He is threatened by the fangs of truth,
Of the claws he had once dismissed,
As not a threat.
It will be his downfall.
Regarded as a harmless bunny,
But in actuality a crouching leopard,
He's coming to tame it.
What a joke.
– Arsh
Day Eleven: A Sailor’s Tale
The sailor is one with stories plentiful,
Ranging from Daring escapes to Romantic escapades.
Their only constant,
I suppose, would be the free wandering
Of the jolly old sailor himself.
“For I was thrown from Untruthful shores,
Left in the mercy of
The Collector of Souls,
Its cruel torrents continue to rage,
Leaving my sailin’ self
With a gruelling task at the Doors of Fate.”
He vividly paints the scene,
Detailed to an extent
You would think it was just yesterday
His triumph or tragedy was finished.
“Following the Marine path,
My crumbling heart hath
Stymied the Crimson wrath.”
His Colloquial accent is distinct,
Somehow adding to his narrating style,
With nuanced details one would never notice
Lest one is actually there.
“For I must walk this path alone,
Torment for the crimes for which I atone.”
As authentic as it feels,
None of it is real,
As I so begrudgingly got him to spill
One day, when he was drunk.
He told me,
“These sins are not my own,
A wild imagining, if anything,
Of a life lost to the sands of Time.”
Whose is this life story?
Even the old sailor does not know.
But the unknown soul was immortalised,
Never to be forgotten for their deeds.
– Maya Desdemona
The eye
All-seeing and all-knowing,
It memorializes everything you do.
Constantly evolving yet unchanging,
The eye judges if you are worthy.
– Arsh
Day Ten: Always
Does anyone else wonder,
How permanent 'Always' is?
"I will always be with you."
"We always need a shoulder to rely on."
"You will always be haunted by your sins."
"They will always consider you different."
Every 'Always' we hear,
We seem to forget,
Chemistry's first rule.
Stating that Change is Constant.
What guarantee do we have,
That we will not see better,
Or worse days?
"This too shall pass"
A wise person once said,
And this ideology
Happens to be the one I believe in.
– Maya Desdemona
Control
Falling through a vicious sinkhole,
My mind spirals out of control.
One thing out of place,
And everything has gone to waste.
My control over this,
Has to be absolute.
Else most everything I've done,
Will mean less than nothing.
– Arsh
Day Nine: A Moth
It was only today I noticed,
That around my home
A moth hopelessly circled round.
It was nothing extraordinary,
Most certainly not the first either.
Yet its pale and ghostly hovering,
Left me dark and pensive.
Its almost lethargic flapping,
Seeking only a place of darkness,
As in its mind, a safety was only found there.
And a wardrobe could not be an option.
For the wardrobe, the ghastly thing,
Only gave an illusion of comfort.
And all that is in there,
Is its predecessor's remains.
And so, I simply watched,
Knowing its fate,
As its tireless flight
Slowly withered away.
Yet it kept flying in circles
Flying around the entire house,
From room to room
And nook to cranny
Exploring every possible place for some rest.
As its flying became desperate,
Hopelessly looking again and again,
I wondered if it ever questioned,
What it was doing in the first place.
Why was the darkness so necessary for it?
It seemed to be fine in the light,
Yet it was restless,
Looking for it in a room full of brightness.
Did it not see the darkness outside the window?
Did it realise it could not go through it?
Had it already tried that?
These questions thoughtlessly floated in my brain.
I don't know how long I sat there thinking,
But eventually,
I observed that the moth was nowhere to be seen.
I do not know whether it is alive or dead.
I wonder if it ever realised that
It had no escape unless we opened a window for it.
– Maya Desdemona
Panopticon
This prison of my mind,
Is perfect for me.
I cannot leave,
And neither can I stay.
No interaction with myself,
Slowly going insane.
This really is the most perfect prison,
A prison of the mind.
– Arsh
Day Eight: My Mother And Birds
If there is any being on Earth
That could even compare to my Mother,
It would be a Bird.
Not just any one at that!
With the might of an Eagle
And the wit of a Raven,
She would be the kind of bird
To soar over treetops
And chirp happily with the other fowl.
She would not be a shrill bird either.
With the voice of a lark,
She would sing melodies that
Great poets could not even compare.
In every sense,
She would be an early bird.
Pecking us if we didn't wake up
To her chirping.
She would be free to glide
All over the World,
but would still choose her nest
to return to at the end of each day.
Now, Human or Bird,
I wish only one thing.
That my Mom remains happy,
And that one thing is enough.
– Maya Desdemona
The Sea
The sea is beauty in cruelty,
Cruelty in beauty.
It is constant and ever-changing,
Linear and paradoxical.
The sea both gives and takes,
Both sailors fortunes and their doom.
The sea is indifferent to all,
And yet a caring mistress.
The sea is a beauty unto itself,
Both calm and turbulent.
It is everything at once,
And it is my only love.
– Arsh
Betrayal
I watch as you bring me down,
Stare silently as I watch my fall.
My hope has already withered,
I once used to trust you.
Everything was so perfect,
I don't know why it had to change.
I don't know why you did it,
I can't help but ask why.
My faith in you is gone,
I will never trust you again.
My god, why did I ever trust you,
I think I might hate you.
– Arsh
Luminousis 