A Cry….
In the middle of the road she sat, hands pressed hard against her chest. Her eyes were filled with fear; Her lips pressed against each other. She couldn't move, any effort was moot. A cry for help she conjured! A cry it was, though not of help but of fear and sadness. She could feel those prying eyes, Trying to snatch and tear her flesh. Ten thousand thoughts crossed her mind, ten thousand escapes. All that and more she tried and failed. All that was left was her blouse in pieces. The animals left; nothing was left of her. Not just her flesh, her soul they scratched and snatched! She was never weak, never ever was she fragile. The water broke and the real world appeared. The irony of the incident was her dichotomy. She could remember feeding the animals, That was lunch-time, she was in her primary!!.......
©ManashJBorah
A Story from a Song
Blow a kiss, fire a gun,
Cause we all need someone to lean on!
All the dirty secrets that she keeps,
It’s her deeds, not anymore my needs,
Now all I know are sad songs.
And just like fire, burning all the way,
Something about you that makes me does things, it makes me stay.
Felling used but I still miss you.
I hate you, I love, I hate that I want you,
I miss you when I sleep and all I know are sad songs.
Take away your things and go, but you can’t take away what you said, as mark it will stay.
I am so sick of that same old love, that kind that breaks your heart.
In the blink of an eye, you could lose everything, because there’s no promise in tomorrow,
Remember I am only one call away.
Common let it go, it’s all they say,
You be you and well I’ll be the usual me,
I used to believe we were running on the edge of something beautiful,
You were an angel, said you would never leave me, you left, and maybe I wasn’t plentiful.
You are my ecstasy; I am high on loving you.
But we don’t talk anymore like we used to.
I want you all to myself, Look what you done,
All I know are sad songs.
I’m only human can’t you see, I only made a mistake!
If all I get your hand in my hand, baby I could die a happy man.
I am just a sucker for pain,
Your words cut deeper than a knife, now I need someone to bring me back to life.
Got a felling than I am going down, I will be needing stitches, I will need you pulling me from ditches
I remember, you used to call me on my cellphone.
I know I can treat you better.
But all I am left with are sad songs.
©ManashJBorah
HATRED
Hatred, such a potent force!
Always among us, it has no remorse.
It has no remorse for its cruelty,
Neither can it feel pain,
Nor does it subsides it brutality.
For centuries has it bonded men together.
Innocents from all race and religion got slaughtered.
Its calling is clear as the ” Fat boy’s” bladder.
At the end of a barrel sometimes,
and sometimes a dangling sword delivering the order.
But how could it rise to such power?
How did we let it become humanity’s master?
Though that seems to be a mystical answer,
Love lost in the process, hatred rose to divine stature.
Enough off hate,
Hate brings no laughter, seeks only disaster.
Let’s end this hysterical chapter.
Let’s break the shackles of hate.
for once start a love affair.
©Manash.J.Borah
Something like a poem
I once wrote, once wrote something , something like a poem
I wrote the thoughts that cluttered my mind,
and the voices without faces,
whom i could never find.
I once wrote something , something like a poem.
Tried but failed, to jot a few lines.
The irony in the face of my agony,
the state of my never ending dichotomy.
There was so much, so much to write;
So I once tried something, something like a poem.
Lost in the chaos.
was my identity.
Couldn’t hear the prophet,
speaking behind the voice of my stupidity.
So I once hoped, hoped something like a poem.
It would have all the rhyme in the world.
It could be written with a vibe that was bold.
It would have a flow, till the end.
A flow among the hideous atrocity.
So I once wrote something, wrote something like a poem
©M
Democracy
Democracy, it’s a truth, a mystery,
Always befallen by your majesty
Spending days without a piece of bread in my belly
You being the “Duchess”, living in your aristocracy.
Always the righteous, oh! You democracy.
As I walked down the pavement,
of your self-proclaimed generosity.
As I look up towards the “Antilla”,
and stumbling upon a begging child,
so smitten by your “sense your equality”.
Oh! Stop fooling me, you beautiful democracy.
Helpless as I sound, as helpless I am
Caught in the Juggernaut
Does the “by, for and if”, still breathe and stand?
You make a mere spectator,
a simple pawn in the game.
To be the sacrificial one for the king,
one who sits with all the poise,
Slaving the chair you named “System and Bureaucracy”
You have always been the so charming,
So fluent in your machinery.
Keeping me in the apparition, of my electoral superiority.
Your wishes, your demands,
You tricky democracy!
The smartest, the master of delusion.
The beautiful face of monstrosity.
Oh! You democracy.
A truth, a lie? or
You are just a mystery.
Many faces with a single name, Democracy……
©M
THE Stroll
As she takes a stroll,
a stroll down the memory lane,
she walked passed a shabby man.
In his ragged clothes, he looked liked filth.
His gazing eyes, there were questions in it.
His face seemed familiar, she thought;
The questions were for her, she understood.
As she walked further,
a little further down the memory lane.
She saw a burial place, and a tombstone with a name.
She tried to read, read the name.
But when she could, she stood crestfallen.
Today she took a path that was forgotten.
She found answers to all her questions.
Age hazed all her memories,
Six decades it took, six decades for a stroll back in her twenties.
Murky memories are what she is left with ,
A road not taken, a retreated step.
Too many things left behind.
A dream unfulfilled, a wish not granted,
a life she couldn’t live, a love that was lost;
And at 80 she can’t even clearly recall it.
