Ink The Psyche

Life, Leverage and Limits — A blog by 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


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

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

Farewell of a common man

The day dreamer’s blank page

Is filled with the scribbles.

Not understandable but intellectual it seems;

Sleeping on the carpet,

Smelling the dust and room freshener,

Waking up to the hustle bustle, he grins.


Counting the two over head tube lights

Through the perforated frame in the ceiling;

Or listening to the shush of the Air conditioning vent,

Reading numerous times those sign boards for  Exit;

Thinking of leaving every moment, but never, in time, he went.


Papers of importance pinned to the desk

Have never been read so far,

While leaving for a last time,

He glanced through it for hours.


Remembered the ergonomics,

Exercised for 2 minutes,

Had tour of the floor,

And felt it’s time to go;

And with the last letter on his table,

Another common man left us quietly so.

As I smile back I feel…

When I am in the crowd
When I look out for an escape
And so lost from far
I see no face but yours.
A smile that encourages me to go on
A smile that petrifies me
A smile that makes me blush
And makes others feel like I have a secret to reveal,
That’s when I am with you – I feel. I feel.
That’s when I feel 
That my sweet li’l heart has been
So stolen as if in years, It’s not been seen.

Then comes a smile on my face
That makes me feel that I am nobody else.
So singled into the corner of my heart
I am so myself to you,
That smile I must remember to the end
Among the moments – best few.

Of Kings And Merciless Time!

Of the hands
That once grew flowers in a desert,
Of the hands that created living characters,
In that silent play
Of the generation more human,
Yet more ruthless,
Of the kings who lost their first battle
And of the princess,
Who lost her pearl necklace,
The time shall linger one bright day.

Those hands, old and sinful,

As they touched the sand,
And built a Taj Mahal,
That made them memorable,
For each flower they nourished,
There spread some light, to sky,
And for each sweat drop they hide,
Created one ocean,
Even bigger than their pride,
Of those characters, they never knew,
And their fate had already written,
Already been haunted by those sinful hands,
Was more than just a joy  for them to act,
Was just to make,
Those unbearable silent songs pleasant.

Those kings were no different,
Not worthy for a praise,
In those storms of sand and still,
Those shining swords they raise,
Lost a battle and lost their countrymen,
As they screamed “off with his head”,
Still they won,
With their swords still raised,
As all those old paintings,
Reminded her of the necklace,
The bliss that out matches all her wealth,
Every time she gets a glance,
And that old lady still dresses
As a princess for her king,
Every time she gets a chance.
For all those humans who were dead,
With deformed humanity,
And of blood, not so red,
For everything,
Those were lost on their way,
This merciless time, shall linger one bright day. 

Wish you the same…

When the things move far
And persons get closer,
I call it sickness.
It’s when your silence talks
And I have no language to translate,
When I have the dream so blind,
I can taste and feel.
I can listen and smell,
But can’t see you in my dream.
I die for living.
I cry for laughing.
And I scream.

It’s when I can understand what you feel
And I don’t react
Because I don’t know how to,
I can’t connect them with my thoughts.
I am confused
Like a school boy in the candy shop.
I am forgetful
Like the old man who had a hundred replicas of his key.
Life seems to be a labyrinthine maze.
A transparent fear, in the darkness, I chase.

…so candid; my life had been YES or NO.
A lot many things happening in life
For the first time,
Or have a last time show.
So perplexed the logics
That seeds my mind,
The graph, the trend or the decision tree,
All are disconnected, all are loop free.
The bell and the bouquet,
The flowers and diamond,
The persons to wish and the relatives to embrace,
I am imprecated,
But I pretend
To match your grace.

You leave and live,
I am here.
If I am true to myself, I am puzzled.
And Yes, I have some fear.
But believe me, wherever you will be: far or near,
You’ll always be so dear
To my smiles and to my tear.

The thoughts are now
So much in synch,
When you come across this poem,
You will say
“Wish you the same”;
I know. 

Being Myself!

Who cast an imprecation at me,
The time changed at the hit of the night;
So meretricious it appeared,
I followed it sans questions;
And when I found
The right, The Wrong and then some
I got that I was tired
And not right.

The king and the pawn

I was tired of being myself
With lots of possibilities and confusions:
The dreams and the aims,
The feet and the steps,
So not-in-accord.
So helpless like a ten cross ten matrix,
Attenuated with time gradually,
It seems like a self claimed portrait
Of hopelessness
When I come across the mirror.

Then it happens,
Someone silently approaches
Out of the dark;
Want to hold my hand and walk,
Till sunrise,
And leave me refreshed
Not tired, not dejected.


In an endeavor to quench the insatiable mind n heart
To blow out the fires of greed, hatred, and delusion
I search it at the slip of tongue of gossipmongers
In all discontinued traces of baile
And in the paths subjugated by life’s impatience and haste.

When I go that no-rebirth way
I wish I lived each moment of life
As it won’t ever come again they say
in non-individual existence of my inner soul
in the liberty from sufferings
in freedom from stench of distressful karma
in eradication of dissatisfaction, impermanence, soullessness.

I dream and I live
the perfect peace of the state of mind
that is free from craving, anger and aversion
I live at peace with the world,
having compassion for all,
giving up obsessions and fixations.
The existing volitions get pacified
When the metamorphosis starts
Of insight, deeds, vision, righteousness, virtue and mindfulness.

I search everywhere
An ideal blend of rest, harmony, stability and joy.
I believe I get
in purity of someones eyes
in touch of someones care
in intimacy of someones scolding
in simplicity of someones nothingness
I believe I search
The ineffable ultimate state of attainment.

In a sense of “Great Self”, “Great Bliss”, and “Great Purity”,
I often feel
With the emancipation from ignorance and the extinction of all attachment,
I live it just.

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