A Kid Has Died...

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Love is a feeling which can make you do things beyond your imagination. Even if you are creeping into disguise, you won’t notice it clearly before your eyes, as they lie veiled beneath LOVE.
While some take love seriously, others treat it like a game where they should try their hands too. This post is an imagination by me about one such kid, who faced mishap from his mate.

In a cottage at my nearest 
A wicked spell has outraged
Gulped into the darkness of underworld
Infancy of a kid has got caged.
As came the demonic blow of Satan,
The angelic cosmos; tranquil & serene,
In a wink of eyes they all have faded.
Fantastical characters locked inside dolls
Are lying crushed; dead in terrain of remorse.
Anthology of knitted stories held on the shelf
Has fallen off the walls of hope
Cascade of pages have come out
Sucked into the whirlpool of hatred.
Clinking of bells have stopped
Brewing is stillness
A frightening awe has evolved.

Out of scare frozen in my spines
I hurried to shut close my window
But before, a tattered note came flying inside
Inscribed in red: 'my love'
I recognized the kid’s handwriting.
With a jolt of dread, senses riposted
I woke up with pounding heart affrighted.
A nightmare?
Pearls of perspiration rolled off my lobes
Hue and cry prevailed in air
I heard through the window,
'A kid has died'.


Brain-sick's Diary #4 >> Unusualness

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Something unusual has happened. Something that is pulling me into despair. Something which is clenching me in the fist of depression; a depression of a kind whose origin lies veiled. Only my senses are reactive towards the rhetoric discussions I have been raising inside me. Perceptions I envisage is pulling me apart with a force that can uproot a living strong tree, that can bring to the grounds tombs of giant mega structures, that can explode away a town with nuke energy.  I don’t know the specific reason. I just witness the unusualness.

Interests are getting suppressed. Things that used to be my passion (which they still are, but have gone under hibernation) are also getting dim in my arena. I go through early pages of my life, and I feel surprised on the changes I underwent. In the isolation, in the separate space where I have dragged myself into, I keep juggling thoughts and beliefs that have burst out from nowhere. Why does this happen? No clues.

Facebook? Twitter? G+? I have quit almost all of them. I used to be one of the most active person on social media websites. Though I never run out of plots for short stories and poetry, but increased intimacy with the unusualness has slackened the will to perform, to write them on my blog. Why am I writing all this crap right now? I am only scribbling my heart on pages of my open diary just to bookmark this day, and when I will look back again in distant future, I will try to feel the worst unusualness that I have experienced. Why does this happen? No clues.

Friendship which is considered to be the most sacred relationship (I haven’t seen, I read in books) never crosses my way. It might be that I am very stiff at my attitude and consequently this relationship never intersected into my way. I have always tried to mix with people, tried to get to know them, tried to weave strands of solidarity with the people whom I connected with. But I have failed each time. Love? Does it exist? I have only seen unusualness.


This unusualness is intensifying with each passing day.  If I could ever get to reach its origin, I will surely bring myself out of this labyrinth, killing the evil spree to death.