Responsibility
(A gunshot and a call of duty, or was it?)
*tring tring tring*
The telephone sound was the sign of life in the otherwise silent Police Control Room. Late night calls were part of the routine. Captain Kumar received the phone, "Police control room".
"Sir, th....there's a...an em...emergency in mmm...my bb..building ", the voice stuttered.
"Calm down Sir, we are here to help you", Kumar replied patiently. Nobody spoke for a minute.
"Sir???", he wished it wasn't a prank call. He heard a gulp from the other side.
"Sir, I am sensing a suspicious move from my neighbour's house, probably there's some arms and ammunition", the man was frightened.
"Can you help me write the complete address"
***
After fifteen minutes, 3 police vans arrived at the location, sirens rippling the dreams of many. Amid the sirens, a sound came from the target apartment, it was a gunshot.
" The police has circled the complete building, you have no chance but to surrender ". Kumar yelled through the microphone. After a moment of silence, the police team ascended to the building, gradually approaching the apartment. They met a man on the stairs. "Sir, I called you". He told the captain, controlling his breath. After a minute of precaution, they shot the door of the apartment and one constable entered, the others covering him.
"Sir, He shot himself ". Kumar lurched to the apartment. The corpse was supine on a cushion, holding the gun with the right hand. The bullet had crossed the head, blood was still flooding. A glance around, he witnessed a blood bathed note, it read,
"My neighbour can smell the danger but not the depression".
-A.Q.Bilal
#shortstory #review #aqbilal
(A gunshot and a call of duty, or was it?)
*tring tring tring*
The telephone sound was the sign of life in the otherwise silent Police Control Room. Late night calls were part of the routine. Captain Kumar received the phone, "Police control room".
"Sir, th....there's a...an em...emergency in mmm...my bb..building ", the voice stuttered.
"Calm down Sir, we are here to help you", Kumar replied patiently. Nobody spoke for a minute.
"Sir???", he wished it wasn't a prank call. He heard a gulp from the other side.
"Sir, I am sensing a suspicious move from my neighbour's house, probably there's some arms and ammunition", the man was frightened.
"Can you help me write the complete address"
***
After fifteen minutes, 3 police vans arrived at the location, sirens rippling the dreams of many. Amid the sirens, a sound came from the target apartment, it was a gunshot.
" The police has circled the complete building, you have no chance but to surrender ". Kumar yelled through the microphone. After a moment of silence, the police team ascended to the building, gradually approaching the apartment. They met a man on the stairs. "Sir, I called you". He told the captain, controlling his breath. After a minute of precaution, they shot the door of the apartment and one constable entered, the others covering him.
"Sir, He shot himself ". Kumar lurched to the apartment. The corpse was supine on a cushion, holding the gun with the right hand. The bullet had crossed the head, blood was still flooding. A glance around, he witnessed a blood bathed note, it read,
"My neighbour can smell the danger but not the depression".
-A.Q.Bilal
#shortstory #review #aqbilal
#article
#review
Down to earth means being open and honest. It is easy to deal with down to earth people.
In our life, also we know so many people who are very down to earth people. Down to earth people always accept other equal to them. It is always pleasure for everyone to meet down to earth people. Down to earth people could be important members of our society. But they don not consider themselves better than others who are less important.
We can take many examples from our history like Dr APJ Abdul kalam, Sardar vallabhbhai patel etc. Most of us is aware the life of apj abdul kalam. He was very polite and honest person. He never consider him self as president of india, he always consider him as simple person.
After achieving success, many people change their behaviour. Their success reach go to their heads. And that's why people say after some time you are the egoists person, you have ego,that person have ego etc..But always remember if you really want that people give you respect even after your die then always try to become person like down to earth.
Thanks
#review
Down to earth means being open and honest. It is easy to deal with down to earth people.
In our life, also we know so many people who are very down to earth people. Down to earth people always accept other equal to them. It is always pleasure for everyone to meet down to earth people. Down to earth people could be important members of our society. But they don not consider themselves better than others who are less important.
We can take many examples from our history like Dr APJ Abdul kalam, Sardar vallabhbhai patel etc. Most of us is aware the life of apj abdul kalam. He was very polite and honest person. He never consider him self as president of india, he always consider him as simple person.
After achieving success, many people change their behaviour. Their success reach go to their heads. And that's why people say after some time you are the egoists person, you have ego,that person have ego etc..But always remember if you really want that people give you respect even after your die then always try to become person like down to earth.
Thanks
Responsibility
(A gunshot and a call of duty, or was it?)
*tring tring tring*
The telephone sound was the sign of life in the otherwise silent Police Control Room. Late night calls were part of the routine. Captain Kumar received the phone, "Police control room".
"Sir, th....there's a...an em...emergency in mmm...my bb..building ", the voice stuttered.
"Calm down Sir, we are here to help you", Kumar replied patiently. Nobody spoke for a minute.
"Sir???", he wished it wasn't a prank call. He heard a gulp from the other side.
"Sir, I am sensing a suspicious move from my neighbour's house, probably there's some arms and ammunition", the man was frightened.
"Can you help me write the complete address"
***
After fifteen minutes, 3 police vans arrived at the location, sirens rippling the dreams of many. Amid the sirens, a sound came from the target apartment, it was a gunshot.
" The police has circled the complete building, you have no chance but to surrender ". Kumar yelled through the microphone. After a moment of silence, the police team ascended to the building, gradually approaching the apartment. They met a man on the stairs. "Sir, I called you". He told the captain, controlling his breath. After a minute of precaution, they shot the door of the apartment and one constable entered, the others covering him.
"Sir, He shot himself ". Kumar lurched to the apartment. The corpse was supine on a cushion, holding the gun with the right hand. The bullet had crossed the head, blood was still flooding. A glance around, he witnessed a blood bathed note, it read,
"My neighbour can smell the danger but not the depression".
-A.Q.Bilal
#Shortstory #review #aqbilal
(A gunshot and a call of duty, or was it?)
*tring tring tring*
The telephone sound was the sign of life in the otherwise silent Police Control Room. Late night calls were part of the routine. Captain Kumar received the phone, "Police control room".
"Sir, th....there's a...an em...emergency in mmm...my bb..building ", the voice stuttered.
"Calm down Sir, we are here to help you", Kumar replied patiently. Nobody spoke for a minute.
"Sir???", he wished it wasn't a prank call. He heard a gulp from the other side.
"Sir, I am sensing a suspicious move from my neighbour's house, probably there's some arms and ammunition", the man was frightened.
"Can you help me write the complete address"
***
After fifteen minutes, 3 police vans arrived at the location, sirens rippling the dreams of many. Amid the sirens, a sound came from the target apartment, it was a gunshot.
" The police has circled the complete building, you have no chance but to surrender ". Kumar yelled through the microphone. After a moment of silence, the police team ascended to the building, gradually approaching the apartment. They met a man on the stairs. "Sir, I called you". He told the captain, controlling his breath. After a minute of precaution, they shot the door of the apartment and one constable entered, the others covering him.
"Sir, He shot himself ". Kumar lurched to the apartment. The corpse was supine on a cushion, holding the gun with the right hand. The bullet had crossed the head, blood was still flooding. A glance around, he witnessed a blood bathed note, it read,
"My neighbour can smell the danger but not the depression".
-A.Q.Bilal
#Shortstory #review #aqbilal
NEVER GIVE UP.
The lady with a baby on her lap
Said quitting is a trap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life is an endless lap
Said the athlete after a nap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life is an overflowing tap
That can drown or fill up.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life has no map
Even pilots just let it unwrap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life will always be a death trap
The judge said to avoid any mishap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life will always have a gap,
Between the good and the scrap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Only after you avoid the rattrap
Will life then cheer and clap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
#poem #review #rocky
The lady with a baby on her lap
Said quitting is a trap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life is an endless lap
Said the athlete after a nap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life is an overflowing tap
That can drown or fill up.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life has no map
Even pilots just let it unwrap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life will always be a death trap
The judge said to avoid any mishap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Life will always have a gap,
Between the good and the scrap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
Only after you avoid the rattrap
Will life then cheer and clap.
Never give up
You still got to live up.
#poem #review #rocky
The Season of Monsoon
I'm sitting near the window, And
Listening songs in the earphone;
Outside, Drizzle rain's continues;
The birds are looking for a place –
to escape the rain...
The smell of wet clay is coming,
And, small seeds have sprouted;
The peacock's dancing in the rain
And, The caterpillars are –
hiding under the leaves...
The sun's rays are fading, And
The clouds are trying to cover it;
Hungry chicks of chakli are crying
Their mother has gone to find –
food for their chicks...
The green sheet seems to have
spread on the earth due to rain; And
The drops of water seem to be –
raining like prayers...
- Akash Kumar
#Akash #Review #poem
Meaning
Chakli - sperrow
I'm sitting near the window, And
Listening songs in the earphone;
Outside, Drizzle rain's continues;
The birds are looking for a place –
to escape the rain...
The smell of wet clay is coming,
And, small seeds have sprouted;
The peacock's dancing in the rain
And, The caterpillars are –
hiding under the leaves...
The sun's rays are fading, And
The clouds are trying to cover it;
Hungry chicks of chakli are crying
Their mother has gone to find –
food for their chicks...
The green sheet seems to have
spread on the earth due to rain; And
The drops of water seem to be –
raining like prayers...
- Akash Kumar
#Akash #Review #poem
Meaning
Chakli - sperrow
|| Let This, For you be poetry ||
One day, when all the poets die
and there is left below the sky
Just waters, kissed by lunar light
that gleam and ripple in the night;
let this, for you, be poetry.
When pens and quills have all grown cold
take autumn’s glades of gleaming gold,
where fragrant fires and balmy breeze
do burn and breathe through trembling trees;
let this, for you, be poetry.
While lovers ‘neath the pearly moon
still sigh and sing and sweetly swoon,
with lips, that laugh and love and tease;
when beauty breathes from hearts like these;
let this, for you, be poetry.
When swifts and swallows swoop in spring
and skylarks soar aloft to sing,
while sun sets silent off the shore
and sea does seethe and rave and roar;
let this, for you, be poetry.
One day, when all the poets die
and in their graves the poets lie,
upon the heath, go fill your arms,
with honeysuckle’s tender charms;
let this, for you, be poetry.
#review #Saviour #poetry
One day, when all the poets die
and there is left below the sky
Just waters, kissed by lunar light
that gleam and ripple in the night;
let this, for you, be poetry.
When pens and quills have all grown cold
take autumn’s glades of gleaming gold,
where fragrant fires and balmy breeze
do burn and breathe through trembling trees;
let this, for you, be poetry.
While lovers ‘neath the pearly moon
still sigh and sing and sweetly swoon,
with lips, that laugh and love and tease;
when beauty breathes from hearts like these;
let this, for you, be poetry.
When swifts and swallows swoop in spring
and skylarks soar aloft to sing,
while sun sets silent off the shore
and sea does seethe and rave and roar;
let this, for you, be poetry.
One day, when all the poets die
and in their graves the poets lie,
upon the heath, go fill your arms,
with honeysuckle’s tender charms;
let this, for you, be poetry.
#review #Saviour #poetry
#review
remember the last line you said to me
remember the last date we meet
remember the last story we read
remember the last seen we live of each others side
everything was the worst
remember the last line you said to me
remember the last date we meet
remember the last story we read
remember the last seen we live of each others side
everything was the worst
The white moon is weak
Depending on who it meets
The sun or the coward;
It smiles or it frowns
#AhmadMusa #poem #review
Depending on who it meets
The sun or the coward;
It smiles or it frowns
#AhmadMusa #poem #review
O my child, dont you fear,
You will become a greatest sire.
Don't cry, don't you dare,
World is deaf they don't hear.
Hungry beasts will snatch your steak,
Be strong, world's not for weak.
Humans are fake, truth is money,
Mug it well, mug it honey.
Snakes and wolfs and jackals here,
Be careful, predators everywhere.
Hereafter don't show your pain,
Nothing will you ever gain.
Never you shall exceed trust,
Seldom then you'll get hurt.
Even if it's hard to survive.
Take your chances and always strive.
Walk forward, towards the light.
Your future will be bright.
Endeavour and be a warrior.
Cause, World hoping for a saviour.
Show them light, show them path.
Guard them from those vultures wrath.
#Adi
#review
#poem
You will become a greatest sire.
Don't cry, don't you dare,
World is deaf they don't hear.
Hungry beasts will snatch your steak,
Be strong, world's not for weak.
Humans are fake, truth is money,
Mug it well, mug it honey.
Snakes and wolfs and jackals here,
Be careful, predators everywhere.
Hereafter don't show your pain,
Nothing will you ever gain.
Never you shall exceed trust,
Seldom then you'll get hurt.
Even if it's hard to survive.
Take your chances and always strive.
Walk forward, towards the light.
Your future will be bright.
Endeavour and be a warrior.
Cause, World hoping for a saviour.
Show them light, show them path.
Guard them from those vultures wrath.
#Adi
#review
#poem
👍1
Today, while I was cleaning every corner of my house with an unused cloth, a thought came in my mind.
"Suppose I would do this in an orphanage, or some NGO, and upload a photo of it. I’ll be in the good books of everyone. People will like me."
The thought didn’t last though. But it was there. Sweeping just four rooms of my house, for one day, and it was there.
Whatever things we do, we do it for recognition or money.
If you don’t believe me, take a few examples from your life. From mine, I’ll point out a few. Writing this post: recognition. Education: money. Buying fancy clothes: recognition. Learning how to invest: money.
These are just clear examples. Nothing brainstorming here. Dive in a little deeper, and you’ll know that everything is related to these two. Recognition and money. Recognition from girls counts, too. Okay?
Now, look at your mother.
Look at the nameplate of your house. Is there her original surname on it? Or even her name? No? Recognition— cross.
Is she a housewife who works at least twelve to fourteen hours a day? Yes? Does she make money out of it? No? Money— cross.
—
Whenever I come across a term called woman, I cross it down. I replace it with mother. And when I glance at this word now, I see everything.
I see the whole goddamn world in it.
Because why not? She’s the one who doesn’t work for recognition or money, she works for the love she has for me and my family. Nothing else.
As a closure, there’s a Hindi excerpt that’s very close to my heart. I’d like to share this with you.
"Akhsar dekha hai maine
Purush kavi hota hai
Daarshnik hota hai
Filmkaar hota hai
Chitrakaar hota hai
Bahut bechain hai kuch rachne ke liye
Kyunki wo kabhi jeevan nhi rach sakta
Kyuki wo kabhi maa nahi bann sakta."
Translation:
I have seen it too often,
A man is a poet,
A philosopher,
A director,
A painter,
He’s very restless to create something,
As he can’t create a life.
Because he can never become a mother.
#review #Saviour #random
"Suppose I would do this in an orphanage, or some NGO, and upload a photo of it. I’ll be in the good books of everyone. People will like me."
The thought didn’t last though. But it was there. Sweeping just four rooms of my house, for one day, and it was there.
Whatever things we do, we do it for recognition or money.
If you don’t believe me, take a few examples from your life. From mine, I’ll point out a few. Writing this post: recognition. Education: money. Buying fancy clothes: recognition. Learning how to invest: money.
These are just clear examples. Nothing brainstorming here. Dive in a little deeper, and you’ll know that everything is related to these two. Recognition and money. Recognition from girls counts, too. Okay?
Now, look at your mother.
Look at the nameplate of your house. Is there her original surname on it? Or even her name? No? Recognition— cross.
Is she a housewife who works at least twelve to fourteen hours a day? Yes? Does she make money out of it? No? Money— cross.
—
Whenever I come across a term called woman, I cross it down. I replace it with mother. And when I glance at this word now, I see everything.
I see the whole goddamn world in it.
Because why not? She’s the one who doesn’t work for recognition or money, she works for the love she has for me and my family. Nothing else.
As a closure, there’s a Hindi excerpt that’s very close to my heart. I’d like to share this with you.
"Akhsar dekha hai maine
Purush kavi hota hai
Daarshnik hota hai
Filmkaar hota hai
Chitrakaar hota hai
Bahut bechain hai kuch rachne ke liye
Kyunki wo kabhi jeevan nhi rach sakta
Kyuki wo kabhi maa nahi bann sakta."
Translation:
I have seen it too often,
A man is a poet,
A philosopher,
A director,
A painter,
He’s very restless to create something,
As he can’t create a life.
Because he can never become a mother.
#review #Saviour #random
Why's a man who?
Why's a beast what?
What does he has?
What does it lack?
Men brag of brain
Beasts also think
Why's he a man?
Why's it a beast?
He has two scales
It has just one
Mood and morals
It lives on mood
#review #poem #AhmadMusa
Why's a beast what?
What does he has?
What does it lack?
Men brag of brain
Beasts also think
Why's he a man?
Why's it a beast?
He has two scales
It has just one
Mood and morals
It lives on mood
#review #poem #AhmadMusa
#shortstory #review #aqbilal
He wrote a piece. Read it, and after some thought, deleted it. Suddenly, he wrote it again, rephrasing some sentences and changing the tone, better than the previous one. He copied the text to a social media website and saved it as a draft. Before he published, he made some changes here and there, making it poetic and beautiful.
"You are a genius, man", somebody commented. "It seems the words are at your service, brother", the other one wrote. He sighed and kept the phone on side table. A notification popped up,
"You write too good, I'd love to talk to you".
"N-o- y-o-u-u-u wo-wo-won't", he thought aloud, stuttering as usual.
-A.Q.Bilal
He wrote a piece. Read it, and after some thought, deleted it. Suddenly, he wrote it again, rephrasing some sentences and changing the tone, better than the previous one. He copied the text to a social media website and saved it as a draft. Before he published, he made some changes here and there, making it poetic and beautiful.
"You are a genius, man", somebody commented. "It seems the words are at your service, brother", the other one wrote. He sighed and kept the phone on side table. A notification popped up,
"You write too good, I'd love to talk to you".
"N-o- y-o-u-u-u wo-wo-won't", he thought aloud, stuttering as usual.
-A.Q.Bilal
#review #aqbilal
|Writing And the Life|
Writing has a life of its own, with soft and hard breaks. You take a soft break, and the idea is suspended in readers mind: connecting it to the next one. The light breaks add beauty, and the hard one makes it clear. The clarity is the heartbeat of the writing. Pauses, after a limit, make the writing clumsy and untidy. Ideas with a lot of soft breaks are difficult to comprehend. The brain can’t bear suspension more than its limit. Both the breaks are wheels to advance a drive but the hard one makes it clear. And clarity is what you need. Take a break, a long one.
-A.Q.Bilal
|Writing And the Life|
Writing has a life of its own, with soft and hard breaks. You take a soft break, and the idea is suspended in readers mind: connecting it to the next one. The light breaks add beauty, and the hard one makes it clear. The clarity is the heartbeat of the writing. Pauses, after a limit, make the writing clumsy and untidy. Ideas with a lot of soft breaks are difficult to comprehend. The brain can’t bear suspension more than its limit. Both the breaks are wheels to advance a drive but the hard one makes it clear. And clarity is what you need. Take a break, a long one.
-A.Q.Bilal
#review
Your rhymes in your poetry are so complex
I like how deep and rich this character is
This plot twist is amazing 👌
Well done 👏👏
Your rhymes in your poetry are so complex
I like how deep and rich this character is
This plot twist is amazing 👌
Well done 👏👏
| A Song Of Sorrow |
My soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away
His was a sad and sorry plight
A pretty poor pathetic sight
He seemed ~ as such, resembled me!
Since I myself know misery
For loss of Love's a tragic thing
As troubadours would often sing
In pain-filled, medieval times
They’d pluck their lyres, recite their rhymes
Composed laments of long-lost love
They penned, as pleas, to God above
For healing of their heart and mind
(They saw in God, the caring kind)
Their verse performed would touch and tear
Of broken hearts the wounds lay bare
Their lyrics moved the king and queen,
Who’d sat before like stone, serene
And peasants wept and so did lords
The soldiers’ tears would wet their swords
While priests would pine and chant and pray
As men possessed ~ like me today!
Whose soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away
#review #poetry #Saviour
My soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away
His was a sad and sorry plight
A pretty poor pathetic sight
He seemed ~ as such, resembled me!
Since I myself know misery
For loss of Love's a tragic thing
As troubadours would often sing
In pain-filled, medieval times
They’d pluck their lyres, recite their rhymes
Composed laments of long-lost love
They penned, as pleas, to God above
For healing of their heart and mind
(They saw in God, the caring kind)
Their verse performed would touch and tear
Of broken hearts the wounds lay bare
Their lyrics moved the king and queen,
Who’d sat before like stone, serene
And peasants wept and so did lords
The soldiers’ tears would wet their swords
While priests would pine and chant and pray
As men possessed ~ like me today!
Whose soul is singing like a bird
A song of sorrow I once heard
A nightingale perform one day
When Lady Love had flown away
#review #poetry #Saviour
#review #poem #aqbilal
Few years back I wrote this poem.
|Terror|
Definition of terror is a bit confusing!
See who is being accused and who is accusing!
Killings by 'The Power' is war on terror
Defence by the victim is almost terror.
Oh A White did a shootout?
He is a psycho or a sadist!
Oh! The black has a gun
Is he a terrorist?
Governing its people can be a sin.
If you are ignoring what 'The Power' is saying.
You may be a good king but you will be dethroned and accused.
For looting the people, allowing 'them' to loot.
Terror can be defined with the color .
The saffron is innocent but the green is with the terror.
Grabbing the lands is establishment of peace.
Defending their land can invite decease.
Definition of terror can be manipulated.
Homicide by 'The power' is always accepted.
A.Q.Bilal
Few years back I wrote this poem.
|Terror|
Definition of terror is a bit confusing!
See who is being accused and who is accusing!
Killings by 'The Power' is war on terror
Defence by the victim is almost terror.
Oh A White did a shootout?
He is a psycho or a sadist!
Oh! The black has a gun
Is he a terrorist?
Governing its people can be a sin.
If you are ignoring what 'The Power' is saying.
You may be a good king but you will be dethroned and accused.
For looting the people, allowing 'them' to loot.
Terror can be defined with the color .
The saffron is innocent but the green is with the terror.
Grabbing the lands is establishment of peace.
Defending their land can invite decease.
Definition of terror can be manipulated.
Homicide by 'The power' is always accepted.
A.Q.Bilal
I see walls in my freedom
Greasy and cryptic daunting walls
They know me, like a candlestick in my hand which forbids to lit up
I feel isolated and beneath me and beyond me,
does no world exist, nothing breathes.
I sit and write dimensions of those walls,
I calculate the horizons, the equators
and the pages seemed insignificant to fill all the numbers.
A man yells, 'they are building a distinct wall next to this'
They all cry their eyes out the whole day.
A man furiously ran and hit his head to the wall
Until he fell,
Choking with blood, murmuring words
I looked at him as he slowly falls asleep.
A middle-aged couple
Sitting and leaning onto the wall
Holding each other’s hand
And marking days with a stone on the greasy wall.
Two kids hugging the wall, standing on toes,
Ssshhh! Their ears on the side of the wall,
Listening to whispering and humming from the ‘other side’.
The old men and women seemed content, clean and too cold
They chant and fall asleep themselves, they wake up and pretend they slept soundly.
A man of my grandfather’s age tells me
he was life-sentenced here when he was of my age.
Each breath is borrowed and with each heartbeat, his debts are increasing.
I see a small girl painting, ‘mountains are white or green?
Are they greasy and dark like the walls?’ she asks me
I tell her 'no they are no like these walls; I have heard they are beautiful'
'so what color do I fill in them?' she asks me
I say 'keep them empty, fill them when you see them someday'.© Vaibhav
#poem #review
Greasy and cryptic daunting walls
They know me, like a candlestick in my hand which forbids to lit up
I feel isolated and beneath me and beyond me,
does no world exist, nothing breathes.
I sit and write dimensions of those walls,
I calculate the horizons, the equators
and the pages seemed insignificant to fill all the numbers.
A man yells, 'they are building a distinct wall next to this'
They all cry their eyes out the whole day.
A man furiously ran and hit his head to the wall
Until he fell,
Choking with blood, murmuring words
I looked at him as he slowly falls asleep.
A middle-aged couple
Sitting and leaning onto the wall
Holding each other’s hand
And marking days with a stone on the greasy wall.
Two kids hugging the wall, standing on toes,
Ssshhh! Their ears on the side of the wall,
Listening to whispering and humming from the ‘other side’.
The old men and women seemed content, clean and too cold
They chant and fall asleep themselves, they wake up and pretend they slept soundly.
A man of my grandfather’s age tells me
he was life-sentenced here when he was of my age.
Each breath is borrowed and with each heartbeat, his debts are increasing.
I see a small girl painting, ‘mountains are white or green?
Are they greasy and dark like the walls?’ she asks me
I tell her 'no they are no like these walls; I have heard they are beautiful'
'so what color do I fill in them?' she asks me
I say 'keep them empty, fill them when you see them someday'.© Vaibhav
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