My dear, with love.

So much exasperation, so many regrets, so many hopeless hopes, disastrous longings, unfulfilled dreams, vague ideologies, self-made rules, chances wasted in the hands of ignorance, unintentional bloopers, intentional blunders, unspoken yearnings, so many embarrassing confessions, and so, so many things you can’t even imagine I want to share with you, my children.

I want you to know all this to make you aware of all the lessons I’ve learnt and all the insecurities I’ve gathered. I want you to be confident enough and less tongue-tied, unlike your mother. I want you to grab on tight on your chances and your dreams. I want you to live with a purpose. I want you to have the least procrastinating personality, to waste little life on futile philosophies and to live with fewer delusions -the kind of delusions that are sure going fade away in the dust of time, that are sure going to trample under the satirical realities of life, and that are going to leave you empty-handed right in the middle of nowhere. The kind of delusions you know are going hurt you, still you’d desperately try to make them bond with your meek mentality.

I want you to be decisive enough -to be less demented, less muddled, less perplexed. I want you to realize what you want. I want you to have the courage to ask for what you need to seize your possibilities, to believe in what you really are to have lesser regrets and more contentment and to have less passive perceptions. I want you to be more thankful and less of an ungrateful brat.

Never go searching for paper bags and invisibility cloaks, like your mother did. Don’t go astray in the fallacies created by several Mirrors of Erised around you.

Never be obstinate for modernism, you’re going to regret it, eventually. You’d always want to find an escape, but know that you can’t. Don’t try to be over-practical only for the sake of maturity, you’re going to hurt yourself or others, or both. Try to appreciate people, even if they aren’t good enough at something, they might just not be good with expressions. Always be flexible enough to accept reason, to apprehend excuses and to get constraints of the faces around you.

I want you to know that if people are found at their worst, they can be found at their best too. You just need to make an effort for the latter part. I want you to acknowledge the fact that there’s a whole new world between good and bad and you should never labialize people on what you see, for appearances are always deceptive. Don’t try to make feeble images of personalities from the shattered, unclear doubts of your own personality. You’d think you know them when you won’t. You’d never be able to know the real out of them, from their superficial masks. Never mock someone for it is a small, round world and your doings do come at you in some other form, in some other words.

I want to warn you, don’t get too attached with words and humans. Humans are meant to part and words are meant to fade away, and you’ll see they will. Don’t make sticky associations with situations and memories. They are all going to dwindle in the varying shades of time. Don’t ever make promises for the sake of spice, for you’re going to break them or more precisely you’re going to forget them, for sure. In the end, we all do this.

In short, I want you to be less like your mother, my children.

But then sometimes, I wonder, how scripted your life would be with such conjunctions, no? People get to know their selves in the darkness of their own flaws, their own misapprehensions and their own scripts. Now, I’m wondering why on earth I wrote all this- maybe because I don’t want you to let down others or more likely yourselves. I want you to be somebody. Or maybe I’m just selfish enough to try to achieve through you what I couldn’t. Whichever way it is, I just want you to read this at least once, so that such pointless, vain stuff doesn’t get buried with me under the mud.

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Bon voyage, nomad!

I always hated him. Always. For ruining his life and of course ours. Utterly detested that vague relationship. I don’t even cry now remembering him. It’s like I’ve become somewhat numb now. I still remember that last meeting, though. He tried to hug mother and me tightly, one last time and started crying his bellows out. I didn’t want to, so I escaped from that so-called love bond he was trying set up that last and I guess first time. ‘Why should I respect his wish now when all our lives he didn’t bother our wishes, our suggestions, our counseling’, I thought. It was too late to remedy it, he should’ve known that.

He then left, silently, without saying a word. I wondered a long time how mother understood his each and every word in that silence. It was suffocating. And exasperating. And loathing. And a mortification of course.

Years after years, when I look back now, I see his reasons, his excuses, his laments, his apologies, his mitigations.

I wonder how hard he must be bounded committing that sin. It must be difficult to act inhumane, no? I wonder, if only that day I had not escaped that awkward hug maybe then he would’ve uttered some of his thoughts, some of his bawl, his last apologies, the love he didn’t get a chance to express properly, the promises he couldn’t fulfill. How he yearned for a last reprieve, how immensely he regretted his deeds. Now, I understand how mother understood him so easily that day. I wish I wasn’t that immature back then. I wish life wasn’t unjust to this extent. I truly wish that.


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Screeching Shadows.

                           Born a contagious one, dying the same. In a trash bin of a hospital, our mother here, found me. You ever came across that feel of crying with other futile things just like you? Empathetic, right? Without a name, without a hearth.

Falling into youth, stamped as Bobby, found my real motive here. Like a bird in hutch, piercing for an escape, a breakout. But where to flee exactly? Home? But I was Home. Complicated it was.

Entailing a lingering, interminable time, I finally made my consensus with Bobby. Dancing for others fun, crooning for others glee. Begging at signals, booming in weddings. Always seeking for hideouts. I didn’t want to, Bobby wanted. I always scrupled, Bobby didn’t. I loathed it every day, Bobby had no choice.

Experiencing a life with a label of weird, revolting, utterly different creature. Experiencing a Nothingness to everyone. Experiencing a journey from being an introvert to an obstinate. Experiencing every exasperating experience, here I am, waiting for an end. My salvation lies very near. I should be somewhat happy today. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Silence here is. Darkness, like always. Shadows of past, shadows of dreams, shadows of hopes, all screeching in my face. All in dust, because of Bobby.

Sometimes I wonder, how dark darkness could be? How excruciating things could be? I wonder what exactly was wrong, My confinement or Bobby’s life? Bobby doesn’t know that. Neither do I.


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Bewildered Coward? Maybe.

Seeing outside this window pane, I wonder. How I’ve always craved for this, I wonder.

Hilly fields, craggy faces, silence, tranquility, order; something I always dreamed about. And now it’s idiotic, imbecile and frivolous for me. Huh! It’s funny how I value things too lightly, without recognition, failing to appreciate the luck I had. But that’s how it works, right? For us, for humans? That’s how we forget, that’s how we lay aside things we once used to adore, that’s how we cease to remember stuff we once urged for. Always shrugging off. Brushing things off. Always failed to hat tip my privileges, always dashing hopes.

Infirmity, fragility to show Him my gratitude. Frailty to express before Him. That’s something I’m best at,I think. But trust me, it sucks! It really does.

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Someday…Someday,I’ll find you

Grabbing your collar,seizing your shoulder

I’ll grumble before Him,lamenting to grasp on you

Telling Him my dejection,

Explaining Him my utter despairs

I’ll outcry all my despotism

For He sure will listen to my screeches

My bellows and my bawls

My squeals and my yelps

That day you won’t be able to elude,my scourge!

He sure will bring justice on my hand

For my salvation is near,I know.


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We,the Pretenders?!

               They talk about originals. They talk about unfeigned. The talk about pukka. But the thing is we are all the same,always trying to satisfy others. Always trying to be the real ones,the genuine ones. Hiding ourselves inside out, concealing our souls, obscuring our aspirations. Always seeing the cracks of others,in the broken mirrors created by our own minds.And in the end,we are the unalloyed! Creatures besides us are frivolous,imposters and pseuds.

But it’s complicated,you know.Sometimes I wonder,are we all the same underneath or just the pretenders?!


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We, the Inferior Bugs

❤ :’)

A Mango Girl's Territory

Hey there! I’m a bug. Not a computer-bug, a REAL bug!  All I got is my home-tree and my people. ❤ :’) My home-tree, you wouldn’t believe such a beauty it is!

The People are so diligent and simple- Simple dreams, Simple lives. Mango bugs we are, in fact!

The rain drops sip through the upper bulk, drop by drop to the lower hives as W.H.Davies comprehended, heh. But that’s okay. We can stand that. All these years (64), we’ve been! The people on the lower branches go mad every once in a while. Yeah, it’s like a habit now. Predictable. But The queen’s as stubborn as the people, TeeHee. Pity on us, never got a Queen that could really care for The People! Alas!

Since the Queen’s never gonna take even the slightest hitch out of the post, enough with the old-school-Queen-crisis! Do you know how many smarty-wings…

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