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n. the desire to be struck by disaster—to survive a plane crash, to lose everything in a fire, to plunge over a waterfall—which would put a kink in the smooth arc of your life, and forge it into something hardened and flexible and sharp, not just a stiff prefabricated beam that barely covers the gap between one end of your life and the other.


How would it look like?
When I turn into what I became from.
Will it all be white?
with benches of white marbles,
and snow clad trees.
That’s how I think it’d be.
But I want to know it for sure.
You see, I don’t have a lot of confidence in my imagination.
Let’s just say, things don’t turn out to be the way I think they will.
Like when I was in class 9,
I imagined to spend my life with this girl.
And now she’s dead.
I bet she knows how it looks like on the other side.
But she will do what she used to do,
Smile and give mixed signals.
Like when I was in college,
waging a war with puberty.
I imagined I would have those marks on my face forever.
But I turned out fairly okay.
Usually I don’t bother about it.
It is inevitable people say.
That’s a relief.
But on days like these,
and nights followed by,
days like these;
I quietly wish it to end.
Because everything is so perfect.
Like a round baked cake,
or a spotless white shirt,
Like a set of sharpened pencils laid equidistant to each other,
OCD’s Paradise.
All I want is someone to shake the bucket,
or nudge it a little,
so that the water spills.
So, listen to me you seeds of misfortune,
come, my life is ready with the warmth,
the water and love,
come grow.
Eh. Love? You there?
come, let’s hang out.
Then I will just do what I do best.
Just be.
That should do the trick.
But if all these doesn’t work out,
I am afraid I am ready.
Because the events of my life,
are like spaces between the sentences of a book.
so close to something interesting or beautiful,
or horrific.
So close, but still unaffected by all the adventure it carries.
All I want is the ink to just spill and it is okay if it leaves a mark.
This arc is terrifying.
Not that I don’t love living,
But the wait,
The wait is killing me.

Er, Not quite.



I close my eyes and take a deep breath,
I press them hard till all I see is darkness.
Trying to bar all the noise I could,
Lonely; amidst the crowd, I stood.

The sound of the distant bells ringing,
The melodies of a radio singing,
The banter on the road down south,
The quarrel on the phone turning couth.

All I can hear is the sound of the shore,
And above it, screaming; seagulls galore.
I don’t know why I turned to this specific memory,
What made me jump to this point;
Among all these endless possibilities?

What was so special?

The way my hands fitted in his?
The way I stood on his shoulders letting out a wheeze?
Was it the tears that I shed;
The way how they were different than the recent ones I had?
was it the shine in my eyes?
was it because that day I really felt infinite?

I open my eyes as it pulls me down,
Gravity? No.
Reality has a force mightier, and how!
I must be losing the grip,
It almost feels like falling off a cliff.
I see around me and I see no difference at all,
Only the fact that the world is one less person now.

I wonder if it is a good thing or not.
The fact that he left this place of chaos.
I wonder if in the end he got where he started for,
Has he gone to the place where he should’ve been?
A place which deserved souls like him;
That reminds us of sunsets and sea;
Of lights and rain,
touches that heal the pain,
I just want to know if he’s one the way
or has he reached,
A place which is happy and serene.



At the inception of this starry night,
I saw a face so true,
A face that told me something,
About the things beyond the blue.
It told me how beautiful it is,
All that we cease to see,
Invisible to the naked eye,
As often the truth could be.

It has always been,
There and before the sea and crust,
We just fail to look beyond,
The things that we trust.
But today the curtain rises,
However late it might be,
For what comes once in a lifetime,
Is often endless as the sea.

I wish I could tell you how it looks,
But one has to see to feel,
Feel the heart beats of the stars,
As they start and stop in a beat.
It is not like the iron born,
That grows and rusts and dies,
They are but the births and deaths,
Of stars and stardust, they leave behind.


by Aditya Mankad 0 Comments

I closed my eyes,
And I tried to feel.
I ran into something that felt like your lips,
It brought everything back; Little things which the memories skips.
It went on till the pain came in,
Gushing like blood in the heart’s rim.
I bit my lips and clenched my fists,
As the agony introduced itself gist by gist.
I think Love has something to do with Pain,
Maybe they are like step brothers;
Trying to win over life but in vain.
But I breathed in hard till my lungs hurt,
It felt beautiful but deadly as well.
Like something trying to kill you but not letting you die.
But all I loved is still with me, Everything but the ability to see.
I do have you so that weighs out, But never will I win another bout.
You know how they say, Explosion does all the harm?
Try imploding once; It destroys the unshakable calm.
I did have the fire within, I can feel it shine,
Inside my veins, Incinerating every belief of mine.
I never feared the scars,
The smog of lies,
The blinding stars.
Neither feared that punch,
Those flashes,
The misanthropic bunch.
Nor the pain,
The blood,
These burning veins.
I fear those closing walls,
I fear these trembling hands,
I fear fear itself,
But most of all,
I fear the oblivion.



by Aditya Mankad 0 Comments

I swayed between the right and wrong,
Replaying the same old song,
“Take me to the start again,
Undo the cause of all that pain”
And as I pushed my way up,
I learned I was at the bottom of the top.
I bit my tongue and pinched my skin,
To know if this version was reality’s kin.
I do not fear the death as you do,
But that’s not news to you.
You have been watching me all along,
Like a tiny kite dancing in the fire-storm.
I grow everyday like a phoenix does,
Rising and withering in the dust.
And my heart is ripping itself to shreds,
Each piece beating on itself.
I ask you all but this,
free me from the haunted lights,
Give me all but just a night,
A night that gave the moon to fox;
Same way put in that box.
Put me or I swear I will be,
A dead man breathing paradox.

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