A turn..

A new turn.

I took a new turn, took a new lane.

Took a path, dared the unknown treading a new terrain.

It was a new song in the same old player!

Took a long breath after a dead stare…

A new season maybe!

A new life that’s less hazy.

A new turn maybe of new events.

A new turn amidst the dark shades.

©ManashJBorah

Advertisements

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

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.