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
“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
Ink The Psyche 
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