Diminishing Hope

And then, I found home in an unfamiliar voice, And peace in the familiar noise.

~ark

The Unread Files

As I open the cupboard of my life,

A mountain of files crashed on me.

The number was infinite,

I tried to organise the unopened files.

Wiping the dust off them,

I started keeping them inside.

But as time ran out,

I shoved them recklessly in the night.

The cupboard remained closed,

Opened sometimes.

But the files unread,

Exposed the cowardness I tried to hide.

Now I wonder when I take my last breath,

Would I be able to gather the strength,

To read those unread files?

~ark

The Chase

I forgot the date,

But remembered the day.

I forgot the location,

But remembered the place.

Forgetting the words,

I remembered the face.

Even though, it was completely ruined,

I remembered the taste.

The years forgotten,

I tried to forget the phase.

Maybe it was time,

To let go of the chase.

~ark

The Lost Path

In the desire to explore the alien land, I left the shore of my home. My dreams tangled, They surpassed my expectations' comb. My wish to write everything, I lost the pages of my own. Midway to success, I saw myself dying all alone. As I witnessed the ultimate truth, My heart died as I achieved my goal. I now yearn to return to myself, But the path towards it remains unknown.

~ark

I wanted life to fill me,

to make something of the hollowness I carried.

But life was demanding—

it asked me to fill it instead,

to give my all,

to talk more than listen,

to be seen rather than simply see,

to laugh more than savor the moment.

I drained every bit of myself,

trying to stand at the forefront

of my life and that of others.

Until every bit of life was drawn out of me.

I was meant to be a simple soul,

finding joy in whatever came my way.

I don't know why the world

was so desperate to make me the engine,

when all I ever wanted

was to be a floating boat.

From hollowness to hollowness, I returned,

but now with a deeper yearning—

a longing to exist

without judgment,

without scrutiny,

without every step carrying consequence.

Now, I want to do things for their own sake,

to walk for the journey,

to breathe just for the next moment.

To let myself be filled of life,

Of the moments that don't carry meaning,

Just peace.

Areeba

We used to be strangers,

Nothing was known, no memories.

I hope we had remained the same,

Because now nothing is left.

No bliss, no pain.

This.

Belonging

I let people go while I hold onto things. People drift apart, flowing rivers and I remain a shore, holding onto their fragments. The letters they wrote, the illustrations, the conversations, I preserve them, becoming soil, fertile and fruitful.

I hold onto memories, capturing the person I know would change eventually. Who finds the same person twice even in the same person anyway?

So, thereby, my efforts are never focused on caging the flowing river rather, take a part of it and make it a part of mine. 

Be it good or bad, I absorb everything to nurture my being, to experience bliss and pain, to experience fertility, to experience solitude when called barren.

The rivers become a medium of change sometimes, I flow through them, my silt deposited where it didn’t belong but still absorbs in it, becoming a part of something different yet I remain different. 

I wonder whether my identity of being silt was just an imagination. Being a human, I must be a river, ever flowing, irrigating fields of livelihood, ever changing, giving and taking yet never keeping.

But that’s where the difference came. I too give and take but after making it mine. 

I possess; hence, I belong. I belong; hence, I remain trapped.

Moving On

Reality sunk in, Imaginations came to an end. The chromatic life was now buried, The reign of truth finally flourished. The string of relations broken, Slowly strangled me to death. I said, I had already moved on, While I visited a new place wearing my old uniform. Bitterness is better than sweetness, they said, But I still wanted to read the chapters already read.

AND..

As I peeked through the closed doors, Confused between the two boats, I begged to find the pages I wrote, While I burned the ones they tore.

The Favourite?

The song I loved the most yesterday

On repeat, at the top of my playlist

Has now drifted away

It isn't that special

The memories it has, isn't my life now

The tears dried, that once fell due to its symphony

The ability it once had to put rhythm in every thought of mine,

Now, there is nothing to convey

From reality to memories

From the favourite one to one of them

It was a short journey,

I don't even remember how and when.

~ark