Everyone in life suffers an utter shock, something they never expected and it hurts the most when it's from their loved ones. This write up is a traumatic personal experience and I just hope the young audience is able to relate with it to heal oneself. https://www.instagram.com/musingsofakaleidoscopicmind Perfection is a malady Aren't we still healing, my love? Stop letting out those tears You know I can't be there anymore. I never faked that smile you know when you said we were perfect. Until we were not, I did ask her though, Did she never tell you? The pillar you believed she was For us, rusted when she realized That you were trying to get serious about us, She saw how you well you were doing with me, She saw you getting out of your insecurities And boom! Came the day when she started telling you how toxic you were to her And how you will ruin my life (too) How you'll ruin everyone around you The fumes of angst coming out of your body Which neither me nor anyone else saw. No one knew you were suffering And well, as the person you are You maintained this image of "The Eccedendiasist". She was well aware of my fundamentals, you know How I wholeheartedly give all of me to the people I love She saw the chance and took it With every picture Every word Every undeserved apology She rose above me, above us And with that, my love slowly perished. But kid, it's still here The love, the care The overwhelming urge to give you everything you never got as a child. The urge to visit your old home, the one where you grew up, the one where you posed as the "unbothered-about-anything" kid. It's still here, struggling Struggling to make it's way out of my mouth Through my words, through my actions Through my efforts, through my poems! Even after everything went downhill, Everything felt degraded, deteriorated You still told me you loved me and "Never meant to do anything wrong" (But I still hear the whispers) (I still relate to "Deja Vù") (I am unable to forget the looks) (I'm unable to forget the words) With every lie, I lost you I lost us and most importantly, I lost myself Did she win though? Did she? After making me pine over you for hours, for days, for months, the real you! I want to ask her once, "What did you get, K? What did you get out of ruining your best bud? You happy now? Seeing him crumble to pieces, everytime he realizes his blunders? You say you don't even love him but why do I see you green with envy when he defends me against your wrongdoings? Tell me, K" And you, my love Who was there when you were vulnerable? Who was there when the storms inside you became intolerable? When your demons were overpowering you, who showed you light at the end of the tunnle? Who assisted you in waking up to a brighter day? Even today, despite all the grudges, Despite getting my worst nightmares come true in front of my own eyes, hearing words I never thought I'd hear, don't I pull you back again and again and again and again from the outskirts of uttermost darkness? "Oh love, thou art unpleasant!" It makes you open up your chest and your heart and lets the other person just mess you up in their own beautiful ways. When I told you I loved you, I didn't just say it I shouted it, screamed it to let my throat rip. It felt so good that I cried unbearably. Now I stand at the crossroads, remembering everything that happened crushing into the vicinity of the phase that I'm afraid to pass through. Let alone a life lesson, you were my angel in disguise, my brightside whom I "unintentionally groomed" There's no point in reading this and feeling utterly guilty, just tell me what did I do to deserve all this? The last thing I wanted in my life was an ultimatum, between me and her "please choose me" I wished. "never."

Nothing is sufficient to thank her. The devotion and determination that a woman dwells in her heart is priceless. The elegance with a firm belief makes her the aura of love. Her endurance gives birth to the world. She, A flower Blooms well blossoms well enough, Turns entire redolent that ambrosial aura of her , An eternal belle she glints regardless of any spring or autum, Holds it together the abiding beauty of patio. She, A star Gleams enough glows well enough Fluoresce the night sky yet glittering the day one, A perpetual celestial mothering the total cosmos, So affectionate of her nurturing us to glisten ably shine aptly. She, A warmth Benigns enough genials well enough, Each gelid is mellow now that warm hug of her, She, A strength Encourages enough heartens well enough, Pep fills the soul those cheering pats on shoulder, "She is behind the success of a man" as said, Its a flop and she is there to buck up and effort again. She, A woman Famine enough courageous well enough Brings us holds us solaces us tenders us she an eternal cordial, All a trivial she brings a meaning to it and the epitome, She is you she is me she is a women.

This poem explore my fear of intimacy- of being free with my trust & love. Baring your soul only to receive scorn is an acute type of pain, but acceptance is freeing. Leave the cage, take the leap. It is our links to others that keep us grounded. Woe to you, you who hides. You who masks, obfuscates, and denies. You who yearns to welcome others inside, yet never overcomes their pride You long to make friendships that last amidst hardships- to make meaningful relationships, yet you seal your lips You keep them shut, silence as your wealth. You are so hesitant to let go and delve. You insult, you hurt, you release barbs that repel, Forever trapped in a cage you made yourself

A shepherd grazing goats in the green hills. https://instagram.com/jigar.parihar?igshid=kzxxuqjetirg

Kavita says that if you have taken someone's wrong money or if you are greedy for money, then you cannot live a happy life. https://instagram.com/jigar.parihar?igshid=kzxxuqjetirg The merchants of dreams were in the market, were adorned with dishonest jewels, Broken bead of a jewel, An honest hand came on him, heart filled with greed, The sleep chain is all gone, The cloth of honesty is gone, He was adorned with the jewels of dishonesty, The world was broken at home, he got caught in the evil vines, With time, the connection of the heart broke, He went to the crematorium wrapped in earthenware........

“All my what ifs are haunted by you.” Still hanging about Despite my clandestine efforts To hide what's so clearly seen My bones are aching For the touch of my lost love As I am sitting at the dining table With a full appetite for solitude My mind wanders off From the sweet sweet meadows To the devilish of places The dark alley of illusion And I start thinking Memory must be the greatest curse Given to the human beginnings How could just remembering The way your lips move Hurt so much? I tell myself Could have beens Would of beens Are as vicious as Truths within lies Allies within spies

We are all made to believe that adversities are a part of life and that they lead you to your destiny. They say what doesn't kill you makes you strong. But I like to differ. What doesn't kill you leaves you with layers of trauma. This poem marks my disagreement. "Oh! Swim across the brook. Grab the sword of wisdom, Slay those demons one at a time. Sound of lashing water Might render you helpless. Ah! Tread past it all. Ascend the valley. At the end of it all, I shall deliver The Orchard of Oranges. Call it life." Oh! The brook. I swam across it, Fought the demons withal The broken sword. With each curl of water, Insanity crawled in through my lug. Ah! Now bring it to me, The Orchard of Oranges. Let me burn it to brown And call it destiny.

Medium - Scrap Metal welding, 3 x 1 x 1 feet

https://hafizmdyasir.github.io/ I was dead! I had personally felt the chill of the specter on my toenails, and then looked down on the hospital bed on which my body lay. How I got to the hospital is a story for another day. This is not a tragic story, and this is not a ghost story either. This is a tale that will sound impossible and ludicrous, but it is one that deserves telling, and tell I shall, so here goes: When my spirit reached above the clouds, it stopped in a large expanse of nothingness illuminated by an ethereal source of light. All around me, there was nothing except for space dust. Before I could make sense of what was going on… “Welcome to the after-life Martin!” a looming and benevolent voice reached my ears. “Is that God?” I called out, utterly shocked at hearing a voice when I could see nothing. “Yes, Martin. And I have some upsetting news for you.” A comfortable sofa appeared behind me, “I think you should sit down.” “Am I going to hell?” I was trembling at the thought as I lowered myself. Though in retrospect, why would I get a sofa to sit on before going to hell? “No, nothing that severe.” The voice was much softer this time and I heaved a sigh of relief. “God, what is going on? Is this where my fate will be decided?” I asked. “No Martin. I have brought you here because you have work to do.” “Work to do? What do you mean?” Didn’t He have angels for His work? “Most people don’t know this, but all humans are assigned a guardian angel at birth. You were assigned one too, but he turned out to be immensely indolent. He was supposed to protect you today, but instead, he fell asleep. Now, I have called you here to decide his fate, and I will send you back afterwards.” “You mean… you mean I get to go back? I get a second chance?” Well, that was lucky. I hoped I wasn’t being played with because let’s be honest, who in this world has ever done something heaven worthy. I really would have liked to go back. “Yes, Martin. But whether your guardian gets one or not is entirely up to you.” At that moment, the mist in front of me dissipated and revealed a raggedy looking angel who was constrained to a chair with fine silken thread. I felt rather annoyed with him for letting me die. However, before I decided on his punishment, something inside me decided to enquire for his side of the story. I asked him what he had to say for himself. “I am really sorry, Martin!” he replied, “I was really tired. I didn’t get a moment’s sleep last night.” “Why did you stay up so late?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “Why did you?” he replied. I was infuriated at him for putting the blame on me when he was responsible for my death. But looking back, I realized that I really had stayed up rather late last night for a party. The poor guy had been forced to do so as well and now, we were both paying the price. Being equally responsible, I decided the sensible thing would be to forgive and forget. I called out, “God! I know what he deserves.”. “Say it, and it shall be!” “I want him to be forgiven.” I announced my sentence. “You mean you’re totally letting his mistake slide? I can send him down to hell if you like!” A perplexed voice came back. “No.” I said firmly, “His fault isn’t that dire! Let him resume his job of protecting me.” “Very well! Let that be!” With that, I found myself falling down and woke up back on my hospital bed. I was very much alive just like I had been promised. Had it all been a dream? But I could have sworn that there was a fiery gust of wind above me when I woke up. However, it blew away immediately. Two weeks later, there was a knock on my door at around midnight. I groggily got up and opened the door to greet a seven-foot-tall creature covered head to toe in fire! I tried to scream but could find no voice, save for a gasp as I staggered backwards. The creature entered my house and I fell down in sheer horror as it approached. Then, the flames slowly dissipated to reveal the same guardian whom I had forgiven not long ago. Only he was no angel! I had let the mistake of a demon slide and it was now visiting me! I was sure that this was the end, but then, he smiled at me! And it was not the evil curl of a villain’s lips. No, this was a kind and friendly smile as he told me he was incredibly grateful for what I had done. He told me he had ran away from hell when he was just 300 years old and was now trying to live a better life. He hadn’t been sleeping the day I died. Instead, he had been trying to stay hidden from his master in hell. We got to talking and stayed up late once again, exchanging stories over sandwiches. He left some time before three O’ clock. The next day, I got the promotion I had been after for a long time. Not only that, a few subtle changes have come into my life from then on. I get a boost of confidence when most required, and a bad feeling when the milk is about to boil. Every weekend, I am visited by my guardian demon, and we share sandwiches and coffee. I ask him how his life is going, and he asks me the same. Now, I am looking out for him, as much as he is looking out for me.

A curious elderly man enters social media only to find many surprises awaiting him. https://www.instagram.com/jesmaljalal Mr. Max Madison was sixty-one years when he had that vicious thought. He wanted to open an account on social media. He had heard so many people talking about the internet and using words like ‘cyber’ and ‘selfie’. They were talking about a completely different world. In their world, story and status meant the same thing! “He posted a status,” they would cry out in joy. How can one post his status? When his grandson posted a story, Max urged to let him see. But it was some random images going from one after the other. There was no story at all. “You call this a story?” Max asked. “In our times, we call this a slideshow.” “Oh, Grandpa, you can’t understand these things. It’s social media.” His grandson replied coldly. And Max remained just as clueless as before. Max always liked challenges. He was a fighter. He had fought numerous wars for his country. A severe wound on his leg made him retreat from the battlefield. But he was always ready for a fight—be his age sixteen or sixty. So he took up his challenge—to meet this virtual world. There is one more thing. Ever since he retreated from the field, he had a boring life. He would watch television every now and then when there is a game. He would listen to the crappy songs on the radio. He liked small kids, but he is not popular among the kids. Grandpa Max’s war stories of guns and injuries were not interesting. They all had the same elements, same themes. A lot of people die. A few people survive. Boring! When the kids no longer wanted his stories, he took refuge in the world of books. Not just fiction, he wanted to learn about the world as well. He understood science and commerce through books. The books taught him many languages too. He would hop from one subject to other through the valley of books. But he could never understand technology—couldn’t understand the e-world. He wanted desperately to learn the e-world. Now’s the time. His grandson Ralph became his tutor. They are in front of the old desktop computer now. Ralph typed the name and details for his account. “What password do you want, grandpa?” Ralph asked. “Mmm,” Max thought for a minute. “123.” “That’s too short and simple,” Ralph smiled. “We need a complex one for safety purposes. Alright, I will make one.” “Max12345#,” Ralph chirped. “That will do.” “So it’s not a safe world like ours,” Max thought. “It’s unlike what I heard—that it provided a safe personal space to express.” “You need a good username too,” Ralph looked at him eagerly. “How about @coolpops?” Max laughed. “Can’t I be @warhero or something?” “It’s not a striking name,” Ralph shook his head. “You need a cool name for this cool world.” “Cool or uncool. Whatever you wish, kid!” Max really wanted to be @warhero. But he needed to adapt to this world. He needed to be @coolpops. “I have been meaning to ask you this. What’s that spearhead thing?” Max asked curiously. “It’s a cursor.” Ralph proceeded to introduce him to the tools for that new world. The ‘settings’ icon reminded him of the gears in a tank. The ‘Explore’ icon was a compass, which he was very familiar with. The red circles around the people’s images appeared like a bull’s eye for target practice. There were many icons that he memorized as army medals and badges. In the end, Ralph taught him how to post a photo. “I want to post my wartime stories first,” Max argued. “Usually, everyone posts their selfie or photo as their first post,” Ralph pointed out. “Okay. I’m not breaking the tradition then,” Max agreed. Ralph took the photo by the trending filter tool in his phone. Ralph chuckled as he saw the photo. He looked younger and more fair. But he had an awkward smile on his face. It’s not unusual. He always had an awkward face in photos, even in his wedding photo. Max uploaded the photo with a simple caption, ‘Just a normal man on a normal day’. Then his finger hit the button ‘Post’. Max was eager to see the reactions. But it was lunchtime. So he left it to go for lunch. Quickly finishing lunch, Max rushed to the computer. Many people have already reacted to his post within this short time. To his utter dismay, most of them were hate reactions. He was taken aback when he scrolled down to see the comments. “How dare he call himself ‘normal’, like it’s some supreme position?” one commented. “You have no right to define what is normal!” shouted another one. “Who the hell he think he is! He is offending all the ‘abnormal’ people!” Another one expressed their deep concern. All these comments got thousands of likes. But his post only 35 reactions in total. This was utterly a new experience for Max. He had never encountered such personalities in his life. They didn’t make any sense. Seemed like Max was on a totally different planet. And the natives were pouring showers of curses at this foreign visitor. Now Max saw what Ralph told him during lunch a while ago. “Sometimes, people don’t make any sense there. Better shrug them off.” At that time, Max had smirked them off. Well, he had seen so many grenades thrown aimlessly at him. If he can survive those stupid throws at the war front, then some stupidity in this world is a piece of cake! And he was wrong. This is way beyond normal stupidity. Max realized that he was facing a different kind of species. But Max is a fighter. He can’t shrug them off unnoticed. In order to explore this world, he needed to communicate with these beings. (Poor thing!) He replied, “I was just saying that I’m a normal man.” “Who knows what is and isn’t normal?” came the reply. “Don’t everyone know what a normal thing is?” Max shot back. “NO! Who defined what normal is?” “The English Dictionary!” Max replied, trying to ease the mood. It’s a funny reply, but not for them. And the situation is much worse than he ever guessed. “Do you believe this old shit? He is joking over this serious issue!” It started with this sentence, and a flood of trendy curses followed. “I said I am an ordinary man!” Max tried to hold on among them. “Ordinary and normal don’t mean the same, you old fool!” Even small kids cursed at him like they had seen the devil. Maybe the English dictionary is different in this world! This species had its own dictionary. He wondered what normal means in that dictionary. Well, it won’t be a very different dictionary because he could understand most of those curses. He needed to adapt. So he commenced a different approach. He edited the caption and posted the same picture again. It read- ‘Just a man on an ordinary day.’ The comment soon flooded in a matter of seconds. This time, they needed to know who told him what is ordinary and what isn’t. In fact, he was offending all the other 363 days by calling this ordinary! Like before, Max scrolled down to see if anyone ever supported him. His eyes caught one. “Leave him alone. He is an old man—” Max smiled, but not for long. “—an old fool dwelling in the 60s. Don’t expect him to know what ordinary is as of today.” Enough of this craziness! Max didn’t want to hear these comments anymore. He decided to go on mute to communicate with these beings. This time, he posted the photo without a caption. With his clasped hands on his face and his elbow on the table, Max waited eagerly for their reaction. They were silent. Max took a sigh—no response is better than any response for him now. Then a hate comment appeared under his post. It has started. “Do you really think you can escape those previous offenses by posting a blank caption?” “Apologise, you old fool! #justice_for_abnormal.” A tsunami of hashtags and derogatory comments hit him. He stood helpless and alone in that disaster. He was a baby trying desperately to stand up. But he couldn’t. Just then, he saw a familiar face among the ones who were giving him hell. Max looked up his profile. It was indeed him—Sam, his neighbor. The same Sam who greeted him and laughed with him nicely that morning. Why is he cursing Max now? Max went to have a private chat with Sam through the same platform. At least he would understand and help him out of this misery. But Max was in for a surprise. This Sam didn’t understand him. He replied to Max like an alien, just like everyone else. This version of Sam was utterly different—no longer that sweet Sam who invited him for dinner. He was @theSlayerSam, the savage who spitted out toxicity and rode along with the general tide of the arguments. He couldn’t be questioned. He gives only answers—to everything under the sun. And poor Max hoped to post his wartime stories of bloodshed among these species! Max stared at the screen as each new comment popped up with new words across various languages. He didn’t notice Ralph coming to the room. Ralph laughed and said, “No worries. A simple trick would do.” Then he took hold of the mouse. “Just go to Settings, hit ‘Log Out’. Vola!” Ralph did as he spoke. Max grasped a bottle of water and finished it in one go. He needed it. He had fought the most brutal war in his life. And lost it—because he couldn’t understand what he was indeed fighting! Somehow, he felt excited. He had seen a new reality, a new world—a world of strange personalities and definitions. That evening, Max ordered a book online. As soon as the book arrived, he leaned back in his armchair and began reading. Ralph saw the book and burst into laughter. Its title ran, ‘How to be normal in social media?’

Big Pharma has a hold on our country. Without wealth, there is little healthcare and our people suffer for it every day. The cost of mental health is especially high, as it is still not considered a priority of healthcare providers. what a pill this is? the kind Alice would turn away nothing to make me envelop a room or petite to a caterpillar merely a stabilizer an evens for my odds what a particular sensation one of calmed calamity sedated sedition or a swallowed sob now my mind can be trusted at the cost of American medicine the Queen of Hearts keeping my peace captive in orange bottles she cries, “Out of your head!” but with a humbled confidence I can at least crush white roses closed in a fist and admit who I am

A poetry piece that attempts to decipher and portray the chaos present in our society and humankind's meek attempts at survival. It was Almaty this time, A protest over fuel price hike. And Kazakhstan fell- a riot for Survival. Crowds unrest, teeth bared, Violence innate. Tear gas canisters- bullets and bodies. A cycle that will repeat. Humanity- Primal instincts overtaken. Claws and teeth, hands and pickaxes Survival over democracy. And a government to be toppled Will retaliate back, Violence- the ultimate answer, a tale the same since the dawn of humanity Maybe it will be Kerala next Or Georgia or Lagos. Be it a protest for food, rights, air- Blood shall flow, if anything goes. Just how much more to shed? To survive? Be free? A question left for the violence that takes over.