If You and I

If you and I were meant to be;

Why are we apart? Why are we hurt?

If you and I kept each other happy;

Why did it feel like we were alone?

Even though we had each other.

If you and I were the answers;

Why did the questions change?

If you were in love with me;

Why was there a need to lie to me?

If you were waiting for me;

Why did you choose to travel alone?

If you and I were to make it through;

Why did it shatter along the way?

If you and I were whom we wanted;

Why did I stop becoming whom you need?

If you and I were a song;

Why did the music stop? No one’s dancing.

If you and I didn’t need anyone else;

Why was I the only one who lost his family?

If you and I were each other’s words;

Why did we become silent? We lost our words.

If you and I were “WE”;

How could you break that one thing that mattered the most to me?

You and I weren’t meant to be; we were destined to be strangers with some memories.

©theblackcurse

A faceless man in an empty room

The sunlight ushers in through those tainted glasses loosely fitted into the window panes. One could see innumerable particles of dust and what not floating around; glistening in contrast to the rays of the sun.

The chalk box is empty, the duster seems to be missing and a few words appear to be etched on the blackboard. The words are half rubbed off yet one can easily decipher the missing letters.
The desks stand still, like soldiers in the army line reporting for duty; showcasing past injuries and scars that makes one remind of that model essay about the autobiography of a school desk where it was told how the desks quiver in unbearable yet silent pain when students carve something onto them. The room seems to be squeaky clean, white mezzanine floors with only one corner seemingly filthy. An overburdened dustbin that has spewed out what it couldn’t contain. Crumbled sheets of paper lay strewn about the old tin dustbin.

No students can be seen. No voices or any uncanny noises can be heard. Just the ticking of the white dial wall clock breaking the tension that can be sensed amongst the atmosphere.
The systematic ticking and the heavy breathing of a man sitting at the teacher’s desk. The two sounds have synchronised to such an extent that if one doesn’t pay attention; one cannot be differentiated from the other.

Receding hairline of brown hair with a salt and pepper beard. An oversized brown coat worn lazily over a shabby blue shirt. Creased all over and faded near the buttons. A vibrant coloured tie breaks the monotony of melancholic colours draped over the man; a red and brown striped tie with a Windsor knot.

A sense of defeat looms around the classroom and seems to be accelerated by the eerie silence. A paper cup sits comfortably on the desk infront of the man; towards his left. A convoluted mesh of intricate designs swirl up from a half-burnt cigarette that rests rather uneasily in his left hand.

How easily has the world been fooled by a select few into forming deadly addictions out of objects that ultimately put us in the grave.
What a genius move it was to advertise a stick of tobacco and a yellowish substance poured over a glass filled with ice cubes as a symbol of wealth, superiority and power. And for those of us who fall outside the purview of these words; it was transfused and transformed into a symbol of relief!
That’s the catch to selling any goddamn product – finding the right word that echoes through the soul of the consumer and the common man gravitates towards that product inevitably.

The man sits back on his chair; loosening his tie slowly. He drops a piece of paper onto the desk as one does once the content is read. He finishes the cigarette and throws the bud away. The bud flies onto the far end of the window and hits the glass before falling down onto the floor. The last few flakes of tobacco burn as the man looks towards the flickering light. He picks up the paper as if to read it again.

Temporary problems sometimes do require permanent solutions. If not solutions then definitely closure. Another one bites the dust, Sir

The paper is crumbled and flung onto the pile of rubble lying near the dustbin. It mixes with the rest of them making it indistinguishable.

“Class dismissed“

©theblackcurse via Detachment

Do you see?

And these unforgiving, festering souls
Have climbed up the walls of hysterical moulds.

To bring down the empire
Of dirt and bugs,
To strive for what can never be earned,
Only meant to be yearned.

The baritone of the sick and old,
The memoirs of people who’ve left this worldly abode.
The inhumanity so gloriously stored
In the pages of history books and diaries
Or in someone’s dilapidated memory of childhood.

I look at you in contemptuous agony,
I see through your soul.
Barren and empty like the desert
which was once a lovely seashore.

You have your own labels and antiqued ways of logical thinking,
How naive to think that even Heaven is ruled by an old King in a golden throne?
That angels in white robes await men who have not sinned
And that Beelzebub’s wrath awaits all those who’ve led a life not prescribed by hypocrital fanatics writing the “Book of God”.

How insane we must be?
To imagine the exact same camaraderie even after Death comes to take us away.

All we ever see is what we want to see.

©theblackcurse

Oblivion

We run around hither and thither,
Unaware and unabashed.

We walk around the corners,
Not knowing what’s waiting for us there.

The darkness is somehow eerie.
The mornings dreadful to our very existence.

Why do we fear? When we don’t have anything to lose?
After all, who’s gonna leave this world with what they choose?

There’s nothing to dread, dear child except fearing Oblivion.

© the black curse

Picture courtesy ~ Debasmita Chakrabarty

The flower within

I once touched a picture,
It spoke to me in a thousand different ways.

I saw the incredible paint and the delicate brushes,
Take over my senses and giving me adrenaline rushes.

I stood there placidly,
Noticing the work vividly,
I tried to understand what it conveyed.
Whether the painter wanted to express a lot of happiness like the sunshine during winter season,
Or was it a metaphor for the darkness within mankind itself?

They say flowers are a way of telling everyone how beautiful life can be,
They say even blind people like me can touch the petals and try to see.

They say the aroma of the sunflower is one of a kind,
And those are the times I wish I could see what was there Infront of my eyes.

But then again, aren’t most of us blind? Even after having what I don’t have?

© the black curse

Artwork by NILAKSHI SARKAR

Epochs of Amor

Your behaviour does remind me of the cold and numbing Winter nights,
Pin drop silence on the roads with closed windows, drawn curtains and dimmed lights.
Chilly on the outside. Warm and fuzzy inside.

Your smile does remind me of the hauntingly beautiful Autumn dusks,
Where the whole world stumbles and almost shows their real faces behind those unrealistic masks.
Pretty on the outside. Hiding what not inside.

Your eyes do remind me of the bright sunny days of Summer,
When the birds are always chirping and the trees and flowers murmur.
Happy and energetic on the outside. Even though the circumstances around are far from being alright.

Your voice does remind me of Spring,
When the world comes alive and the planet seems to be doing absolutely alright!
Strong and commanding on the outside. Weary and tired of fighting all alone all the time.

But when people ask me if these are the reason I fell in love with you; I simply smile because they are not why I love you, o sweet friend of mine.

It is not what is easily visible about you that made me fall; rather I fell for you like falling in love with the anticipation of the first Monsoon showers after the departure of a long Summer or like the inexplicable urge to see a flower bloom and welcome Spring after hibernating through a cold Winter!

I guess what they say is true;

Love is not what you see but it is almost always what you feel.

©theblackcurse via Seasons of Love

That very day…

“Are you even planning to return my umbrella? 😏”

“I was about to if it had not rained yesterday 😶”

“Rescuing you every single time, eh! 😂”

“You have always been my rescuer until that very day…”

“I did. I still do. I will continue doing so.. Now tell me when are we meeting again?”

“Tomorrow at 5”

“Where?”

“The same place where it all started…”

Meher and me were never best friends and neither we vowed to be. However, we both looked out for one another everytime..
She moved to a different city for her grads and there it was. Everything messed up. I still remember the evening we met just an hour before her flight.

Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Airport, July 2013

“Beta, I knew you would come.. I told her not to go but she is not listening. I will be all alone in that 3BHK flat.. I don’t know what I am going to do… ”

This is Mehers mother. Loving, caring and full of innocence.

Meher was struggling with the trolley when she heard her mom talking to someone, she instantly looked at me and with a reflex turned back..

Damn! She couldn’t hide it. Bloodshot eyes and anxious behaviour..

I quickly went upto her and picked up the leftover luggage on the ground..

“Who asked you to come and help?.. Go away from here, NOW”

“I know what you’re going through, you’ll just be..”

“You will never know what I’m going through, just GO AWAY..”

“I am just here to…”

“Just GO AWAY..”

That was the day, I felt it..

Next Day, I had my Maths exam (Half-Yearly Class XII) and the teacher felt it too while checking it..

Let’s Walk..

We started walking towards Home.

I don’t which home she was heading, because all I knew was that I had already reached home.

“Why does everything that we love, ends up so fast?“, she asked..

“Maybe we don’t want to explore the ugly side of it“, I said.

She meant about the ice cream, I don’t know why I said that and I still don’t know whether she understood or not..

“Do you remember we stood there all drenched and you gave your blazer to me as I was shivering?, unusual rain at that time of the month..“, she pointed towards the old man’s shop which still was still open…

Surprisingly, it started to rain, well at this time of the month, it wasn’t unusual..

She looked for the umbrella in her bag and I somehow gathered enough courage to hold her hand and run across the street to the old man’s shop..

The old man recognized us. Why wouldn’t he, we used spend a lot of time in his shop before and after school. Meher was very keen towards weaving.

“Chacha, pehchana?“, she smiled at him and handed over a pack of biscuits..

She had always been like this, kind, and full of love.

“Aj baarish mein phirse tum dono bheeg rahe ho, abhi bhi bachpana nahi gaya..“, he smiled at us while fixing the sewing machine..

We waited at the shop for a long time, and she talked a lot about her life after school.. I wasn’t even saying a word because it had been so long I heard her voice, so long we met..

“It has stopped raining. We should leave now.”

I really wished that it rained little longer.

I dropped her home and watched her close the door.

I left for home leaving one behind.

“Let me know when you reach and the umbrella is in your bag. I know it isn’t manly enough according to you to carry one but surely sensible enough to avoid cold. Don’t lose it, I’ll take it back. Loads of love. It was so good to see you. Take Care Babe”

Meher..
She is still the same. I guess we’ll be the same too, with time.. ❤️

An unexpected encounter..

I met Meher last evening after a decade maybe.
She was standing at the bus stop not knowing I would pass by..
She saw me and waved, I was on the other side waiting for the signal to turn red..
As I was about to cross and reach her, she turned red..

Not to my surprise, she was still brave enough to hug me despite the crowd that was around. We had met after 6 long years..

‘You have become so thin, are you still eating and gaining nothing?‘, she laughed wiping her tears..

‘I hope you are going to get me ice-cream and drop me home‘, she added…

I quickly got Kwality Walls Sandwich Icecream for her..

This was the only ice cream we used to have back in school and we would walk together to her home. Daily.

‘Let’s walk…‘, I said.. This was the first two words that I had uttered. I had a gulp inside, choked…

‘I guess we have a lot to talk about and I think this is going to be a long one‘, she looked at me and took the first bite of the one sweet happy memory..

#ToBeContinued

Masquerades

You came in like a butterfly, fluttering around the dark side of my life.
You woke me up with a smile, the smile that can make everything feel just fine.
You made me realise that it was not my fault, that I too could be loved even after being so drastically flawed.
You made my insides crawl, with that look in your eyes and the earnestness in your soul.

You gave me courage to look at myself in a new light; not dreading the shadows and the past mistakes of my life.
You turned all the knobs of my insides and set them right; suddenly I was in tune and singing amidst the moonlight.
I looked at the mirror and there I was; the old me; rearranged and remoulded into someone absolutely new.
And then you did what I could never associate with you;
You left me and didn’t bother seeing me descent into the abyss of my past and the turmoil of breaking down; negating my growth in plain sight!

Tonight I am decked out for the whole world to see me,
They love the mask that is masking my insanity.
The cracks and crevices can be felt if someone looks a bit more closely but no one’s allowed anymore; after what you did to me.My frailties have slowly crept inside and morphed into my reality,My tears have dried up; just like your decaying humanity.

I arrange and rearrange the pieces of my mask every morning,
Only to break it again during the wee hours of my unceremonious mourning.
My hands often bleed because the shards are far too sharp for my skin,
But then again I make myself remember who I am and what I carry within my soul masked by my smile and my body:

A broken mask of beauty masking the marks left on me for loving someone ever so deeply. An emblem to prove that love heals a lot less than it ruptures and damages.

©the black curse

Picture courtesy – Sakshi Jajodia