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Photo taken at Plitvice National Park, Croatia by Vibhor Dhote Oh! What are these days I have found myself in! The bagpacks I carry n...

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Habit

Broken bones and a bruised face,
He checked the mirror-
The nightmare's back again.
Palms that bled and fingers without nails.
An empty heart and a blank page.
He feeds himself on the frozen salad-
Last year's leftovers, he did not forget.
He could let go of sleep
Or he could sit and bleed.
He chooses to embrace the red
So, within the four walls, he stayed.
Why stay when you can leave?
But all of this has happened before,
Not a curse, it's a habit, he said.

Prejudice

Exactly a year ago, I was stranded all alone on the highway of Kharghar​, devoid of people, with the cell phone on my hand losing its marbles just when they were needed the most.

Two men and a flock of goats were the only living beings to be seen on the road, if I do not take in account the grass that lost its greenery to the dirt of the vehicles that pass by, probably years ago.
I went to one of the two men - the one whose clothes were less disheveled than the other, but disheveled nonetheless and as dirty as the grass I stepped upon.

He combed his dark, oiled hair with his long and thin fingers as I approached him.

I ask him in a polite tone, hiding the desperateness inside me," Bhaiya, aapke paas mobile phone hoga? Ek call karna tha".

He shakes his head and I almost lose all my hopes on making a call to my friend.

He says, "Phone nahi hai. Par mere tab se call ho sakta hai, Chalega?"