Malevolence – Fictional POV incerpts

My life revolves around the deepest abysmal plains of my mind. I can’t do much but adhere to the supremacy of a non physical world trying to balance it with the worldly realm. I’m in my mid twenties now, I have defied the laws of nature many times.  I fell in love many times, because it was more than a complex chemical reaction, as Rick emphasizes.

I have beaten death’s deadly butt ,  of the most bemoaning times of my presence in a conspicuous world of Maya, an immutable ignis fatuus. Watching Rick and Morty turned me more into a staunch follower of a philosophy that says nothing is worth cherishing and everything is pointless. But, that tricks my head sometimes. When I’m asleep, I dream through an REM state. I certainly feel my body moving through in the dream. It is as if I’m two different people depending on the nature of my thoughts. And when I’m awake, I become conscious, just like I was in the dream. So, tell me, is it dual nature or is everything an illusion? I would have sleep paralysis occasionally, which I thought, was an indication that I’d be long gone before I’d even realize. But this frowzy haze has undeniably convinced me that I should just subsume this affliction, what people term as “life”.

 

So, to satisfy this devilish crux which was etched in my nerves, possibly replacing the red blood cells, I opened the wardrobe, where laid the blades and other proofs of a failed conspiracy.

13 years ago, I picked up a razor from a store, slit my wrist because, nothing was ever making sense. It healed. I thought it’d be a great idea to save some of my own weapons, now mere souvenirs, as a symbol of progress, which would help me understand the reason behind that demonic reverence, contrary to how life should be perceived as. ‘To err is human and to forgive divine” was proved to be wrong.

A tear rolled down the cheek, while staring at the blood stains and dried black roses while I tried to end it all back then. Was it tear of happiness, because I was persistent in finishing this blockade? Or was it a tear of hope, yelling at me for trying more? I have no idea. The drudgery never seems to end, as ever. And I just exist, as a flesh, with no purpose absolutely, just staring blankly into the skies hoping that the inner screams would be heard by a Supreme one, if there existed any.

 

I have just learnt to embrace and be a part of this baleful spree. I will persist. No, I doubt if this perseverance would ever perish.

 

Survivor – Part 1

He ate guilt for breakfast , depression for lunch , angst for snacks and inner turmoil for dinner. Little did he know that after a bizarre night of thunderstorm there’d be a brighter day. While the roof attached with the rope collapsed , and the sedatives started to wear off , he knew he wanted to live an another life. Reminiscing this scene of over a decade , he playfully rubbed his dog’s head and smiled while adoring  it’s innocence. He was a survivor , a warrior. He had stories to tell. Suicide is hell. Living is a gift and that’s what he wrote in his novel. 

 

Note: Hey people , I just started writing short stories. I’m not an avid reader of novels to take inspirations but I do relate it to incidents that have happened in my life or from what I perceive in the world. I will try to make every short story / story inspiring and make it more effective. Constructive criticism is most welcome because I belive without it , we can’t become better writers. Looking forward to it.

First attempt at Persian Calligraphy

IMG_20170923_062719This is a poem in Urdu language by Muztar Khairabadi ( 1865-1927) , the great grandfather of a famous Indian actor Farhan Akhtar. Some say that  few incerpts are borrowed from Bahadur-shah-Jafar’s poem , the last mughal emperor in India. The beauty and essence of such Urdu poetry is  that it still makes sense even today inspite of being written hundreds of years ago. 

Here’s my first attempt at Persian calligraphy that started off with an Urdu poem. The strokes are quite imperfect but I’m getting my hands on it. Learning a new language surely keeps the dopamine levels high.

Here’s the poem and the translation:

Naa kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon , na kisi ki dil ka qaraar hoon 

Jo kisi ke kaam na aa sakhe , main woh  musht-e-gubaar hoon 

Main nahin hoon nagma-e-jaan fazaan , mujhe koi sun ke karega kya

main bade dukh ki hoon sadaa , main bade dukh ki pukaar hoon

Mera rang roop bigad gaya , mere bakht mujhse bichhad gaya 

jo Chaman fizaan se ujad gaya , main usi ki fasl-e-bahaar hoon 

Pay-faatiha koi aayein kyun , koi chaar phool chadhayein kyun

koi shamaah la ke jalayein kyun ,ki main bekasi kaa mazhaar hoon

Naa main muztar unka habib hoon , naa main muztar unka raqeeb hoon

jo palat gaya woh naseeb hoon , jo ujad gaya gaya woh dayar hoon 

Translation:

I’m not the light of anyone’s eyes

I’m not the solace for anyone’s heart

the one who isn’t worth any thing

I’m that one fistful of dust 

 

I’m not the tune of life 

Why would anyone want to hear me

I’m that sound of separation 

I’m the cry of distress

 

My color and appearance is damaged

My beloved has parted from me

The garden that got ruined in autumn ,

I’m the crop of its spring

 

Why should anyone come to sing a requim

Why should anyone come to offer flowers

Why should anyone come to light a candle 

I’m that tomb of destitution

 

I’m neither anyone’s friend

Nor am I anyone’s rival

the one that is ruined , I’m that fate

the one that is destroyed , I’m that land