The Step Beyond It

Looking at the hue in the sky, observing the tranquility it has to offer, sometimes one can wonder, were the skies always so serene? has there always been existence, of opportunities that convey, simple leisure to whirl up our imagination, to see what figures we create out of nothing? or has the world been taut between endless wars, wars that don't allow much comfort, that we may look up and appreciate the variety of hues. a tendentious reading of history, has shown how wars have been recurrent, and how weapons were forged accordingly. what a writer's mind might wander into, is the inevitable process of thinking about the weapons that were forged. what you observe in the museums, and oftentimes, in contemporary news, is how lethal weapons are designed, but are barely used, and oftentimes never used up to their full potential. hoping to fathom what their true abilities might be, a weakening kick to the senses make us grave, because some of those might not see the daylight.  it t...

the garden path was cleared, leaving no impediments, but jake’s grandfather was always cautious, knocking his stick before himself, and tracing his way, sensing objects.   the loss of eyesight, to him, had been gifted very early in life. monumentally had he overcome it, by becoming a master, of seeing without his eyes. when Jake wasn’t at his workplace, you could only find him by his grandad. With the empty halls of the house, surrounding the noise of void, there they were, the two of them, against all odds, finding joy and reasons to laugh. but it was only a week ago,   where they were robbed, robbed of every prospective instance, where they could even grin. the grandfather had aged, and last week had lost his ability to hear. he thought, how closer to death can one get, with only one’s shrieking voice as aid, with darkness blinding,   and the silence ever-so deafening? he wasn’t a master anymore, not of anything,   but he was robbed.   thus, there he was, ...

everyday at half past 4 i keep my ears on the door. trying to wonder what your footsteps would have sounded like, trying to figure out was it my fault some night? everyday at half past 4 i keep my ears on the door. I often wonder why you walked out that night, Although i haven’t seen you ever, You leaving, surely does click my memory.   my mother has often talked about you, but only unintentionally. every time she is reminded of some hilarious memories of both of you, the smile on her face is drawn carefully,   and is even fragile, which fades away, because you walked out one night.   Father, I wanted to tell you something, I wanted to tell you that i realised something great today. That is, even if you don’t know a person, or haven’t met them ever, that person can be remembered.   In fact you can even be missed.   my mother had told me that you had left early in the morning,   around four, ...

Forever isnt a tenure, and people are often mistaken by this fact.  The period of realisation that something, is too lengthy or unfathomable to process, is just taken to be a ‘forever’ People put emotions into this play as if, they’ll last forever. But forever isn’t a tenure. Leaves depart and fly away, the ashes become darker, the despair intensifies, height is brought to dust.  that’s what forever is, but it isn’t a tenure. The audacity to put anything upto forever, is mere wordplay with no words. Everything lasts for an instance, shorter than forever, maybe just an inch, or maybe a decade. But forever isn’t a tenure.  What is it then? Does it recreate the purpose of hope? Does it indulge in false motivation? Because certainly ‘forever’ itself, hasn’t lasted till infinity, yet. Is it not appaling; That our finite tenure; can be seen as forever for someone else? Does death limit this ‘forever...

what is our mind other than a rock, rolling through a landslide? inevitable as it rolls, and yet on an endless quest.  meeting many of its kind, it barely stops, does that indicate it has forgotten what’s its origin? Different rocks are seen, all sizes, many try to stop him, but what does the rock do? it bumps, skips and jumps off them, even through them. yet, you’d wonder, “but doesn’t it go downwards?” what our minds must’ve assumed by now is, downwards equates to failures.  isn’t that a very naive way to look at things? our mind doesn’t wander off to nothingness for no reason, it wanders off,  because it knows; what we’ve been thinking about. you’d agree that you’ve never wandered off, thinking the usual and possible things, it’s always been something visionary to you, right? when the landslide is over, the rock finds itself isolated.  maybe overthinking does misguide you, from what you aspire the...

maturity cometh not from age, not even thy rage. it be only attained through numerous ordeals, also from thou sufferings which your soul fails to deal. even this knowledge was attained by me, when i was left on my own and was with nobody. today i am seventy years old, oh, my father, all the things that you told, have always proved to be true, but today i am older than you. you never reached seventy, and thus, i don’t posses the knowledge, of how things shall be looked at. but somewhere in my mind, have i formed my own ways to look at things. what frightens me is that now, i may know more about life than you, i may now know about somethings that you never experienced. however being bold in this belief of mine, i realised that you still know something more than i. i thought that i had experienced everything that you did and didn’t, but then i realised i do not know how it is like to experience, the cold clutching hands of death. ...

maybe genuineness can be found, in the most unusual way. maybe peace can be found, in the most unusual place. maybe respect can be found, in the eyes of the most unexpected person. maybe we can cry, in the most uncertain places. don't doubt the unknown. being invisible to reality won't help. sometimes, with the dearth of vagueness, we skip the realisations and jump to conclusions. elevate your perspectives, and you'll witness, the recklessness of ours, towards assuming. By : Shaon Bandopadhyay       :