Forgive me father, for I have committed the sins.
Forgive me father, for I have hurt people.
Forgive me father, for I have wrote the truths which were to be kept hidden.
Forgive me father, I have narrated the stories of people and cause them more pain.
Forgive me father, that I am not ashamed of what I have done.
Forgive me father, for another sin I am about to commit. For the sins, I am going to blame you for.
O father, I just narrated some stories in words but thy say, you are the one who weaves the warps and weft of the narration. It’s you who should be blamed when one betrays the truth. You are supposed to hold their hands when you see them falling the cliff. For lord, you the worthy, has command over the deeds of ones act.
I just penned down those sins which your child has committed in my narratives.
Forgive me father, if you still believe that man has control for his actions. Due, I believe, under your command the earth was created, so is each story and so is each sin.
I had heard about the existence of God in early childhood, and it took me youth to discover him. One fine day I met him. I could sense his existence and it made me a believer. I knew he was God since his presence made everything easier in life. His touch was soothing as river; he was fragrant as fresh rain of draught. He brought calm to my lonely senses. And till the time it was recreation in my dope days.
And then I lost God.
I remember reading the scribbles of holy books stating, he who is flawless, brings cherish of heaven to the worthy. The God, I met was not flawless. He came with his own demons. He came with Midas touch; what could turn anything into gold with his fine words but he needed words of affirmation to claim self-worth.
Does God need words of affirmation? Or God is hungry for another love?
And then I read, God is not just available to those who abide by his laws but to them who seek him with needs. I believe God is equally needy. He creates his own child and he discriminates against them in the name of Faith. He needs the words of affirmations from those who don’t believe in his worth.
Mine was same. He left me; for his own search for happiness.
I am in my calm for last two days. I say, this is the seat of my meditation. I find my inner peace looking on to concrete walls holding few images I captured across the lanes of my journey.
Someone once said to me, Art is a religion. Follow it from heart and brain will get enlightened itself. I never knew the meaning of said lame words until I felt it from here.
Holding in peace, my tears run out in pieces and I see the white halo of serenity.
If love could not bring me peace, I am thankful to the one who pushed me into the world of art.
If art is religion, I must say, love is prayer. And I must pray for everyday till the tiny box engages me to the living soil.
There were few supplies in my yard, supposed to last a week or two for those days when love met hurricane.
People flocked in with the words of empathy and sympathy, showering kindness of the greater glory for a peace ending. For few days, the yard was full of hearings and chattering, then gradually the silence started prevailing.
In the days of impatience, I was not ready to yield. I wanted to run off to a distance where my own voice could be reached, my screams could be loud enough to roll down on my cheeks. But never the less, the yard supply didn’t give me the chance.
After days of hurricane, when peace restored and my yard is empty. All I have nothing but the time to think and clean the clattered mind. I wish, it was as easier as cleaning my closet. But the hidden drawers keeping cropping up.
There are scrapes of memory and celebrations, I can’t rid off. There is huge silence of lonesome days and nights but my screams lost their voice. I want to catch the train, which is running fast ahead of me, but then I feel my feet tied to the bundle of bricks sinking me into the river of my own malady.
They say, peace prevails post a hurricane. What they don’t know, is the silence of broken hearts which sails to meet the mean less destiny.
We are living in an era, where books are being recreated on the perspective of Ram, Ravan, Sita or Hanuman. Days are not far, when we will be reading inscriptions of Laxman and Sugriv. Ever wonder, what Mandodari must have gone through in those two years of oppression and resilience?
We indulge in the leads of characters and their evolution with the act. No matter what’s the shade of a character is, we will always fall for the center piece of the act. But there are others, who may be in the side leagues of story playing a minor role of non-existent. Nevertheless, they are the ones who are most affected with the turns of event.
A hero becomes a villain in his act. Does, what should not be done. Yet he grows back to be a hero again. What about those who helped in building his character to a good person.
Don’t we need to read them?
Amidst wishing you a long life or healthy life, I reckon the importance of what has been said,” Health is wealth”.
Often my dark demons ask me, what if something happens to me in the most silent hour of night and no body acknowledges in the chaos of morning. I know it’s the most convulsive fear of my life when I chose not to die in a lonely house.
However, I wake up every morning and ask for a healthy life no matter how short it is. A life free of disease from physical and mental abilities.
Seemingly in my prayers, I describe the definition of health lead by WHO.
Currently, I may be free of any physical cause, but two doses of leviciteram a day never let me forget that the clock is still clicking.
Nevertheless, I gather the courage to fight every day with equal spirit consoling myself that I will deal with it whenever time will test.
The blue petal of moron sun rise, once told me
“What worth is living if living is not live alike?”
I could not understood the phrase until it grew on me
I run for work, I run for money and then I spend the money on running behind luxuries. And the vicious circle continues.
A hold is not bad. The hike is long and tiring. The stroll is worth enjoying the scenery. From the emerging boundaries of fresh experiences, a halt for introspection is plausible.
It happened to me when I had to take a ten floor stairs by foot because of broken elevator, that I realised the beauty of heights. The delicate geometry of stairs made of stone and cement.
How I wish, I could steal such moments of life and cherish the strides of life. An effort is required, to sit, ponder and catch up that lost breath.
Let there be unanimity in life, what makes it life, is the learning and virtues of life.