That’s how it’s done.¬†

Creativity is the mother of invention, 

I know, they had it already mentioned. 

But if I ask you what really is it? Will you answer? 

No problem, my words will help you, just go faster. 

So, let me show you how it’s done, 

Let’s start to have some real fun. 

“oh my god! Not again, how long it’s gonna be? ”

How long, I don’t know, but soothing, it’s my POV. 

Creativity has it’s versions, which one you wanna hear? 

Let me guess, only that one, which you’ll be able to bear. 

 For me are the words, closed in my closet, 

With a quality, on paper, same as the vomit. 

The first lesson I learned, 

Is, you only got the words you earned. 

“Don’t forget the accent, you’ve to get it right”

As if pronunciation was the problem, why they had a fight. 

“For being able to write, 

You need to get a sight.”

Not for me, if you only got a mind, 

There’ll always be something, you’ll find to write. 

My words do rhyme, but it’s not that I’m picky, 

It’s just that, this shit I’m dealing with, is a bit tricky. 

Tricky are the words, but the thoughts are simple, 

Perhaps that’s why you’ll read and fumble. 

To the ones who are new, and don’t have a clue, 

You don’t have to think, out of the blue. 

Stick to usuality, ‘coz they got their casualty,

Try n be predictable, that’s how you’ll be acceptable. 

I could’ve been vocal, I had that choice, 

But for people, I stopped, it would’ve been bitter than the noise. 

Noise or voice, it’s always a choice, 

A choice you get, when you play with the words, as you play with toys.

Don’t be vulgar, or else you’ll be the misfit, 

‘coz then every mouth will chant, “stop it! you’re ruining it” 

Last but not the least, and the best lesson, 

Don’t bound your thoughts, you’re not in a prison. 

Enough of talks, now get over with the school, 

It’s me signing of, yours faithfully, 

The sarcastic fool. 
ūüôŹ peace. 

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Back to square one. 

Fucking hell! It’s good to be back as the fool you’ve seen me through, and not like a poetic maniac. I’ve been thinking of this all these days, to not to come up to humour anymore. This path, for me, was an abandoned one. And that’s when I came up with my newly discovered talent of rhyming. But hey! We’re here for viewership. And trust me, stepping out of your comfort zone and trying a new genre, is the position to fuck your dream of becoming someone in “writing”, and let me tell you, she’ll remember it forever.

Look who’s talking about writing stuff! I mean, hearing myself giving this shitty advice, makes me feel like the two grader, who’s trying hard to solve the psychology paper, which is not even meant to be kept near him.

But setting everything else apart, I’m back on my route. Actually, it makes me feel suffocated to be surrounded by a certain type of people. I have a one word definition for them, if you’ll allow me to. (doesn’t make quite a difference if you won’t though) They are the attention suckers, 

**Irrespective of cast, sex and religion**

And that’s when I met my “inspiration” behind this post.  He’s one of my acquaintances, and possesses a sound personality. A die-hard fan of smokin’ hot, slutty girls. Interesting fact, it’s his climax state, calling girls slutty, which obviously drives him to click’em. He’s an idol for every guy, who wants to have an account of every moment of a particular girl, hot or not, slutty or not. Nothing stops him from his perverted activity. The lesson is determination. 

I can’t get over his hard work. The way he understands every girl and their privacy, is impeccable. Let me tell you, if you’re finding someone who can provide you with some material about the girl you would like to stalk in the morning and jack off to her, at night, but you’re stopping yourself from it just because of the society, he’s your man. He knows everything. The Perverted God, who made his own religion of ball fondlers.

I bow down to you Almighty. The reason I’m not takin’ your name, is ’cause my mouth is clean, unfortunately. 

ūüėĘ

The Girl in white

“You’re too loud Noori..come back” her friends shouted….”BACK OFF” as she would call it. But she was something else. Noori was a girl, whom nowadays we call forward easily. Maybe she chose to be this way. Truly speaking,  I’ve never witnessed something like that. What was she? I met her for the first time and she was oddly so familiar. There was something in her. Was she a boon to “the other girls”? She was the other type. 

Actually, spoiled as we would call her.  Was she?  I’ve no idea. If I start with her, I’m not sure about the ending. 

People high on spirit. Wanting to dance like madmen. But something’s stopping’em. And there she was, wanting to come out of herself, eagerly, from the very beginning. Noori was a new experienceūüėā. I was sitting at a distance, with my friends. Doing the mandatory thing you do in a club, sitting idle, drinking. I was zoning out every now and then, when I saw her the first time. How can I forget, I’ve never seen any girl so perfect. We were sitting on a couch,  third from the left of them. For some reason,  I could recall every moment I shared with her. She came in as the wind and went like a storm. A storm, which eventually took in, every person around her. 

“Stop it Noori, you’re going to get all of us in trouble.” her friend Sara exclaimed as she saw, Noori reaching for the folded paper in her bag. She crushed, rolled, “this is to all the shit I’ve come through and all that’s waiting for me to gain my attention, I’m burning every bit of you down”, she said as she lit her blunt. Legitimately, it was illegal and that’s what she heard from her friend. To which she smiled and said, “I’m inhaling peace and happiness, since when a person doing that,  became a criminal? And moreover, they should look up to me as an example. Afterall you hardly find anyone brave enough to burn all that’s wrong in his/her life,  and have a peaceful state of consciousness, from the very ashes of it.” 

She laughed it off.

She was having a good time, ‘coz today she was determined to let go off everything and own the moment she was living in. No boyfriend opinions to pay heed over, no sad stories, to weep over and definitely not a night out just for a sleep over. Amazed by the very portrayal of “freedom”  by the girl in white, made her other friends go down on the floor and join her. But they danced as if something is stopping them from enjoying to the fullest. Wherein, Noori danced off all the restrictions. She danced along with every single person on the floor be it a group of friends,  or a couple. Which eventually made her friend worried. She grabbed her hand and made her sit on the couch. “You don’t know them!! Do I have to be your mom to tell you that dancing with strangers is not for us girls?” yelled Sara.  “What good have you got, from the known people of your life?” asked Noori.

Muted Sara looked away in anger, maybe trying to avoid the liberty, she was feeling from Noori. She kept me fixated on herself.  At last, when I was ready to push off, I found her in front of me. She smiled, and offered me for a dance along, to which I denied, politely and adviced her to take some rest, as she was too high to be stable. What she said then struck me to my core and I cannot forget it for the redt of my life.

“Stay high as if it’s just the beginning, ‘coz it’ll end with you vs them.”

Start again.

“Untalented” he read, ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† He even read “The lost one”. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†Adding up “The Social Idiot” ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†Made him realise, “I’m the one”. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†Nothin’ to claim, no one to blame ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† sitting down quitely playing the ‘own’ game ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† He always had his notebook ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† Nothing much just a mere hook ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†reading was his hobby, writing humor his passion ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†that’s what he thought after reading “F for Fashion. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† Let me start with humor, once as he did ¬† ¬†he thought copying his idol would make him splendid

Opting for humor, he ended with reality ¬† ¬† ¬† turning him into the bearer of obscenity ¬† tags comin’ up as crown on his head, ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†shaking him up from the toe to his head. ¬† ¬† “you are loud, you are mean” ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ” oh my god! how obscene!” ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† people poking him with utter brutality ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† toning him down as the “voice of reality” ¬† ¬† That’s it!! I’m quitting then” ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†“What will I do if no-one’s there” ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†Sacred, lonely, his bed was his world now, he hadn’t written a word for about five months now, ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†As a living ¬†corpse, he was there on his bed ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†As the thought of “the fool” wasn’t leaving his head.

Finally, he rose and stood facing the mirror ¬†Starring it quitely, tryin’ to look at his failure ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†the mirror took him to an unknown land ¬† ¬† which was a beach with some scribble on the sand ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†he went forward, knelt, the words were clearer ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† “STAY FOCUSED ¬†AND START AGAIN” the words that were written there. ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† He rose, and returned to the route ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†that day he understood he wasn’t going to be mute ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† “yeah people, I’m again at it” ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬†“And yes ma’am, I’m ¬†proud of it”

Start again.

“Untalented” he read,                                         He even read “The lost one”.                            Adding up “The Social Idiot”                            Made him realise, “I’m the one”.                      Nothin’ to claim, no one to blame           sitting down quitely playing the ‘own’ game                                                                   He always had his notebook                           Nothing much just a mere hook                      reading was his hobby, writing humor his passion                                                                  that’s what he thought after reading “F for Fashion.                                                               Let me start with humor, once as he did    he thought copying his idol would make him splendid

Opting for humor, he ended with reality       turning him into the bearer of obscenity   tags comin’ up as crown on his head,              shaking him up from the toe to his head.     “you are loud, you are mean”                           ” oh my god! how obscene!”                               people poking him with utter brutality         toning him down as the “voice of reality”     That’s it!! I’m quitting then”                              “What will I do if no-one’s there”                  Sacred, lonely, his bed was his world now, he hadn’t written a word for about five months now,                                                        As a living  corpse, he was there on his bed                                                                          As the thought of “the fool” wasn’t leaving his head.

Finally, he rose and stood facing the mirror  Starring it quitely, tryin’ to look at his failure                                                                    the mirror took him to an unknown land     which was a beach with some scribble on the sand                                                                he went forward, knelt, the words were clearer                                                         “STAY FOCUSED  AND START AGAIN” the words that were written there.                       He rose, and returned to the route                that day he understood he wasn’t going to be mute                                                               “yeah people, I’m again at it”                            “And yes ma’am, I’m  proud of it”                     

Your pen…and mine.¬†

Look what I found when I read your thing,  your thing was the king, with words as his bling.                                                                      Bling? Is it a correct word?? Let me call it a tresure,                                                              After all, every word you put, is beyond any measure.                                                       Before opening your treasury, my friend needed a dictionary,                                           But till the end he kept on saying, “bro…she’s a visionary.                                       Let’s not talk about him, he’s in love with you                                                                          This thing amazed me, what did he saw in you?!                                                                      Anyway, that’s way too personal, lets come down to writing,                                         Don’t get me wrong if it seems like I’m fighting.                                                             I’m a fan of work trust me on this, Facinated by your words comig out as a jizz.                                                                  “Ew! Now you became critical, say something neutral,                                     Sadly for you, I’m famous for being Insanely Critical.                                 Difficult words of simple thought,         Simple thought of difficult meaning,        yeah I’ve sensed your musing.             People might say its the fruit of your reading,                                                           But a fool like me knows you’ve mastered weaving.                                                    Finally, I’m finishing this for you,           ‘coz I think, what just happened, you won’t have a clue.                                                             Take rest, stay calm, you’ll be fine.             ‘Coz its not from your pen, its from mine.

ūüĖēpeaceūüĖē

The Curse.

Is god real? is it true that they fulfil every wish of their devotees? for us, these would be, only questions which comes in the mind of an atheist. By the virtue of our human nature we have an impeccable sense of drawing conclusions, eagerly. 

But Riddhi wasn’t one of those who judged anyone. Be it a priest or an atheist, for her, everyone was equal on every grounds, Except for only one person. She didn’t know, if it was a person or an animal, she hadn’t have seen him/her/it in her whole life, neither she expected to have an encounter. Yes! you got it right. God. She didn’t had any sort of faith in “the almighty”, nor she was convinced to be called an atheist. Because for her, she was a simple person who believes what she sees. She used to write for a newspaper, which hired her for the sole purpose, to write against God. Seemed like, talking about god was really trendy. She lived with her parents in Delhi. 

Currently, She was working on her book “The Curse” which had a theme of Gods fulfilling their devotees’ every wish, just because they have prayed for it for long. This book was against every notion of every priest. Fear of being called an atheist (or even a “terrorist” for some) crossed her mind a million times, but neither of those thoughts had the audacity to restrict her from doing her thing. 

“Now, what would be the protaginist’s name? It should be relevent enough, I’m still afraid of being called, too imaginative.” thought a perplexed Riddhi. Finally, she came with the perfect name, “Tejesh Pattnaik”. “Perfect!” she exclaimed to herself. Before writing the first chapter of the story, something crossed her mind and she thought of getting a review of her story from her parents. So she wrote a rough summery.

“This is a story about a guy named Tejesh Pattnaik and his unbreakable belief in his god. The only thing he ever wanted was…” Fuck! what would be the perfect thing to be so stupid to be granted by a god? Think Riddhi think. Unlimited Petrol!, yep!! that’s it. This would be the perfect and the stupidest wish, at the same moment. After an uninterrupted invocation of a month, his wish was finally granted by a stupid god, who was so stupid, he just considered his prayers and finally granted his wish. When asked by the senior gods, he just answered, He’s my son and secondly, it was the first time someone prayed, for fulfilling his wish, from me. The senior god said, You dumb fuck, just for your happiness, an innocent soul died.”

“How’s it dad?!” Asked Riddhi. “Perfect! Exactly portraying your thoughts. But what about the climax?” ” Haven’t thought about it yet.” answered Riddhi. Keep it up, said her dad.

Late at that night, Riddhi’s dad was sitting on his couch, sipping his whiskey, when he was intruded by his wife, who got awakened due to thirst. She saw him, all tensed. Looking at him, she said, “It’s just a story, don’t think about it so much”. 

“Will you say this, even after she comes to know what happened? why she has so much hatred for gods, without anything specific? that her dad was the one who..di….” he stopped.