7.7 billion other people on earth. Some of who are homeless. Some of who are not receiving education. Some of who live ordinary lives like you. Some of who are stuck in life. We seem to see them in different categories, separated. And then we talk about being united.
If our minds divide the whole world, if our minds are divided, how will we unite? How can we see a better tomorrow if today itself is being ruined by us? Are we ever going to give up pride and walk on the road of humbleness for once? Can we be human, for once?
We are forgetting. We are forgetting what it is like to have feelings. We are forgetting love, care, sacrifice. As we give way to this new age – slowly setting in. This new age that will define humanity. This new age that none of us are aware of. But this new age which will be etched into history.
It is the beginning of the end And yes, it has started Ruling Taking over our lives Changing them too It is like a death that is just starting Just starting to die A complete stage of life Starting Taking ages.
It is the beginning of time When time seems to slow down And when we lose out on time And when time outsmarts us We are left Wondering Pondering over time If it will ever stop.
It is the beginning of life When a child first walks Plays Learns Cries Grows up Is old But how is this possible How is it that one stage of our lives Can be summed up in mere sentences Were we not great Will we leave no mark?
Is the beginning of life Simply The beginning of death
Every step we take towards our goal Towards life Death keeps following us But we cannot see him For he is our shadow.
Is this the beginning of poetry When words bring blood to paper For the truth is etched in poetry But does poetry lie? Does poetry tear Rip Hit Slap Like life Like death?
And this is the beginning of the world Where life and death Are the two sides of the coin Where truth and lies And separated by a thin line Almost impossible to spot Where the beginning and the end Differ by a few moments.
Is this the beginning of everything Or the end of everything Can you tell Can truth tell Or will it never?
At the beginning of life, we are handed a plain book filled with infinite blank pages. And we are given ink and a pen. We are the ones who eventually write our story. We are the ones who make things final. We set ink to the blank pages of life. It is more of a privilege, but we don’t believe so.
We think that our fate is written in the stars and that nothing can change that. We think that what use is writing down dreams only to see them broken. It is true, and one must be brave enough to take the risk to let go of beliefs and just believe. It is not easy to take control of our lives, and then watch it be taken away from us.
But, I want to say that we must set pen to paper and portray life. We must have dreams and ambitions and hopes. The ocean knows that her waves will reach the shore, and die. Yet, the mother wave teaches her children to roll over in circles and circles. She teaches them that the shore will always come. And that one must do one’s best, make the ocean proud, inspire and influence. Because death is inevitable.
So while one can, fill your book of life with stories and dreams that came true and more stories. Don’t stop for even you will leave the ocean and reach the shore. But the fact that you wake up every day for a purpose is the most important. And ink and paper is for that. It is for you to find yourself in the oceans of life, without getting lost. It is for keeping you going, in motion, to never calm down till you reach the shore.
It is to make sure that we embrace life and ink and paper. And live.
We are searching for happiness and joy everyday, every moment in life. Sometimes it is found, sometimes it is not. We are searching for nature, when it is right in front of us. We search for many things that may or may not be found. And if not found we get irritated.
But what if I tell you that we don’t have to search for anything, we have everything. But sometimes we have to be happy enough to notice it. Happiness is the key to life. But how can one be happy today? With all fights, news, businesses, losses? Is there something called happiness today? There is always.
Rather than reading books on how to find the doors to happiness, just live life. First off, you don’t find happiness, happiness finds you. Happiness is laughing and ending up crying. Happiness is jumping on the bed and screaming on the top of your lungs. Happiness is reading books under the blankets. Happiness is feeling the wind blow through your hair. Happiness is secretly binge watching late at night on the television. Happiness is the hidden thrill in dropping down in a roller coaster. Happiness is everywhere. We just fuss around trying to find it.
Happiness is never found, for it follows you everywhere you go. It is said that every cloud has a silver lining. But the cloud, too is twisted happiness. And however ironic life can be, happiness is the true face of every illusion.
This is a poem about the majestic things of life that we tend to underestimate and overlook. It is about the beauty found in forgotten life. It is about the normal things in everyday life that have deeper meanings.
MAJESTIC
Here I am The king of my jungle The leader of my pride The God in my life I have roamed this jungle since the beginning of time But I lost a fight And so I am forgotten My subjects don’t know my name Which was rich Bathed in importance And which demanded respect
But here I am In a cage Forced to roar to impress And I am failing myself Again and again Probably making a fool of myself Swimming in this life This life that is dead
How my ancestors would look at me With disappointment Leaving me in a pit of shame And anger that cannot be extinguished How the people who looked up to me Would shake their heads And walk away
And soon I will be forgotten Even people will not admire my scars My matted mane My history.
This is a story about so called war. It is merely a battle, almost a fight. However, it is also about emotions felt and the urge to save someone. It is about letting go but holding on. It is about being most alive while about to die.
BOUND
Elva was at the mall. It had been a long day, and she was at the food court. Waiting in a line for her milkshake. She was about to grab it when she heard a gunshot.
She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. Fear clouded her vision as she pushed chairs out of her way. John – her husband, was with Max, their son at the other end of the court. She could see them, running towards her – beckoning her to the exit. When she heard another gunshot. This time – much louder. And louder voices. And silhouettes.
Elva hastily made sure John and Max were fine and rushed them towards the staircases. They ran for their lives, John carrying Max. They found the nearest pillar and took cover. The gunshots were thudding every twenty seconds or so. Max was crying, scared. His parents tried to console him. They were waiting for the shadows of men to freeze before making for the doors leading outside. Till the shadow was upon them.
The first thing that Elva registered was that it was a man in a black suit, not a shadow. Secondly, she ushered John and Max towards the exit and tried to defend herself from the man. John was arguing but Elva did not budge. The man was approaching Elva, a gun in hand, murder in his eyes. He took aim and fired.
In that moment many things took place. Max had run out of the mall, his nanny having spotted him, took him home, leaving a message for Elva. John, having just realized a bullet was heading for his beloved, immediately pushed her to the floor. Elva, somehow had sensed the man behind her screamed loudly. The bullet took a different course, finally shattering glass.
After sharing a brief glance filled with gratitude, apology and concern, the couple got up, determined to fight and run. Elva recognized the man as a convict from the newspaper two weeks ago. He moved towards the exit, blocking it. Elva and John watched in disdain as their plan failed. The man had noticed them and had them trapped and was not going to move.
John took the risk and got up slowly, putting his hands over his head. The vicious convict shook his head and shouted that he didn’t care about the innocent. But this was payback for prison and life. Besides, he was near to broke.
Elva could see his lip twitch as he spoke, and she knew what was going to happen. Her heart in her mouth, she quietly warned John of the upcoming bullet. He mustn’t have heard Elva for he stood just as stiff. Elva tried her best to tell him, but his stubbornness got the better of him.
The man kept on talking, bringing John at ease. It worked. And all of a sudden, like Elva had known, shot John in the calf.
John cried out, an ugly cry. Elva rushed over to him and did her best to help him. She dragged him to a corner and tied her scarf around his deep wound. Tears stinging her eyes, she met John’s. He whispered that he was going to go to heaven soon. It hurt.
Elva was telling him that everything would be fine, already calling 911. She realized that Max was safe. An invisible weight she didn’t realize she was carrying slid down her shoulders. Another one piled on.
The convict aimed for her and fired. And it hit her shoulder. She was raging now. The bullet tore her apart. The pain shot up her body, more pain that tears could carry. She felt anger. First hurt someone she loved and then her.
Collecting herself, she hid herself behind a wall along with John. Painfully she crawled across and to the back exit. Elva and John held on to each other. They got out and limped through waves of pain to an ambulance which Elva had called.
They held on for God knew how many hours. Elva was still raging. They were innocent and targeted. What was this? How unsafe was earth? Lives were not valued, money was.
Once she found some privacy, she shouted at the sky. She shouted for innocence with hatred and rage. She shouted for justice.
There are times when you repeat a word many times, and the next time you say it it feels strange on your tongue. There are also times when you think through something too deeply, it will not make sense. And then there are times when we question the unquestioned, that is even more disconcerting and weird to answer.
Similar to that, if you think as yourself as an earthling, you feel yourself to be a part of something bigger. And when you think about the fact that there are so many more planets and worlds out there, life becomes a bit more real. The fact that so many stars and planets are levitating in emptiness. And each one so far apart. We get this strange feeling that we are lucky.
The fact that life chose earth give us neither chills, nor comfort. It is a feeling that implies that something is right, but not quite. And yet, without thinking about this, we feel heavy headed. Thinking about this reminds us that to live, we must acknowledge life as a whole.
Sometimes we forget who we are while doing this. But then, we never knew ourselves. And all this while, we felt strange – thinking we knew ourselves. What we must acknowledge is the fact that we don’t know anything. We probably never will. The best we can do is to know ourselves.
And right now, there might be aliens out there – laughing at our strangeness, and then wondering why.
Milomi's world 
