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Have you ever lost your heart in the hems of broken cursives?
It’s a mystic realm that draws you in… like a black hole is known to snatch the world away.

To the people of stones and metal, it may seem like forbidden magic when a poet holds your hand and walks you through the dark.

They chant to the silent tunes of truths and wonders; and scream at the sight of lies and vows.

Vows… let’s talk about them! They belong to the grey world of lack and lustre. You may have vowed your world to the orphan, or… You may have betrothed your misery to power.

Either way… it’s a town of beauty! The finesse lures you in a blink… and you fall!

After all, who would not fall for ‘slavery’ over ‘self’? Humans do!

So, when a poet spins metaphors around a dead log of wood, and her avowal calls it ‘Ivory’… you buy it!
Why? Because we buy into words.

Our eyes have grown too tired, now that we have chased the light for ages… ‘Lack’ sounds like peace!

Category: Beauty, Blog, creative writing, dreams, experience, fiction, greed, Life in Yellows, literature, Regrets, story, success, world, writing Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

12 Comments on “Broken Cursives…”

  4. Pingback: Broken Cursives – Grumpy's Gifts (poetry corner)

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Four walls, a number of bricks, and here you sit in the middle of this room finding solace in your own flesh and love in the mirrors. Mirrors, though, seldom lie. They may lie about a few harsh truths, though ‘lack of love’ stands high on the list.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ You stand in front of this silvered piece of carefully cut glass, staring at every part of your scarred silhouette, yet the light shining on those marks somehow sells them as beauty spots. ⁣⁣ In that moment, you smile, promptly looking at the delicate curve that your rose tainted lips have arched into; a careful moment of comfort, though you may only find it meandering away from your glistening eyes. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Why, you ask?⁣⁣ Because mirrors seldom lie; eyes, though, don’t!⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Those two gleaming curves of crystal, sitting on your face, are windows to the truth-⁣⁣ You know it.⁣⁣ I know it.⁣⁣ We know it.⁣⁣ So, we shy away from glances!⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ We shy away from the mere idea of taking a look down those merciless voids, because we know, that the glance, if made, will hurl our entire existence into this gigantic spiral of never-ending truth trail;⁣⁣ and you, being nothing but a mere speck of consciousness, will have to learn, not most, but all that this infinity loop has to offer.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ You will have to learn how you love finding hearts to love you because you deny believing how loveable you are, unless someone sweeps you off your feet.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ You will have to learn how you deny yourself your own embrace because you are a little too scared of the thorns you planted in your own skin.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ You will have to learn that you love your mirror because it is the sweetest of all the liars and the most innocent of all the sinners.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ And lastly, you will have to accept how your scars are yet not dead and they still need love, regardless of how that silvered glass makes you believe otherwise. ⁣⁣ ------⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ You fretted and you still fear that moment of truth, so much so that it has been an eternity since you last stared down your own eyes. ⁣⁣ Now, you have forgotten their mystical shape, and it takes you a minute before you can remember the hue that danced in them.⁣⁣ ⁣(continued in the comments) Sketch: @gauri.walecha
The world has run short of love. It is sad how there is a certain day to love certain people who love us unconditionally all the year-round. I could name a dozen, none ever so close to a Mother.⁣ ⁣ Around where I live, the roads are usually silent at the crack of dawn. When you choose to stroll on empty paths like these, you don't often aim for stories but poems. That day though, I found the former.⁣ ⁣ Sky showered lilacs on the freshly lain tar as I walked alone, passing a slum settlement on my right. ⁣ Poverty has always been an igniting spark for human debates but sadly, never the food for unconditional humane love.⁣ Sympathy, sure; but love? Hardly ever.⁣ ⁣ So, considering how I draw my character from the world around me, my heart rained sympathy at the sight I encountered, but my heart absolutely wept when I came across a familiar face standing in the middle of those broken homes.⁣ ⁣ It was my domestic help. Five years of her working at my house, I never bothered asking where she lived.⁣ She had an infant playing in her arms and a four-year-old sitting beside her as she fed him. I decided to break my stroll and sit with her as she went through her exhaustive routine of being a Mother.⁣ It was a messy walk through all the debris. She stood up as she saw me approaching. I assured her to relax.⁣ ⁣ "Main baith jaoon aapke paas?" I asked, eyeing a vacant stool near her.⁣ "Hanji Didi, pooch Kyu rahe ho?" She replied, with all her affection pouring onto her face.⁣ ⁣ Her four-year-old, definitely frightened to see an outsider around, hid behind his mother.⁣ I waved at him with the widest smile possible, just to make him feel a little comfortable with my presence.⁣ ⁣ "Didi, aap aaj yahan kaise?"⁣ She asked as she gently ran her hand on her son's head.⁣ "Bas yuhi! Aapko yahan baithe hue dekha toh socha milti jaaon"⁣ "Main toh thodi der mein aapke hi ghar aane wali hoon"⁣ ⁣ She was certainly in a state of disbelief. It is unfortunate how unnatural it was for her to expect her employers at her house. (Continued in the comments)⁣
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