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richasmukherjee.com

love, laughter, pain, joy, life and its lessons, one word at a time

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Thoughts

Determined

It flickers, dances, now you see it, then you don’t

Playing hide and seek like a twinkling star

But it’s there.Sitting at the end of that road, that tunnel, that journey

Egging you to try, to fight, to walk, then run towards it

It keeps you warm in the biting cold

It sheaths and shields your passions in the blinding rain

It is baked and stoked on the coals of your determination

It is carved by your shaking but stable hands full of clay and doubt

But it will take shape 

Morphing into people, faces, destinations or dreams

The journey between where you are and where you want to be

I can see you so clearly that it seems you were made for my sight

I can feel you in every pore of my body

My knees might buckle I will still crawl to you

My hands might shiver but my elbows will renew

With every fibre of my body withering and washing away

I will conquer, vanquish , I will have my way.

I want my money back

I would feel cheated for my money.

If I had paid good money, to buy silence.

Post purchase dissonance for sure.

I would rip open the package it was delivered in, but gently, aren’t all wrapping papers engineered to shout and crackle?

I would expect a whole day’s worth of deafening silence but I’d be in for a shock.

The early morning solace, pounded by the unrelenting waves of unfinished conversations playing back from last night.

The quiet coffee lull, shattered by the newspaper screeching its warnings about the world gone mad.

A long run up the hill, without a soul in sight, would fill my head with the noise of aborted work and the instructions I never uttered.

No one plays cassettes or tapes anymore but there is a broken down tape recorder in my head that is always powered up and replaying memories and songs I have long muted.

Try stuffing your ears with cotton and your head with reverberate with the echoes of your own thoughts.

That fellow commuter,listening to music on his earphones, will still, egged on by an incensed sense of politeness, murmur pleasantries while craving his own quietude.

Makes me wonder if it’s more polite to be quiet than to break someone’s quiet.

Did you know that even the sun sets with a slight thud? Everyone’s a talker I tell you.

And don’t even get me started about bedtime orchestras.

Those crickets are my sworn enemies.

If I was really delivered that package, I would send it right back!

Thread by thread


Tricks, emotions, tears, joy and trepidation.

Relationships are like that unpredictable blanket, sometimes too territorial and snug, making you sweat, sometimes not as indulgent, leaving your toes peeping out in the unwelcome cold.

Every fibre woven with memories, music, melancholy.

Infused with a familiar smell of warmth and familiarity,some parts soaked in helpless tears.

Sprinkled with stains of cozy coffees, tinkling laughter and aimless conversations.

Strong and unyielding in portions, threadbare in others.

Tug a string too far and line upon line will unravel.

Tangled, twisted, knotted, but they will still make sense to you.

A wrap too strong and you feel suffocated.

With the rigours and vicissitudes of life, the patterns fade, the lines blur.

But on the most directionless of days, and the darkest of nights, they will land softly on your weathered shoulders.

To lift your chin, to wipe a tear, to kiss a lip, to tell you that tomorrow is another day.

To tell you, stay warm, I’m here with you tonight.

Passage

They are restless, simmering, bubbling, they will come

They are forgotten, buried, snowed under, they will breach the surface , they will come

They are prisoners of time, daily rigours and chores, but they will come

They are burdened with doubt and fear and restraint, the shackles will fall, they will come

Amidst the noise, the chaos, the walls closing in, a tiny clear voice will emerge, they will come

Like the torrential rain, like a searing unstoppable pain

Like a dead even bloody bout where there’s no loss or gain

In an impenetrable wordless darkness where not one shard of light can prick through

My resilient nameless army of words will march, they will come.

Not from the muscle, but the heart


Strength is not about a display of sinew and bulk.

It is born in a very quiet place.

Sometimes it just gathers on you , resting on you, like dust,

Till one fine day you decide to stir that dust, fuelling it, till it becomes a storm and is unleashed.

Strength doesn’t live amidst bruises, broken bones and purple abrasions.

It lives in eyes that have seen the worst but are still willing to see the best in everyone.

It lives in feet that have lost their way so often, but are now guiding others to their salvation.

It lives in empty hands that hold on to others, with courage , grit and determination.

It lives in a back that is bent with age but that has the tenacity and resilience to carry the weight of an entire family.

It lives in a bleeding heart that’s holding on to a tear soaked faded red shirt every night, but can meet every sunrise with a smile.

A life cycle of words


Born with a meaning and sometimes for no reason at all, words remind me of a journey much like ours.Like a little infant, mewling in it’s mother’s arms, they are born.

With the power to make us chuckle or despair with their foolish callousness.

Carefully crafted and nurtured by many, they stumble, they fall, but start becoming whole, day by day.

Sometimes brilliant, sometimes unsure, but steadily becoming a reflection of a growing mind.

At times they simmer, deep inside, without being delivered, pouring out wordlessly through a tormented teenager’s eyes.

Suddenly they are all grown up, striding confidently into the world, sharing thoughts, opinions, ideologies.

Rendered to sweet nothings whispered into a loved ones ears.

Then cooing and gurgling incoherent tales into tiny ears set outside tiny trusting brown eyes of a miniature you.

They stand by you with resolve, as your admonishments fall on reckless, irreverent, adolescent ears, trying to guide them through their young lives.

There comes a time when slowly, but surely, the words start to fade, replaced by cobwebs, replaced by a second childishness and silver streaks.

A time when you have much to say but no one to say those words to.

The words that will linger and waft through the air, like a faithful legacy, long after you’re gone.

Lights

They shimmer, they twinkle, they dance, they shine.

Riders of a dark world, to being messengers of the divine.

One little flicker can raise a lifetime of hope.

When snuffed out, you feel a paralysis of fear, like you’re hurtling helplessly down an endless slope.

Rows upon rows of illuminated bulbs can welcome a bridegroom atop his royal steed.

While under a flickering street lamp, sits a shrivelled mother telling her shrivelled son a fantastical tale from a tattered book, when that’s all that she can feed.

Many have spoken of seeing a bright speck of light at the end of a tunnel they see.

And some see these sparks even when their eyes are shut, their eyeballs darting around, trapped in a vivid dream.

The morning glint can hurt the eyes, or make them dazzle with delight.

The moonlit sky can light a melancholy in the heart, or build the runway for your imagination to fly.

You can embrace it, feel it, or then simply draw the blinds.

But a tiny tenacious ray will pierce through a crack, and fill your heart with a bright light.

Release me..


I could always tell when you were unwell, even when I was in another city.

I always knew when your heart was broken, you didn’t say much but I heard the tiny cracking sound it made.

I felt your nervousness, every time you were preparing for an exam, whether inside the classroom or outside.

Every time you stumbled, every time you picked yourself up, I danced with delight.

Will you forsake me now, only because you can’t see me?

Can you not feel my misery every time you push that plate of food away?

Don’t you feel my tears mixing with yours as you cry into the night?

Haven’t you heard my silent scream every time you say you cannot go on?

Can’t you hear me struggling to breathe when you shut the world out?

What pains me more than my empty lap is seeing you fight life everyday.

I am gone, but why do want to join me now, is there no other way?

Live my dreams, live my life, live my happiness and sorrows.

If you can’t find happiness inside, learn to steal, learn to borrow.

They say I can’t feel much but I die a thousand deaths seeing you suffer.

Release me my little one, tomorrow is a new day, and then there will be another..

Bare


What if you were asked to show your real self? Express your true feelings. Be who you really are. 
Without any masks, without any make up, without any excuses.

Isin’t it scary?

That when every layer is peeled away, like an onion, what you might be left with, could be something pungent and not pleasant.

That when the veneers are gone, you might not even recognise yourself.

They say truth is liberating.

But sometimes it shackles you to the ground. You want to hope, you want to gallop but no matter how hard you pull away, you are what you are.

What will he think? Will I be slotted a fool? Or worse, will I be ostracised?

The truth is they will never know.

Because we do a fantastic job of cloaking ourselves.

Because the world outside the cloak is unknown and too scary.

Manners, social lies, sarcasm,excuses, take a pick and call them what you may

I am certainly no one to preach , but in some eyes, I have seen the serenity of a deveined and de shelled world, that doesn’t have to keep up appearances.

Certainly looks like a peaceful, tranquil place to be.

Is there some such tranquility in store for me?

Only time will tell.

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