Forever Frozen - Midnight Sun

Watching the perfect world change seasons around me,

Happiness from it, from the lonely stars is small I can see

Dying from myself, torn in wars of heart and mind to be,

True, faithful and strong, and finally to live free.

Suddenly it’s hard to breathe, Hard to barely hold on,

Without letting go, closest things to me without a trace are gone

Insecure by the moment while I’m surrounded by love,

I wonder if anyone’s watching me, for me, from above.

Blindfolded from my past and future, I’m forever here frozen

In this helpless state, there’s no recalling, no how or when

Trying to portray my entity in vain, once again I fail

Empty spaces of haunting moments refuse to fade or to pale.

Wouldn’t it be easier to give in than more guilt to gain?

Can’t I just leave it al behind to watch me go insane?

Than to pull the strings of my life, plucking each with pain

Or to watch lives shatter in my bliss like butterflies in rain.

Carry on that painted mask deceiving the inner flame of truth,

Ripples across my perfect small world cannot run smooth

Till that dawning moon calms my pleading strife,

I turn invisible, to stone to tell you, my Midnight Sun about my life.

Shifts in Emotion

                 The shrill sound of the bell invited all the new students of the high school for their first class of the year. The shuffling of all kinds of shoes buzzed and brought a weird symphony of calmness upon her. Emily waited for her new classmates to take their seats and then sought out the last one. She didn’t mind being watched but wasn’t keen on being seen either. Great… Another year at another school, another town. She had grown used to the procedure now; her mother would shift from town to town and they’d set up their proof of existence again only to sell it out at another garage sale. She shifted her steady gaze around class; everyone seemed comfortable except her and another guy whom she recognized to be her new neighbor.

                During orientation class the two girls sitting to her right started murmuring. At first she assumed it was about the new kid, herself and then followed their giggles and flirty glances to the guy in front of all three of them. She sighed and looked straight ahead. Not meaning to eavesdrop, she still made out a vague conversation.

“Looks like Parker didn’t get into the finishing school after all”

“Well it’s a good thing he ended up right here in to our class, come on lets pull his leg for a bit”

That was followed by a poor piece of paper being crushed and thrown at him. He turned, and gave a small smile at the girls and turned back.

“We need a bait” she heard them say as she hid her eyes under her fringe. What she didn’t want happened as they turned their glances to her. Luckily the bell rang and she snatched her books off the table and made way to the lockers.

                It looked like they were persistent about their bait as they tackled her at the cafeteria later that same day. Emily kept reading the book in front of her as she asked

“What do you two want?”

They eyed her untouched plate and then her eyes behind black rimmed glasses scan the page in front of her.

“Look her newbie, it’s not a smart move to act cool on the first day of school and that too when you’re new to town. I’m Christi and this is Jane” Emily plainly slurped her juice out the carton as they introduced themselves.

“As you can see, we’re the eyes and ears of this place which means we know everything about you. Everything” the direction where the conversation was going made her grin a bit. The popular girls always seem to advertise their popularity with an attitude which only they believed in…and their clothes she thought.

“Do you research every living walking thing that crosses you?” asked Emily looking over her book expressionless.

“Living or dead we don’t care. Look we know enough to know where you live. So scamper off like a good little girl and pass these chits over to…”

Emily cut them off as she completed their sentence

“Parker Hudson… the guy whom you both are…Gross” For whatever reason that only god knows, they seemed impressed with her and uttered another classic dialogue.

“Do this and consider yourself one of us.” said Jane flipping her hair.

“I think I’ll pass” she whispered as they walked away.

                She followed Parker from a safe distance as he walked through their common deserted drive, earphones plugged in. She liked the Hudsons. They were a nice family and she liked Parker as well, but not as much as Christi and Jane did. He had a variety of instruments in his room which was easily seen from hers.  But she liked being with those souls that weren’t running behind the typical lifestyle… she needed something unique and special. Suddenly a young boy came up to him and Parker froze. Emily quickly leaned against a tree just in time as he turned and checked if anyone was watching. Then he turned back to the boy and started conversing to him.

“No way” gasped Emily as he watched him read the lips and answer back with his hands.

“Parker can’t speak??” Now that was something unique and special she thought as her lips curled into a smile.                    

                                The shifts in Emily's emotion will continue on Thrusday!!!
Click to read the next part of Shift in Emotions

My True Hero

I check myself in the mirror before I walk out,

It’s a new day, a new fight, and eyes filled with doubt

I walk on forth, chin up even though you aren't here

To see what I've become in the years you weren't here.

All I wanted, was you to stand beside me,

Watch me grow, to love and just to be,

Someone I could call my dad and hero,

Not a coward i was ashamed of when I watched you go.

 

Read this wish-list carefully and know,

What role you’re supposed to play and what you owe

To me as your little girl ever since she could tip-toe

And what went into her mind with your every ‘no’

I wished for Sundays at lakes fishing

For piggy-bank rides against the sunset,

For enough love to keep me wishing

That I’d make you proud and never to upset.

For you to say I’m pretty before prom night,

For you to help me make my first meal for mom,

For me to hold you and her so tight,

And to always see you both together in my sight

To yearn to grow as tall as you,

To hold your hands over the piano

To sing me to sleep like I always wanted you to,
To confide in you and expect a hug when I’m low.

But I guess you turned out to be the opposite,

And I don’t regret that my life has no role for you,

But I do regret my dreams and marvel your wit,

To think, after all this, that I may still want to live with you

I found my real hero in mum thanks to you,

And never did I miss you for all my wishes she fulfilled

Now you got me thinking if I ever wanted you,

Hell, no, she’s the only family I need to live free-willed

If you could see me now,

See the warrior your little girl turned out to be,

But never be proud, no don’t you dare,

Call yourself my hero, because even after all this, you’re still not here. 

The Proof of 3 M's - Page 2

Click to read the first page of The Proof of 3 M's

                    It took a minute to register what I was looking at. My mind like everyone’s on this world was conditioned to judging spaces and drawing conclusions and so I did. But behind the bushes yonder, was whole new world unexplored, untouched, and already unforgettable. The 3 U’s.  I couldn’t feel my heart’s rhythm, and as I placed one hand over it, I realized that it had come to a stop. Reason flooded my mind and reality broke it; how was I alive then? Did I die and come to some waiting lounge while they decided where to send me next? And how come dogs were allowed here? Past all the questions, I looked at what was in front of me. A row of cherry blossom trees marked a territory of some kind. The glowing petals blew steadily over the rolling land where I could see Bruno wag his tail anxiously waiting for me to come. Breathing in, I felt nothing enter me, and taking a step I felt nothing below me. That’s probably because my feet were pressing into nothingness. The minute I looked down and saw that, a chill crept over me. I’d turned into a ghost maybe. Ignoring the weird nothingness around me I went to Bruno and clasped his collar. Okay, possibility one ruled out, I wasn’t a ghost…I could hold him. That’s when I heard the voices. They sounded like chimes in a slight breeze….so tuned in harmony and mellow. Mesmerize was what it did, I blindly followed it to the source like flies caught by the light. Again that feeling that someone was constantly hovering over me erupted and I jolted out of instinct behavior we’re all endowed with. Soon it calmed me down and I got to thinking that if I was to form an image out of the presence and the voices, it would be some mythical creature…ironic but true. I was happy that I was still on track of the agenda I came here with; at least the rationality wasn’t barred like my breathing. 

                After what felt like a few minutes of walking I was facing a great old oak tree, that I hadn’t seen from where I entered this…this place. Draped with lights, it looked like the home of prestigious birds or something. My mind’s engine’s started working as to how electricity was available and whether they were lights or candles or huge fireflies. The omnipresence told me to let go of all the questions and just experience. As if someone connected a pipeline into my brain and read my thoughts of just existing.…creepy.  But the voices pushed on further and eventually confusion swept over me. It always did. My entire existence was spent in confusing over petty issues, the past and future, so much that the present would just slip away into the past. And now here was a time when all I was supposed to do was act dead for a while like the rest of the people back at the mainland. But however I seemed to utilize it better being here, discovering things. That brought a happy warm feeling into my heart and a smile stretched out on my face after years. That was the last thing that my mind registered fully. The rest were visuals and mere doubts but I enjoyed it nevertheless. Something to do with more voices and my own, a few twirls in the cold air amongst the mythical beings and yes of course, pure laughter. I felt my body breakdown all the firewalls against the world, and open up to minds with a similar thought.  I was content, proud at that exact moment when I was swirling faster and for once being stuck in the present.

The image of a dream-catcher with braided feathers and smooth beads being placed in my palm and the face of a goddess like creature was stuck on my mind as I woke up back in my dull room. If it all was just a dream the first thing I’d do was panic and cry for it felt so very good! It was so perfect that I didn’t want this reality that I created for myself. I sat upright in bed, with cushions all around me and buried my face into my hands. It just couldn’t be a dream, I felt every bit. I glanced at the clock over my head and that’s when some comfort crept into me. There, right below the cock and hanging over my bed was the dream-catcher I had seen last night. For a minute all I did was blink over and over trying to remember more from memory. I might’ve seen wings, colorful tattoos on pale skin, ruffled feathers or I might’ve been just dreaming.  Maybe I wasn’t mean to be one of the humans, maybe I was mean to be there, with those innocent souls who took me in as their own and made me live one night like never before.  Or maybe it was all just one heck of a dream. Whatever it was, I knew that with the dream-catcher hanging above me, the gates to that island would always be open. I didn’t care if I was sad every day, as long as I could visit that great oak community. This thing hanging above my bed which is rumored to catch bad dreams was actually the key to that world… this was the proof of the 3 M’s existence.  

The Proof of 3 M's - Page 1

                Ever since I laid foot in the place that was formerly not called my home, I knew things were fast changing. The pent-house was a bargain, and my dad thought it was a good investment. It was situated overlooking a bay and the ocean far behind. I’m not much of a swimmer so I had shrugged when he came up with the idea to shift there.  After thinking hard on the matter of the omnipresence that shrouded the house, I came to one conclusion. Something was there, more than life itself. I felt in the air that I took in, in the wind that came billowing my plaid curtains, in the way the moon always hung over an island far north.  But I just couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t eerie, nor did it bring a chill and make my hair rise. But it did create the atmosphere as if someone was looking over me. And the lonely soul that I was, didn’t mind the company of the imaginary guardian. I have to agree to the fact that strange things occurred and scared all the members of my family, including Bruno, my golden retriever. My kin thought that everything in the house was dammed, and were considering shifting elsewhere. I however remained neutral. Yeah, let the world pass on by, I’m here to exist and that’s the only thing I planned on doing.

                I don’t know what I was thinking one day when my bay friends at my new school, mentioned of the island that I had a clear view of from my bedroom window. They said that magical, mysterious, mythical things happened there every night and the consequences brought a silent plague of curiosity over the people nearby. The three M’s that I had no utter belief in. I not only pushed the matter, but rather tossed it into an abyss in my mind. But then again, like I said I don’t know what I was thinking as I crept out of my room, and out the back door to view the island. My intention was to study the “happenings” to prove something, anything against the 3 M’s. Something soft brushed against my sneakers and I looked down calmly to see the sparkling eyes of Bruno. Yes he’d never miss an adventure, but wait; I wasn’t planning on going there was I? He nudged my toe again and I went along with his idea. There was nothing out there and obviously nothing to scare me, simply because I had no feelings to the world around me. Sooner than ever, Bruno and I were in our row boat rowing across the moon’s reflection making way to the crags of the island.

                It didn’t take much of my sleep hours as I reached the cove and tied our boat. Bruno leapt off in a hurry and starter sniffing all around while I turned back and glanced at my house. Insignificant speck of light amongst the city ardor, but nothing in comparison with the liquid moonlight shining over me. It had a tinge of turquoise as it gloated happily around the foamy clouds. Celestial looking, breath-taking, spell bound me was caught up in its beauty when Bruno’s barks brought me back to life on earth. He’s been with me for years and I decipher his barks, so believe me when I couldn’t understand what he was feeling on the other side of the bushes which he disappeared into. As I took a few steps towards him, he yelped and just like that quite abruptly, he stopped. My heart paced irregularly as did my steps until I pushed beyond the curtain of bushes and there it stopped…quite abruptly.

                                     Ending shall be unveiled through tomorrow’s post!
Click to read the ending!

Blood Rust

Curtains stripped down, the liquid moonlight floods the bed,

I boldly walk across it,  “you’re brave” someone once said.

Fighting the urge to kill, wound, to drink the pain,

Mine: to taste tears, to see crimson drops, to writhe in vain.

I stand too fragile; not knowing if that is how I appear,

Walk half-dead into alleys, immune to the sun, its sear,

Let me feel more…more of this inching panic and pressure,

I’m craving till it makes me numb, oblivious to all seizure.

Don’t like to be just a plastic doll, want those emotions in me,

Need you my midnight sun to forever be,

With me, to drive away this insecurity from lust,

From hurt, from reality, from those blades covered in blood rust.

I’m trying, hoping for those days to come back,

Every time I look into your eyes, I think there’s something alack.

Have I ripped away all the possible love  from you,

Or have you just started hating me like everyone too?

There was a time when I called my life ‘perfect’

Thought this was why I suffered in the past, that the future was set,

Now I’ve been missing the old you for months and weeks,

A new way of life other than this my heart seeks.

Life starts when day ends and  the room is closed,

I see your eyes, the days when my pulse had raced,

Now I’m just too afraid to go on, without you,

And when you decided my fate this story would happen, I knew....

Mysterious Beyond

The world as we know it, is pretty small
Confined, conditioned, cautious, heeding to work's call.
Embodiment of perfection we strive to be,
He who attains that is the role model to many.

But no I can't live that way,
Without the roars of troubles at my bay
I am, but a insignificant speck right now,
But not for long, even if they won't allow.

Yearning to explore this vast home,
Hoping to find my right door to carefree tomorrows,
Just a few moments, then i will set my heart to roam,
To enliven the experience and  maybe a few sorrows.

While I sit in my room, tropical music beckons,
The drums and bells, cheers of merry making people..
Oh how i wish i can dart there, I reckon,
That I'll come soon once custody over me is my free will.

So many cultures, traditions, past the mysterious beyond,
Undelivered languages, unmarked islands and river bends,
They call out to me in tempting whispers so fond,
I wish I cross this line to meet them; for me they send.

The salty water ships, flowering meandering paths,
Await me, I will be there after the work here is done,
Free to fly across eastern skies, until then,
The word as I know it is pretty much vast!

FTII's Theatre Production- Faisla

On the 17th and 18th of this month, The Film and Television Institute of India's (FTII's) acting batch of 2009 put up a wonderful play within their vast campus. The show "Faisla" was adapted from Reginald Roses's Twelve Angry Men and the Hindi adaptation was done by Ravi Kiran Shastri. The Final Theater Production, directed by Arvind Pandey who has done more than a dozen plays so far, directed this Final Theatre Production, as his second in FTII.   The cast of 10 characters were different for both the days and splendidly delivered.
                 I went to watch the play on the last day for the last show at 7:30 pm. Seeing the crowd that the show had gathered I awaited patiently to get into the Main Theatre. The play began with a voice over about a trial of a young boy who was convicted guilty and that a jury of 10 were to decide the fate of the lad. Every juror was of a different character, impersonating the different personalities in our daily lives. Votes are taken for the boy to be guilty in the case, and all but one juror, differ in opinion. He highlights the concept of Reasonable doubt that a juror must have other wise he is biased. Throughout the play, the different jurors express the basic human nature thus deepening the plots, making the verdict intricate. How does Juror number 8 pick out the invisible threads to win the other jurors and get them to consider the possibility of reasonable doubt is what the whole play is about.
                  The acting batch was highly skilled; not one twitch of a smile appeared on their faces when the audience burst out in peals of laughter. The makeup and dressing were apt for the jurors that one could not relate to the pamphlet of the cast with their pictures. After the show ended, the audience stood for a long standing ovation while the students brought the people behind the success of the show into the limelight. All in all, it was a great experience that wasn't to be missed. The lights, sounds composition of stage and modulation of voices of the cast made a great impact and I'm happy that I was there to witness a well put up play!

The Reason

To whom do I owe it to,

Destiny, time or fate to be with you,

But whom cursed me so in rage?

In our chapter I am; in your book but a mere page.

These eyes, their innocence has faded,

My grip tightens over her fiery eyes to threaten her they’ve aided

And her white heart, tender, hate has raided,

Her years, my eternal possession, poison has evaded.

Are you even searching for our perfect end?

Wasn’t I the tree she as a creeper did depend?

You gave me those illusions, wishes and the hope

Why so cruel? Why having me hang onto this single rope?

Little heart, you wished upon a shooting star,

And she brought me closer to her from miles far,

Closer and closer to you and your childish nature,

She clutched with her cold hands mine, a promising future.

Afraid my love would harm what love you meant,

she expected nothing for it wasn’t a loan to be lent.

now you push me away? This angel god sent?

Wasn’t I loyal enough, my love? And out she went…

Bruised from inside out, there’s still a reason,

Don’t all dramas have an end, she’ll know too,

And as much as I strive, she’ll strive double every season,

A reason to start new…deep down she knows she loves me too…   

Awaiting the Rain

A fuzzy faint light breaks through the horizon,
Highlighting the dew drops so fragile,
Moving over so gracefully, in my vision,
To fall upon my damp pillows and covers in  a pile.

Those heavy salvation laden skies,
Creep mischievously into my view,
Anxious for the downpour and my frantic eyes,
Wait brimming with their own waters so new.

The wind whispers a song, the trees rustle,
Unaware of the language, people bustle,
But me, I'm frozen, glued to the pane,
For that moment of freedom brought by rain.

Then the very first drops patter,
Shyly at first then faster and faster,
Till it muffles the voices that don't matter,
Gliding in patterns everywhere, like the master.

Air ways grow fierce by nature's unleashed element,
As I step onto the damp grass, feet bare,
I take in the wet earthly scent,
Numb to the shards of drops...would I dare?

Yes I would for nothing makes me feel safer,
Than the world wrapping me with coldness,
While clothes cling to me, skies still lure,
Into the woods and beyond, adobe of darkness.

As the evening crouches into night,
And grey lands are specked with light,
I stand tall on a meadow grinning,
My heart beaming to see my heart winning.

The roads are splashed with water-mirrors,
Momentarily cracked my insensitive footsteps,
From here, I feel my reflection with errors,
But those errors are why, I can perfect myself to depths.

   

25 cent Love

               I was born in 1875, and I'm one experienced US quarter that holds his head high. Well, this is how I would've liked to introduce myself to you, but honestly, there’s nothing much I did to feel as proud as a commander after war. So maybe by the end of my life’s story I’ll be able to introduce myself better. I knew I was born, that is, I knew life came into me the minute, something embossed onto me. It felt breathtaking and overwhelming … and I suppose that is how it’s meant to feel. After the noise had died down, all I could see were metal walls and shiny machines, all murmuring and groaning to each other. I looked around me, and there were so many quarters just like me, some lying on their bellies and the others floating about on the belt that was carrying us. I gleefully smiled … it looked like they all were replicas of me and suddenly without reason, I was excited. Then just like that, I slipped and fell into a spinning container that spun me round and round till I went dizzy, dozing off. 

                When I opened my eyes it was pitch-dark. I could hear sounds outside and could smell petrol at a distance but I couldn't make sense of where I was. I looked out of the corner of my eye. No quarter soul was seen; we were all stacked, cramped and breathless. We 20 quarters were suddenly lifted and handed over, and this I felt, I did. Then dawn cracked upon us as someone tore our cover, and I saw the face of the first human ever. He looked sophisticated and important. He ran one finger over us while he drove his car and said that we were brand new. I was so proud then that I smiled so brightly with my teeth and blinded the poor, important looking guy. He picked us up again and dropped us into his pocket and there we stayed. By the end of the ride, we had all split. A few went in for a car wash, a few into vending machines and some just scattered about on the dashboard while I still stayed in his pocket. Night fell and I went to sleep warm and happy with my first day of life.

                When morning came, I was still in his pocket, but not for long. He slipped his hand and searched me out, closing my eyes. I wondered what surprise he might be giving me and thoughts flashed in my mind. But nothing that I’d imagined was as beautiful as what he finally gave me. He removed the blindfold and there I saw her for the first time. She looked so beautiful, almost like as if she descended from the gold mines for me and I fell in love with her. She looked at me and carefully caressed me. She said to her father that I looked shiny and very handsome; I knew she’ll keep me forever from that moment onwards and she did. She called me her lucky charm and carried me wherever she went for years. To school, to the fair, to movies and at the dining table. We were inseparable … intertwined between her fingers always, I knew life would pass soon. But alas, I underestimated the will of destiny. She accidently dropped me while crossing the road one fine day, leaving me out in the cold blizzard that half drowned my life.

                I was found by a bunch of mean looking men. By the look of them I’d have judged them to be football players and they proved me right as they fought over me. One glance at their faces and I started wondering why God couldn't have let me die in peace out there. Then life turned out to be living hell after that. The boys would toss and turn me before every match and flip me out in front of some pretty girls to buy them a drink. And so my life went as I was dropped from one hand, and caught by another and traded for bronze pennies. I hated them pennies … they called me a two faced evil coin. Well then? What were they?
I grew stronger by their insults and I watched as I lost my shine. No matter where I went, I dreamt of meeting the girl once more and being her lucky charm. But I was afraid she wouldn't recognize me if I wasn't handsome any more. And so I escaped the clutches of launder mats and candy machines by slipping away and rolling out of pockets.

                But how long could I survive it out there and cheat death? I’d been held a billion times and my current owner was a young boy who took me to Ruby Falls and by now I had lost interest in seeing the world around me.  He pulled me out from his shirt pocket and eagerly stepped up to a crooked machine. I had seen all other kind of things that I should enter but this one was strange. I watched as a penny went in and saw the gears hold it as it struggled for its life. It was transported by the noisy gears and crushed with stamps and out it finally came gasping for breath. On its face was an impression of the logo of Ruby Falls. Was that what was going to happen to me? If something as monstrous as that was to stain my face, how was she ever going to identify me? I struggled as hard as I could, and tried to get away from the slot where I was to free-fall from. But nothing seemed to change. I pictured her in my mind as I closed my eyes, bracing myself.

And then just like that, as if God as listened to my prayers, she was there. She told him that only the pennies would go into them and not quarters. She fished out some damn pennies and dimes, exchanging them for me. I held my head high and looked at her. She seemed so much prettier now whereas I was scratched all over and dirty. She wiped me, as I cried tears of joy, with the tip of her gown and flipped me all over. “Daddy! I found it! The cut eagle!” she kissed my head and dropped me into a silken pouch which used to be my home for years. And so it was almost till the end of my existence. So re introducing myself … I am an 1875 quarter and I dwell in a coin collection plate. I've crossed the seven seas, faced so much danger and most importantly, have been loved by an angel. 

Image in the Glass

I stare at her with my almond eyes,

She wonders what I see within her, truth or lies.

As I walk away, she gives up too, she dies

Her fingers clutch blades smothered with blood cold as ice.

Somewhere down memory lane to discovery

Of my identity, an attempt of recovery.

Muddled up images flood the repressed mind

Vague, broken pictures taunt, impossible to find

Unknown is the bearer of an alluring voice,

But familiar are the gait and poise.

What does one do when it can recognize,

The mind of oneself but not the heart, turmoils arise.

Here I am embarking on this wild quest

To search for the image in the glass, lest,

Even she fades behind the chimes of the clock,

And my last door to my past wears a lock.

Cheery merriment, a life of perfection whizzes past,

Drenched in sun’s warmth, a scene without a blunder.

That same mellow voice lures me farther,

The dormant demons are unleashed from within at last!

I stare at my outstretched palm, bewildered,

For the rusted blades gleam in pride,

The truth watches over me, the confusion that lingered,

My almond eyes sparkle, the door opens wide.

Free of chains of reality I can now fly,

Hours of silent screams have ended with a sigh,

My mind found that voice, that of a lass,

That voice arises from me belongs to the image in the glass.  

Ghost Writing- Virtual Idols?

I was presented with this new word “Ghost-writer” when I wrote my friend’s essay in class. My teacher easily found out and called me a ghost writer, and just like everyone else I thought it had something to do with ghosts. But it turned out to a derivative of that thought. A ghost writer was someone who was paid in secret by an author to adapt to his style of writer and write for him. Hence, the book credits would go to the official author even though the background work for that book was actually a bunch of hired ghost writers. That was all that I knew when I passed out and walked forward on the path of life. Then the word presented itself again. This time it was from a serious extract.

                Our research methodology assignment required us to do a dissertation for a span of three years. I obviously had to choose something that I wasn’t aware of and something that requires intense research. I announced my hypothesis and started sailing of on the vast sea of information available on our ever saving Google. What I found on that every same day started drowning my hopes. Well, I do under-estimate a lot of things, but this one came hard for a girl who loved her book-created world. From what I gathered, ghost writers are writers themselves and market their skill of writing to popular authors. The authors who don’t have the time or, sorry to say, the exact skill of writing, hire them. If an author passes away in the middle of publishing a series then the company hires a Ghost writer to complete the work.  So in a way it’s portrayed as if a ghost as written the book.  My problem wasn’t with that. It bothered me that the figures that stood out in the history of literature were like virtual idols that I worshiped.

                I’ve noticed it in every phase of life, my peers and people I knew looked up to successful figures. We pointed at them and said ‘I want to be like them one day’ .They gave us hope to pursue our dreams and broaden our imagination. When I first read Star Wars, I patronized George Lucas and then R.L Stine overruled him with Goosebumps. And that time when someone gifted me a series of Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, I was engrossed into in mind of Carolyn Keene. Little did I know that Carolyn Keene didn’t even exist and it was a pseudonym for the set of ghost writers? Star wars, Frankenstein, the more that I researched, the more let down I became. I realized that the real people that inspired me were P.B Shelly, H.P Lovecraft who just happened to be ghostwriting personified.  There’s nothing wrong in the profession. It allows someone to have two separate lives, to take a chance at the biggest hits, to help authors to express the vague thoughts…but it crushes the idols in our young minds.

                For a few days, my research was at stand still. I lost the interest to uncover lies behind my favorite books for I knew that I’d be disappointed. But I was losing time. So I picked up again. But with a different thought… appreciate the work of the author and never the author. For true authors never want anything more than their work appreciated and we readers also are admiring the true work of talent, no matter who wrote it. Kind of like of symbiotic relationship. Now I’ve accepted the truth; for whatever reasons they hire ghost writers and learned to draw hope from the power of words instead. I still debate that the whole concept is somehow twisted in my own ways but thank god for the instilled hopes that I can write! Whatever pops up here is what people have revealed already but there must be many books out there all under different names. Sigh, I’ve got two years more for the dissertation and I’ve promised myself not to get depressed when the name of books in my shelf pop up under the section of “Ghost written”! 

Actor of All Sorts

I thought I would shatter,

Once hell’s skies shatter.

And ironic how I would induce it otherwise.

Grey skies, raindrops patter,

But watch out for the latter.

Feeling oddly alive, the betrayal now slowly dies.

Hours of scars and screams,

Sleepless dream like streams,

They have ended, I watch as guilt finally takes rest.

Cascading through valley of past,

Pushing through dark blinding light.

Rainbow beams shine through imperfections, earnest.

They fear butterfly for a hornet

Their whispers in my ears, down my aisle

Can’t believe, enemies turn more loyal than close ones

Kept far from love and care, for it seems that I fret

My words uttered to them poison so vile

Yet honey sweet are their smiles, games and puns.

When it starts to pour,

She gets her salvation.

Usually wept with those stone hearts, heavy clouds

Now demons inside roar

But outside all is calm, patience

Well, easy, she’s know as an actor of all sorts.

Thanking all those “friends”

Whose thoughts taught lessons

And pain induced strength, and hope

But trust, secure smiles?……nope.

Our Flames of Fears

              Some days are brilliant and some bad and half of them just whirl away into the future without knowing how to get what we want to. None of us know how to get it without any efforts and just with empty hands. Something cannot be made from nothingness right?  But for Meryl it wasn’t so...or so she thought. Ever since she was little, she dreamed of becoming the best author on the planet of earth. She had soaring dreams of signing her books, seeing her names in the papers and everything. Although her parents never wanted to see their daughter’s dream turn autumn and wither away, they couldn’t support her beyond school. By then, Meryl’s dream was already fading and she accepted that for life will be confined to this little island they lived on and nothing beyond that. She worked as a librarian in the Coral Isle Library and watched the townsfolk stroll in and stroll out. There. Anyone would’ve said that life was settled for her. Unfortunately, Meryl wasn’t the one to stop with such a simple lifestyle.

                In the days, she would sit behind the oak desk all day, helping the people find their bookshelves …bookshelves where she imagined seeing her book as well. She would gather some of her favorites, read them and sigh happily as the clock did its work. Then dusk would fall and she’d lock up the library and head home, a dark figure along the seashore. Meryl imagined all kinds of things, but she just couldn’t frame them into a story with a ‘beginning, middle and end’. People loved the way her mind worked, but she couldn’t make sense of what she thought. Bottom line was…she couldn’t write. But there was a dark secret she held inside. She could go into books. . All she had to do was pick a page, press her forefinger firmly into it and wish to be there. To actually get into the pages and interact with the characters at different points of the story and to see what their true emotions are. She found their thoughts to be more rational than her own and so she snuck off into the library, one glowing oil lantern in her hand and bare footed to embark on her magical journey. Hard as she could try, she’d remember the conversations and try to piece them together secretly in her cozy room only to end up with paper piles of insignificance. ‘Face it Meryl… You just cannot write’ she’d tell herself with the first rays of the next day. And that was how thirteen year old Meryl just shed her hopes and rolled out five years in inferiority.

                Then one day, something magical occurred. From the books that she gathered to put back on the shelf, one was strangely intriguing. It seemed to be the story of her life. Of a young aspiring author who was stuck on an island…who couldn’t write. And it was so weird that everything she had done was accounted for in it.  She shut the book hastily with the sound of the clock chimes reminding her that it was time to go home. But at night, she tossed and turned unable to control her anxiety. What if that book was meant for her? If it was so, her dreams could be instantly fulfilled. She just had to read through it; no she just had to turn the page and maybe even see how her life would end. She wore her robe, lit her lantern and sprinted away into the darkness.

 Halfway there, the air around her simmered and the sound of crackling wood brought a scary thought. As rushed further, the sight of the flames brought her fears to life. She paused just for a moment to rethink her shifting thoughts. And she leapt into a broken window and scampered through the smoky hall to her desk where she had last left it.  And there in the middle of all the things that were happening around her, she could only feel her dreams and hopes get crushed with the look of the burnt book.  Nevertheless, she picked it up and flipped the charred pages slowly. Some of the writing was there, she realized, when she read the paragraph of the library burning. Her eyes grazed line by line until the line where the character held a burnt book in her hands. Now it was time to flip the page and see what would happen to her next. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and turned the page.

                She opened them slowly and they revealed…a blank page. The story didn’t end there… it was merely blank till the last page of the book. ‘What does it mean?’ she thought fervently amongst the cries of the townsfolk outside dousing the fire. Blank, nothingness, fresh, unwritten. And then it dawned upon her. She was a character in her own book! The book had only what she had done. If no actions…then no words, the reality hit her hard. She realized that she can’t look into a book to know how to live her life. No one can teach that. And if she just waited for a solution? She turned the pages and the book ended. Her life would end as well. A few moments passed, and Meryl was lost in thought as the library doors broke and in rushed the firemen. ‘I am an author after all’ she said to them smiling with smudged charcoal all over her. ‘And I know just how to end this book’. 

Falling Angel

The moon shielded the mighty sun,

Darkness prevailed after the devil had won.

“Kill me…” pleaded a guardian angel,

“Send me down to where the mortals dwell”.

The few moments belonged to evil,

And Gabriel shrivelled in his captor’s hold,

Until the bloodshot eyes yearning to kill,    

Slid a mere nail into the angel’s heart of gold.  

      

Some said it was impossible, utter chaos, psych

But there was nothing more Gabriel wanted

Than from heavens above where his rightful place was,

To descend to the mortal he haunted.

He then fell from the devil’s grasp.

His heart charred, and he gasped.

Spiralling down with white wings drooping,

Gabriel smiled weakly for he a valiant angel was dropping.

His heartbeat dulled,

But he glimpsed at her, his mortal,

One whom he guarded well,

Whom he always invisibly held.

Now, for her he traded his soul,

With the devil during the eclipse,

And there he stood inches from her lips.

Finally to reunite, from his eyes tears did roll.

Yet…something was wrong, she didn’t pause.

“Gabriel?” she trembled looking above

He cried in rage consumed by her love

He was still invisible, that was all it was…

His tears fell as million diamonds over her face,

And she breathed “You’re still there”

His wings closed upon her, tenderly with care

“At least my tears have come to life if not me” Gabriel whispered with heavenly grace. 

The Forbidden Song

                                                                              

 Long before our eyes opened, long before any man set foot on land, the world was ruled by animals. Creatures of all shapes, sizes and breed roamed free across the oceans, lands and skies.  But the place wasn't the way God made it…with hours for day and night… Instead there were places on this very same earth that were sunny with clear skies all the time. Likewise opposing to light, darkness shrouded the other half of the planet, protecting only those beasts that could see through it. For many years, the world still revolved and time still marked the growing wrinkles, but the sun never dipped below the waters nor the moon melted into the sky.  God sighed from above to watch the kingdom of Light and Dark live in harmony but not as one. Something had to be done…

                Then one day, a small fight between the two kingdoms erupted and a whole war on earth occurred. The reason was simple…The nightingale was seen with her friend, the sparrow, on the other side of darkness. This was reported by their leader to the other kingdom and at once all the creatures met on the distinguishing border of the two races.  And there on the ever dusky horizon she raised her voice and debated why she shouldn’t see the light. The other creatures from the Light kingdom were astonished by her sweet cry and craved to hear more. Their leader, a little shaken himself, held all the laws firm and the matter was dismissed with a warning that it was not to be repeated. And so an example was made of the nightingale and as terrified as she was, she still flew to the dusky border and sang to the few birds and animals that snuck up to meet her. Her voice filled the eternal midnight air as the birds chirped below her favorite tree in hope of learning from her. She sang of freedom, the right to explore and to choose. With the very sound of her cry the leaders of the kingdoms forbade her to sing and kept her in a cage where rage consumed her and ultimately took her life.

                The forbidden song, though not delivered like her, spread like wildfire throughout the world. The creatures started to wonder what was beyond the dusky horizon and her song gave them inspiration to find out. It wasn’t long before the elegant swan of the Dark kingdom thought better than to swim through the moon’s reflection all the time. She waded through the small brook that connected the kingdoms and soon she was seen across a sparkling lake, her feathers magnificently white. But she realized that though she liked the day better, she couldn’t let her heart part with the sight of the pearl moon and herself underneath it. And that was when she gathered her few friends of both the kingdoms and put the idea of having the best of both worlds for themselves. The possibility of such a thing was so ironic at that moment… as if day and night just wouldn’t co-exist. But she pushed on harder to the leaders and filled them with the fantasies growing in her head till they were convinced.

                Now there was just one problem…how to merge the two kingdoms? The animals could shift from one place to another depending on when they wanted light or darkness. But that just wasn’t ideal…There had to be a better way. Leaders couldn’t do anything more than pray to God to make the world as one; which was exactly what God wanted for his creations as well. He melted the moon a bit every night and formed the lunar cycle. He pushed he sun down in the west and it sprang up on the other side. Seasons came and went, but the days always ended with the nights. For those who couldn’t let go of their dear night, God made them nocturnal and for the rest the entire world was at their feet. And so is the case till date, for humans as well. At last God smiled upon his throne, for now the world still revolved and time did flow like sand and there were no kingdoms other than the kingdom of Man. Entrusting the future to this kingdom he took a long nap after years of hard work and brainstorm. And when he woke up and looked down on earth? He sighed again, harder… but well...That’s a whole new story altogether!

The Nightless Moon

Eternal companion of the earth,
Watcher of sky and new stars birth
Seen at once a child’s desired mirth
Not known by anyone your unique worth

Guider of  the lost and the traveling
Tending to the sick and the ailing
Soften and pacify others hearts you do
Looked every time appear new

Modest and humble of your un explainable beauty
Have let the firey ball have a fraction of time for duty
Generous giver of soft white beams
Each one acquiring intense sparkling gleam

Seen to be outstanding against the dark background
Perfect, smooth, speckless and round
Seen from all views and eyes appear so
Irrespective of merchants and paupers looked low

Independent and bold; hung without support
Yet look leaning from the vast sky’s fort
Fixed and new un-swayed by the wind: unlike clouds
See them off with mystical movements and rumbling sounds

Clasp the drape of darkness around you
Let alone is exceptional the stars like dew
Mortals are caught in a trance of your handsome looks
And compare a damsel’s shyness with you in their books

Ruler of  time, tides and symbol of gentle mankind
With your melting dimensions would we never bind
Forgive the ignorance of busy material life and
Be aware of passionate nature lovers of this land

To me you’re special and life’s greatest granted boon
I would now without being so dubious call you the “moon”