#BreakingBinary

Breaking binary with CSGS, Ashoka University.

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Moving over the edge

We are slaves of our temptations. We fall a prey to distractions that throw us over the edge; the edge of practicality that is a foremost obligation to fulfill an undertaking.
The need to take a sharp detour may feel at times alluring , and we miss the goal that we need to pursue. A silent craving at the back of our minds . an appetite to do what our heart desires.
Remember, the heart and the mind work consensually, but maybe not be with the same impulse.
It’s this impulse that matters. The rationale that we shouldn’t ever forego. We need to dig deeper into our souls and see what moves us over the edge of horizons ; is it the yearning to achieve or a tantalising piece of nuisance we need to give up.
Either way, life goes on. It’s the edge we need to take care of. The edge that could make or break us.

Battles within us

There are umpteen times when we stop by and wonder what the chaos and where it all emerged from. You feel engulfed and gasp for some space. It only takes a moment of self introspection and contemplation that you actually have been trapped in the momentary tumult of incoherent thoughts; sometimes unexpressed emotions. Bottled within a flow of fluid sentiments and a gurgle of pain. They twirl swiftly, sometimes stopping just to spew another gurgle of agony. We fight these battles on a quotidian basis; shuffling sentiments and unrestrained heartaches like a playful pack of cards. We build towers that come tumbling down with just a brief blow of cold air. The dreams we built were just not strong enough to hold each other together.  We decide to build another , but think better of it. We strategize to hold ourselves together, because falling apart is not what we are destined for.
Emotions and sentiments seem imprudent at the start, but they all start to make sense once they are pinned to our hearts. Tighter this time and not easily unfastened and even if they did, they are sure to leave harrowing scars.
Sometimes the battles within us are not fought alone; they are fought together.

Wearisome days

Black and white stripes
Of dilapidated images
Lie juxtaposed
And reflected on my retina.
Seeming to me,
Like a delusional chimera.
Bland , vacuous sketches
In a vision splattered
With wishy-washy reveries.
The colours have drained,
Leaving behind mere traces
That moan in solitude,
Jostling amongst each other
Wanting to make
That little streak of colour
Last for just another moment,
On a wearisome day.

Thoughts?

Thoughts are creepy scamps crawling slackly on our minds. Jostling us from a wake moment and pushing us into a labyrinth so solitary yet crowded with unsettling notions; I know I’m trapped. There is this intangible barrier closing in on me. I feel no claustrophobic, but relieved. A rush of berserk assessments in a voluptuous wave of the perpetual thought process. I cling on to the virtual mayhem for wings don’t weigh a bird down. Into the beguiling conundrum, I raise my wings and soar higher…

Claws of servitude

A tear of unkempt agony surfaces her eyeball. Brimming up, it spills the last pe(r)ice of sentiments that she withheld  all this while. She caresses her abandoned wounds like a mother does to her prodigal child. Woebegone but relieved. Seething but pleased. Overwhelmed but irrepressible.
She closes her eyes tight and traverses her mind over the itineraries of life that naively reside somewhere on the back of her head.
She promises a getaway to her devastated self. Arousing an uncompassionate demeanour of a vendetta , her fights are like a fugitive; waiting to be rescued but escaping the claws of servitude in a battle so personal.

Deep within.

The unabating cry
Of an outlying cricket
Invades the stillness
Of a monsoon night.

Sweet cacophony
Fills the airspace
Quietly summoning
A mellifluous cloudburst.

Hounds of melancholy
Strengthen their shields
And sharpen blades
In perpetual obstinacy.

In the distrait ambit
I see a flourish too bright
Like stars caught
In a cast net.

A breath of damp soil
Plunges into my nostrils
Leaving a dewy freshness
On my curved lips.

A cry breaks the tranquility
Of the morose nighttime.
My soul awakens to the
Plea that I realise has come from
Deep within.

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