Thoughts to Words

When it comes to instincts, it's hard to walk past them. Damn, they're the testimony of how I ran out of tissues to wipe you off my eyes. I shouldn't be appalled if my eyelids explode like a pressure cooker punched in the tummy. I trusted the trust you fabricated with the diabolical atoms from Lucifer's body. Although you never were a fallen angel. You were the slur that perchance died out under the sun but the dead are loafers chilling out here and there as the darkness to the conceited sky which is hungrily lusting to have eight distinctly adulterous consummations with the moon.  The venom in me isn't your contribution. I wouldn't give you the power of attorney because anything that has you in it is an arrow stuffed with the yolk of the deil. Plotting to drag me to a bed that has a sheet flattened out of a dragon who is in his slumber but is very much in contact with the inferno boiling in his mouth.  In the cup of your hands was the fault in my stars, I worsh

Absorbing a thousand and one Arabian nights in fear, my feathery filaments supply oxygen  and sonnets of hope in the bloodstream. The marsh arteries  in my courtyard, compile political convulsions and maritime disputes, contusions sprouting  from partition and bleeding internally. The flamingos legally keep shifting homes, summarizing the winters to their baby cousins  at the summer palace, but I am a refugee and an earning, with ordinary fins  in this extraordinary estuary. Fishermen of Kutch and Sindh ritually have their dignity ripped and boats seized because of me. Borders have sledgehammered  the heritage of my solitude, any considerate Jinni in the sea who can bring me a glimpse of it? ©songbriti

Socializing is a component that is a partially gold and partially silver member if not a platinum member in an ambivert's circle. As much as I enjoy entertaining my family and friends with politically incorrect jokes, I also love talking to myself, loud and clear in my room.  I have a soft corner for books. Last Christmas, I was gifted an e-book device (on my demand of course). The only child is pampered for the better sometimes, isn't she Santa? There are a list of books queued in a disciplined way on my Kindle's shelf to unveil their voices to me and I am delighted to give them all the attention I can during this free time. The question of making peace with self-isolation is not applicable to me because I am my best company and solitude is more than invited. How difficult is it anyway to stay indoors and do what you haven't had the time to do in a while? First off, family time specially with my furry brother is saving coins of happiness because none of us can practic

Poetry is the mountain  where I meditate  in the crest  of calmness. Poetry is the rope I grip with hope when fierce tornadoes gobble up the sunshine and there is existential crisis. Poetry is the moonlight arranging a romantic ambience for all my solo dinner dates. Poetry is the universal donor donating a reason  to quarantine myself when a pandemic  is simmering in the air. Poetry is the history left in me, poetry is the reflection of my aspirations, poetry is the backbone of my soul. ©songbriti

Dear God, Do you write the fate of human beings beforehand? Your way or the highway kinda gameplay? Actually there are spoilers sold out by astrologers, palmists, tarot card readers, numerologists and a few others. Quite interesting professions to mint money out of the cat's curiosity. Then you have motivational speakers who contradict these fellows with the gift of the gab. They are like baits who make a fish market of people buy tickets to listen to how fate can be changed by hard work, smart work (latest update) and with a tank full of positivity that is somewhat twinning with a protein shake for the speed breakers in the hurdle race. These are trades that draw good profit and that's okay because we all have to figure out a way to feed our stomachs. My question isn't to them anyway, it is to you, you who is Great and the Ultimate, that is what I have heard so far from the majority. Going by the theory of you being all Powerful and the Creator, I often think why do people

Ruminate in mindfulness,  be a transient tourist for the thought, with an eagle's eye see what others can't,  shoot close-up shots, that photographic memory has an inbuilt high definition, but let the imageries not push buttons, operate with the mind of a scientist, and the heart of a poet, in the amphitheatre of a beautiful day, the trials and errors of the performance and the findings are yours, a show was rolling before you knew it and will continue to after your blood and bones  manure the land, while the stage is beneath your toes, compose tunes at this harvest, feathers on your cap will be added, albeit take them not to the future, the orchard is but a walking example, of fruits growing when they have to. ©songbriti

"Fighting like cats and dogs."  What baseless rumour are they distributing like a virus? I always share my crunchy biscuits with you that are daily kept at 7am by a good Samaritan near 'Paradise Apartments'. We even play catch and fetch on weekends. Our progressive development on peaceful coexistence has not reached their idiot boxes and smartphones. People know that your paws are retractable and mine are not, I bark and you meow, I love hanging out with my pack near the meat shop and you love your 'Me time' in the park. We are very different but there is no divide between us.  How many five-year terms will it take for these species with apparently working brains to figure out the Shakuni tactics going on in the executive forests? Funnily, there are too many clones of Shakuni and here is when casting votes becomes a dicey business but nobody told them that the world's largest democracy would come without risks. In the reigning age of tik tok, some of them