Musings × 02

“Don’t fall in love with her”

Oh but how could I not?
Sweet sixteen. Hormones raging.
Feeling like the king of the world.
Spending hours and hours Infront of that mirror,
Back brushing his hair in the perfect way.
Making sure the shirt is squeaky clean.
Reaching to school as fast as he can.
And rushing past the gates to run upstairs to the classroom.
And there she was.
Everyday. The first one to arrive to school from their class and he was always the second.

Felt like a love story indeed.
Empty benches. Clean chalkboard. No one around.
Just us. Looking and then looking away.

Sweet notes of the classic love song playing somewhere around sombrely.
She loved standing at the far end of the room; beside the window sills.
Looking out onto the concrete basketball court.

He used to worry; if the senior players were what she looked at. But her sheepish smile and the rosy cheeks gave her away.
And don’t be mistaken; her mocha skin made it excruciatingly hard to understand the colour.

They exchanged feeble morning wishes. Nothing more to say.
Two steps forward; three back.

The bet with his friends comes to his mind.
“Tell her before it’s too late. Unless you’re a wuss.”

He ain’t a wuss. He ain’t afraid. He just wants to make sure she won’t walk away. Or worse; say thank you when he tells her how she makes him feel.
About the butterflies that have manifested in his stomach and won’t leave him no matter what.
And about the sudden music that bursts out of nowhere when he sees her.

Does he sound needy? Cheesy? Crazy?
Oh what a tragedy!

Two steps forward. One step back. A few friends come into the class now. It is raining quite hard. Most students will sit home and more importantly; assembly would be cancelled.

That means he can sneak up behind her desk..
And there’s the song again.

The upbeat piano beats; matching his heartbeat.
“Let’s not screw this up”

Deep breath. He walks up to her.
And she looks at him.
Smiling. Expecting. Waiting.

She whispers “don’t fall in love with me”

Oh but how could I not?

©theblackcurse

Picture Courtesy – Debasmita Chakrabarty

Musings × 01

The memoirs of people who’ve left this worldly abode.
The inhumanity stored
In fragments of books and in people’s minds.

I look at thee 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,
How naive to think that even heaven is ruled by a 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 testament of old and new.

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

Picture by Debasmita Chakrabarty

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

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

Digne de votre amour

To be continued from Digne Indigne

But it is about time I try to change myself and be worthy.

Worthy enough to call you my friend.
Worthy enough to hold your hands when the crowd is creating a mess.
Worthy enough to take your name through these cursed lips.
Worthy enough to wipe those unholy tears off of your rosy cheeks!
Worthy enough to make love to you in this summer heat.
Worthy enough to call you my best friend and be so indeed!
Worthy enough to make you my wife one day.
Worthy enough to father our child one day.
Worthy enough to grow old with you and die in your arms one day.

I am worthy of your love, mio amore. This is meant to be. There is no stopping this. No if’s, but’s or maybe’s. You and I will make it till the end and beyond.

I apologise for everything that I did. Wish I could change them back. But I cannot. What I can; I am.

P.S. the title is in French. Translate it.

©aritraMickeychakraborty