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

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

Sad Old Year

What has changed apart from the number at the end of the date and the calendar page?
A new year has started with senseless joy and meaningless banters.
The world seems to have found a renewed passion and adulterous enchanters.

The melodious songs of the yesteryears have given way to the new beats of decadence.
Phantom threads of the sartorial minds nurturing thoughts of business and brand new trends.
Morality and ethics are lost at sea
Like Lemuria and Atlantis were once.

A new day awakening the sleeping world,
A broken canvas and colours spilled all around.
Families and friends, gathered together like before,
Absinthe and cigarettes have numbed us all.

The countdown begins and everyone’s back on,
‘Hurry! Hurry! We’re nearing the count of one!’
Merriment and wishes all around,
Unknown souls greeting each other with familiar sounds.

The eyes at the corner watches all this with a scowl,
What’s the noise and celebration for?
Aren’t we all nearing the end of our time?
The planet won’t die but it’s inhabitants shall,
The man made Gods’ won’t help you
Even if you read the Bible or do the Namaz.

What will save you then, comrades?
Religion, politics or commerce?
You’ll all turn around and see what you have done
And the planet will rejoice as the the plastic cups are buried under the blooming flowers.

©theblackcurse

A Starry Night

‘Look at the stars, look how they shine for you’

But there are no stars in the night sky. The city lights reflecting on the calm water makes it look like a starry sky. The city sleeps while the dreadful whispers are heard. The night is dark and the terrors have just begun.

A traveler from far beyond, traveling in a forlorn boat with no one for company but long lost ghouls. The atmosphere is eerily calm, as if it is the silence before a storm. The buildings are lit even when the city is fast asleep.
“Peculiar thing” the traveler thinks.

The horizon is blue, the end seamlessly far. The traveler muses to himself about the unforgiving nature of his past. The life left behind, the sins committed, the vows taken only to be broken, the face of death worn like a glorious mask on his face.

There seems to be no life around. An inexplicable fear creeping up on to the back of the man. Has he been here before? Passing the city that sleeps through the day only to wake up during the unholy hours of the night? He looks around and sees men, women and children; all looking straight into his eyes. He sees the fire of hell in them; they’re walking but there’s no life in them. They recognize him. He realises he’s been here before.
Following orders of the Devil, removing anyone who tried to oppose.
He has arrived. The final destination of his venomous soul.

The boat travels towards the destination alone.
No stars, no moon, no traveler.
Waiting for the next sinner to come aboard.

©the black curse

Artwork by Sakshi Jajodia (inspired by Van Gogh)

My Bougainville

I’ve walked around a fascinating place,
Up in the mountains, away from the plains.
I’ve walked across gorgeous gardens,
Where my gloomy childhood blossomed
And the happiness was never shrouded.

I’ve seen colours painted across the sky,
I’ve seen birds singing to fireflies.
I’ve walked past the place where I saw you,
Been there a zillion times and yet it still feels so new.
I’ve attached our memories to the petals and the feathers,
In Autumn they fall, only to re-emerge through unposted letters.

I’ve stood beneath you, my Bougainville,
I’ve whispered my worries into your ears.
I’ve stopped by while rushing to a destination,
Only to catch a leaf fall to the ground in silent anticipation.

I’ve left the city which beholds you,
And yet I reminisce about the evening walks and what I’d do.
In this foreign land, on this foreign soil, every dawn,
You bloom just as beautifully as you did in my backyard lawn.

The pinkish hues feel soothing to my eyes,
As I float back to the afternoon in my mind,
When below you I so peacefully lied,
And the world seemed like it wasn’t dying.

©the black curse via My Bougainville
@d_debi clicked.

Euphoria

I think I’ve seen the place where the clouds are made,
I think I’ve seen how the elves make the snow rain,
I think I’ve seen the place where the stars take their shape.

I’ve been nearby yet never fully made my escape and I’ve heard the faint whispers of those who’re working there for ages.

I’ve seen the swirling smoke rise high up into the night sky,
I’ve seen the moon get shrouded and the Earth preparing to stand by.
I’ve felt the lights fade away and the cascades of my imagination illuminate,
I’ve always wondered if the world was just a minor gateway or is it possible that we’re all pantheistic?
My psychedelia seems to have taken over me and now I can say this surely..

Yes, I’ve seen the place where the clouds are made,
I’ve seen how the elves make the snow rain,
I’ve seen the place where the stars take their shape.

© theblackcurse


Artist ~ Sakshi Jajodia

Existential crisis

Am I a word? Am I a feeling?
Am I a sunset dipped into vermillion?
Am I the wind? Am I the light?
Am I the one you can never fight?
Am I a sinner? Am I a saint?
Am I just a big nobody taking up quite a lot of space?

Am I a bird? Or am I the mighty sky?
Or am I an intricate droplet forming a magnanimous cloud somewhere quite high?
Am I the prodigal Son? Or am I just another Child?
Am I the Creator of this multiverse and all of humankind?

Am I gravity? Or am I the fabled high?
Am I a Hindu, Muslim, Sikh?
Or am I just another name?
Am I the upholder of religion? The cause of worldwide disdain?

Am I the howl of a lone wolf? Or the harrowing branches of a dilapidated house in the woods?
Am I the notes of the ballads from the countryside tunes?
Or am I the symphonic chirping of the birds during a sultry afternoon?
Am I the dead of a quiet night? Or am I a Monday morning shining bright?

Do I believe that I’m Nothing when actually I’m Everything instead?
Am I only these Questions? Or will I find the Answers somewhere ahead?

Am I the mighty Human or just another vessel of Nature instead?

~ the black curse via my identity

Fate and Destiny – Agents of Chance and Disdain

Living our meandering existences everyday,

Hustling and hassling through the problems and the promises.

Oh! so many thoughts floating inside our head,

Not one visible chain of thought which might provide some kind of solace.

Living everyday like it is just another day,

Tired of just breathing through an infinite loop of an illusion called Time somewhere in space.

And then one day you meet the One, the one about whom you’ve faintly dreamt.

In crowded buses and air conditioned metros,

They flash by like the red and yellow traffic signals.

Amidst classes and while walking on the roads along with the masses,

They brush against us in plain sight and we walk by like nothing has happened.

Words flowing like caramel and a demeanour like that of a nightingale,

The sweetness and kindness makes you feel fine after a numbing day.

You wish to have met, long before rushing through this game of charades.

But alas; Fate and Destiny are but no one’s slave.

Chanced encounters and dubious conversations,

Unafraid qualms and nervous annotations,

Quivering hands typing a steady flow of emotions,

All the possible outcomes keep rotating around the axis of my imagination.

”Your words are like poetry” she said.

Now I’m a bad poet but I felt like some sort of a King instead.

Sometimes people come only to show us that they aren’t meant to stay,

Sometimes you may find a small infinity enclosed inside a random comment box somewhere.

Life is funny, life is strange,

It gives us hope and then there’s nothing lying ahead.

A silly soul typing out his stupid thought processes,

Hoping that the mystery of the enigmatic woman shall finally end someday.

~ the black curse via chanced encounters and forgotten conversations