Just A Small Rant

via Daily Prompt: Instinct

I don’t share my grief with people.

Call it instinct. Or call it pride.

Show of sympathy by others when I’m grieving is just that – a show. “I understand what you’ve been through…” No, you don’t. You are just trying to make me feel better, which I appreciate, but the words you speak are as genuine as Donald Trump’s tan.

When I’m grieving, leave me to myself. If you want to help, make a cup of tea.

Don’t give me the “There is a life after death”, “It was meant to be” bullshit. Please.

I may not be an adult, but that doesn’t mean you need to dumb down serious things like death for me. If it hurts, it hurts. No two ways about it.

I like my tablets like I like my words – without sugarcoating.

 

Burn

Bitter recollections

Unwilling to

Remember all the mistakes

Nevertheless, think of them again.

BURN them,

As you would burn

Useless trash to get rid of them.

BURN them,

As you would burn

Wood to give you warmth.

BURN your fears,

Your sadness, your horrors,

Your insecurities,

Your worst memories.

BURN your flaws,

The criticisms,

The self-loathing

And hatred you’ve always had.

And blow your problems away,

Just as you blow away these ashes,

And always believe in

A better life, without scars.

Talk To Me

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

Flash that grin once again at me

It will last me for an eternity.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

A whisper in that husky voice

Will silence all my heart’s noise.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

I’m ready to wait for an infinity

To see that familiar wink at me.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

I miss your ringing laughter,

But I’ll love you forever after.

Oh, talk to me, please!

For Poetry 101 Rehab.

Status

England Razes Australia To Ashes

The Ashes!

The Ashes!

I am probably the only cricket fan to be more worried with Michael Clarke retiring than England winning the Ashes.

Michael Clarke!

Michael Clarke!

Face it, Pup is one of the best Test cricketers our generation has ever seen. With a top score of 329* and an overall score of 8,615 in Tests, you just cannot deny that Clarke is THE BEST.

I’ve always had a crush on him and was shattered when he announced his retirement from ODIs. Now that he has retired from Tests, I’m sure I’ll never enjoy Australia playing again.

Maybe I just have to hope that his last match at the Oval turns out great. Goodbye Pup.. ūüė¶

Oh, I almost forgot. Congratulations to England for successfully making Michael Clarke retire winning  the Ashes!

Letting It Go

I’m back there again. Lying on the pillow-cover, damp with my tears. Clutching the Nokia E63,¬†hanging onto whatever is left of my life. The darkness is all-consuming.

Memories course through me. Or rather, they don’t. A person who cared for me was dead, and I don’t remember even a single thing about him. Not even his face. The guilt swallowed me up, choking me, strangling me.

I scream silently. Tears streak my face. Red and puffy, my eyes are trying to secrete as many water droplets as they can. Their salty taste do not quench my thirst.

Why am I like this? Why am I so thankless, heartless? Why do I go through life as if it’s another one of my books – quick and speedy? Why don’t I remember little acts of kindness done to me? Why am I friendless? Why don’t people like me? Why am I ugly?

As these meaningless stream of thoughts flow along with the tears, I scream silently again. The next scream is struck in my throat – neither in nor out. I sob quietly. Praying that they wash away my failures.

I hear the strains of Iridescent. My mobile. I almost forgot. I focus on the lyrics, trying to drown my noisy thoughts.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation/ You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known/ Remember all the sadness and frustration/ Then let it go/ Let it go…

Suddenly, I felt light-hearted again. Why do I need to struggle with so much negativity when I could let it all go? Let it all wash over me?

Thank you, Mike Shinoda, for helping me remember that it’s best not to hang on to stuff that hurts. That leaving painful things behind helps us to move forward.

And that’s what I did.

I let it go.

The Irony: Part Five

I tore my eyes away from the mirror with great difficulty. I had been staring at my reflection: those dark, brooding eyes, with bags under them. The long, black, hair, caked with blood. The thin, gaunt, face, drained of colour, with hollow cheekbones,  staring with empty eyes.

Had I really become like this?¬†Was I, Draupadi, the daughter of Drupada,¬†reduced to such a condition? Was I the once lovable princess, who was now¬†mocked as¬†the ‘Dusky Firebrand’?

And it doesn’t seem so long back too…


It was with great difficulty that I could tear my eyes away from the mirror. My lustrous face had a sort of grim beauty in it.  My dark, beautiful eyes radiated power. My long, black hair was braided with thin skeins of gold. Glistening diamonds dripped from my neck. Colourful butterflies flew in my stomach.

“Draupadi,” my best friend said, “It’s time now.”

I ran up to Krishna and hugged him. “I’ll miss you,” I gasped, my breaths is short bursts.

“Come now, Draupadi. It’s not like you’re abandoning me. I’m married, I have a family of my own. It’s high time you got married too. And off you go!”

Easy for him to say. He simply eloped with the girl he wanted and had a happily-ever-after. The man I wanted to marry…he was dead. His remains were charred beyond recognition. I was distraught.

“Here enters Her Royal Highness, Prince Draupadi!” the guard announced, while trumpets rented the air. I absolutely hated that sound.

I could feel hundred-and-twenty pairs of eyes on me. All the good-for-nothing princes who wanted my hand in marriage. And to marry me, they had to fulfil the impossible task…

“Gentlemen, I’m deeply honoured by your presence here. I understand that all of you are gathered here to marry my daughter,” Drupada said.

The crowd stirred uneasily. They all had heard that some impossible task had been designed for my swayamvar. The one who succeeded first could marry me. That meant it could be anyone. Ugh.

“Look yonder. The princes vying for Draupadi’s hand has to string¬†this bow made of metal,” many disappointed sighs could be heard, “and shoot only one arrow at the eye of a revolving fish, while looking only at its reflection in a bowl of water.”

As soon as these words were said, half of the princes present got up, and with arrogant sneers on their face, left the palace. I sighed in relief. Atleast most of the ugly ones had gone.

I glanced at Krishna. He was sitting motionless. I blinked out some tears. This whole, elaborate, set-up was designed in such a way that only Arjuna, the greatest archer in the world, could shoot the fish. And he was dead.

It was with great difficulty that I had managed to get over Arjuna’s death. Krishna was Arjuna’s best friend. He had never shown any sign of grief, so I guessed that he was still in shock.

The next few hours went in a blur for me. None of the princes couldn’t even lift the bow. They had no chance of marrying me. What losers.

Suddenly, I sat up.

He was tall and handsome, dressed in a golden armour, and wearing earrings as bright as the sun. His jet black fell elegantly on his face as he fixed his determined opal black eyes on me.

In short, he was GORGEOUS.

He picked up the bow with surprising ease. I stared at him, mesmerized. He lifted the bow, ready to shoot, when…

“Draupadi, Draupadi!” Krishna hissed from his throne.

“Isn’t he gorgeous?” I sighed.

“Silly girl, do you know who he is?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“He is Karna.”

(to be continued)