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My Meow Mooos

Life, Leverage and Limits

The climax

Life must not be that painful

When you struggle to be yourself,

For being yourself is life.

Glad for those who got to know,

Sad for those who were not in the side of fortune,

Silence for those who remained silent

And choose to change.

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Self Conflict

Lost as hell
To live again;
To be the one and not with the other self…

Then he laughs
And says “Together we lost. Together we can.”

Before I can interprete, .
I see the ghosts of my childhood
The stranger who sang a song to me on the road
The witch tree that followed me once
And the ever jumping ouija board.

Grabbed my old black box and checked
If I had saved any shell
Found few broken toys and old dolls
A faded batch pic of my school
And some colored round pebbles

Life is so insane
With this other guy next to me

Every time I promise; He tries to break
Every time I determine; He tries to fail
Every time I argue; He is in the opposition
Every time I excel; He is vanished
Every time I cry; He is mad
Every time I hide; He is there to disturb
Every time I am angry; He mocks
Every time I shout; He is quiet

No more running from him
I have decided to kill
I will face the other self
And have a taste of consent

To make peace

©Amaresh Swain

The talks about you…

Those were not secrets
But moments uncontrollable
That let me spill some of my life
With people so intimate
In that moment of life
That they made it flow
like life had conspired to…

If life conspires to
Make them come across
One day those secrets so scattered
Would take shape of stories
And you know who will it lead to…

So I wish
I vanished before they meet
And you still stay unaware
How much I talked about you.

© Amaresh Swain

Paced

Taking steps were so difficult
In those days… And now…
Running sounds more apt.

Hope from the grabbed churn,
Blank over the dreams overrun;
Ruined remnants of the scholarly vices,
Blind hearty matters and dreadful disguises.

Gloom over the severed bonds,
Celebration of those lost seconds;
Fight over someone else’s wealth
Careless about the precious health.

Bucks that cling to mind no more,
Blocks that float but reach no shore;
Windows open to the polluted skies,
Suffocated with innumerable lies.

Hurrying to step out of this mournful hell;
Ended up holding, in dark, the demon’s tail.

Life has its own tryst with self…
Not being sure if it is…
Pissed off or paced up.

© Amaresh Swain

The Reflection

The reflection of the chair through the glazed tiles
Shows someone else sitting on it
Someone inverted
Someone so similar to me but in opposite direction
His head falls down towards the hell.

Lights, looking back at me from that abyss
Grey, his hair
His face, frowned and wrinkled
He looks at me and smiles back
Not sure if a smile.

When it’s the other way
I don’t see the green grass
Rather I see the dust under the furl of the hand rest
The web and the filth underneath
That never appeared before me before

The tiredness and pain of the chair
Bearing the load of in-humanness
And the old age of it that wishes to claim its pending vacations
And the ring that I lost three weeks ago
That winks back at me
The pearly dazzle that got stuck in the leg of the chair
And I thought I had lost it.

The lines of tile  connect my feet to the wall
The shadows and the reflections of the lights
And the mirage of a hole or a room
Just kept me fascinated so far
I forgot I am sitting…
Just sitting without any work or thought.

©Amaresh Swain

​Talk in the dark

I could have said NO that very moment,
But I chose to say YES.

Yes…

It makes a lot of sense now.
Some people vanish,

Some of them die,

Some are reborn

And some are rebooted.
If this is the way life will turn some day,

Then why not stay positive!
I spent some time thinking 

After that moment of agreement,

Scribbled some unknown words

Over that ruined page

And fthyshehxbdjdisnjakz
I am still that confused,

But happy that I chose YES.

Ask me again …

And you will get the same response.
             © Amaresh Swain

The Last Cry

“Behind every successful man, there must have been a woman who had believed in his talent and had known the potential of a FREE man.”

He wrote this and concluded the manuscript of his book. Then he stood by the window for the whole night, trying to muster the courage to read it to himself. His endeavour to assure himself that he had written the truth was weakening with every iteration of those lines. He couldn’t convince himself anymore that he had still retained all his characteristics. He couldn’t see any of his own colors coming out of his reflection. Finally, he gave in.

He mutilated the pages that were screaming; strangled the throat of those words; suffocated the diary with a plastic bag; fastened a nylon rope around it; and laughed out loudly. He felt so himself… much like a strangled voice; a stifled expression; a smothered soul; or a caged bird.

That laugh slowly turned into a cry that he was hiding inside and nurturing a revolt. He tried to cry it out and make the heart lighter, but it was only tear running down his chicks and an open mouth… he had forgotten his voice by then. Silence took over his emotions and the night was behaving like she didn’t know anything.

©Amaresh Swain

Diary of a soldier

All borders abandon;
All religions scrap;
All sights vanish;
When it gets dark.
 
Thoughts prevail, and the dreams,
To live one morning more.
And to those blasts,
One more scream.
 
Heads roll,
Triumphs count;
Silence makes sense while none is around.
I starve for days, I do not sleep for nights;
I still serve those lazy cowards;
And for them, I fight.
 
I see fireworks from guns in Diwali,
Colors in blasts and blood in Holi,
Sacrificing my soul on Mahram,
Slaying the enemy on ‘Eid,
Praying for peace on X-mass,
But all I see is colorless.
 
I see only wars,
I see only hatred,
But life is colorful they say;
They call this fire red, brick or orange,
They call this snow white,
They call these uniforms brown, dark and green,
But the only thing I see,
The only color I recognize,
Is that the ash is grey.
 
© Amaresh Swain

The Quintessential Query

Bring back the queen of jealousness,

I intend to embrace again;

I want to interrogate that false promise of the cloud.

I want to pave those paths undiscovered yet,

I want to kill that other self of mine and feel proud.

The star that was born with

So much innate elegance and glory,

Why he is shackled in this incessant drudgery.

And then some more unnoticed wrath of life;

Why is the silence so prevalent when there is a query.

Bring forth those false kings of the shallow wit,

Who credited to themselves the insipidness of the common man.

Those whose names have been inscribed in history;

Those God-likes, but have been no-human.

I want to ask these questions of grief and pain,

Why is there perpetual poverty in the man who blessed,

And eternal hunger for the man who is blessed.

Why can’t we get it the other way again?

© Amaresh Swain

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