Threatened - AmberBlue

What do men do when they feel threatened? When they feel the nectar of their eternity slipping away like a wine?

-They make sorry excuses, drench the rusted files with their own law, ornate the history with lies, cage the tamables and silence the wilds.

When they are scared that ‘her’ powers like a deliberate venom would crawl to their thrones , that the crown would beacon for a queen and not a king, what do men do?

-They defame her not so subtly , like hawks they prey upon her body and when that doesn’t work either, they burn her and call her a ‘witch with dark magic.’

What do men do when they are threatened by even education, scared of poets metaphorizing the unrest within or of unsettled teachers teaching past the syllabus?

-They replace them with a monotone who knows not to voice for a change , they lock those poems in the shadows where they are best untold and if that doesn’t work either, like a puppeteer they change the ways of this ‘threatened’ education jibing at their dancing puppets.

When they are haunted by honesty and some naked truths , when the truths start whispering lies and secrets buried in their mansions, what do men do?

-They buy honesty with money and if that doesn’t work either they coffin the truths but wear the stains to convince themselves that what ‘threatened’ them shall never rise from the graves to haunt again.

What do men do when it dawns upon them that the rituals they made are being asked upon to some reasons, that their excuses of religion and castes they brought out from wonderland now stand vacant?

-They make you an ‘atheist’ even when you are not and if that doesn’t work either they beguile the holy books to make one ‘fear’ the God.

When their unparalleled ego is being threatened by nature herself , bringing men to rags , ridiculing them like they were already dusts, what do men do?

-They become desperate for an escape, like chained beasts they growl that come more as stifled cries but when they are pitied upon they forget and goes to loop around the history , to save their ‘threatened ego’.

What do men do when peace threatens their thriving greed, when it becomes unbearable to be content within their own boundaries , when it becomes a hitch in flaunting their manhood as warriors?

-They rob the homes to make soldiers , they sew their smiles into hollow stares that hope of returning some day from the death and when they have robbed the very soul from them, they honour the men as warriors and call it a ‘war’.

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~The Silences

BY GLADIOLUS AND AMBER BLUE Have you heard them? Heard the bleeding solitude that seems to wait in the forlorn night for her amour? The solitude that over the years has pampered the silences in an esoteric way are growing wild. Have you heard them? Walking along the soft edges of thy holy earth and embracing the despondent darkness you might as well hear them- you might hear the barbourous silences that are screaming the voices of agony. You might hear those silences that would deluge you from within. Have you heard them now? Have you felt them now? Felt how these silences are but the cacophonies of ages old vexation of that solitude, how these are the unheard pain of thy solitude. Have you heard the insane giggles of these silences? Have you felt how that this eerie night where silences are going incongruous are not ending anytime soon!? But the dawn shall knock again and the silences shall turn to melodies again , the euphonies would follow thus and the wrath ...

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Poetry is an orphan abundant by the silence and yet it thrives through the odds until it stumbles upon on the pages of a poet. For me, poetry is the manifestation of water and pray tell me why not, for I have seen poetry to reshape itself in the shape of the container in which it is and metaphorical might I sound for what a mind of a poet is if not a vessel of thoughts filled to the brim! As poetry comes frolicking on your pages, the reek of silent emotions caged within the heart vamoose, plethora of chaos begin- chaos that make the heart skip a beat, chaos that unveil your reflection that you were oblivious about- "chaos that come from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow." Only a poet shall see the agony of the fallen snow or the sacrifice of the withered leaf, only a poet shall capture the phenomenal rendezvous of the dried petal with the rain, or shall make amends in how the stars rule the night in the ataraxy. The poetry finds the lost- it finds the last breath ...

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What it is to be talentless you ask? – what it is to walk amidst the crowd of a flawless world being NOBITA!? when even your ripen good old heart does not stand out to be called on the aisle, nobita was rather the antagonist but we are not ready to ruin our childhood, for believing in fairy tales and a 22 nd century robot cat has given the talentless hopes beyond reasons even if they are delusional. Yet, the shakespearen tragedy is not all nobitas have their doraemons! Saving ruffin, the dolphin or protecting RIRURU like some shield hero have soared up the TRPS, but nobita is still our crybaby, just a knucklehead stupid boy helpless without gadgets and parents would still moralize their kids on ‘how you may end up like nobita if you watch him all day’. It is what feels like to be talentless! Either you are born with talent in a silver spoon or you make your own talent to be etched out as examples, those stuck in between are like those trapped in multiple dimensions. Stumblin...

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