Pens and Pages

It was more fearful than I imagined and I screamed my heart out... But once the hardest part of jumping off was done, it was a wonderful experience... Now I know fear is natural, so is screaming... That fear can turn you into a timid person who backs off at the last moment... But when you overcome what's pulling you back, you know you're much more than who you know you are - you're infinite. I'm the river and the mountains, The calm and the hurricane, I'm the fear and the fearless, I'm more than just enough, I'm infinite... Photos taken during Bungy Jumping at Jumpin Heights, Shivpuri

Feed my soul, Cover my skin, Save me from the grave I dug for myself. The dark deep pit, It's labyrinthine corridors, My own serpentine silhouette, Slithers around my neck. I crave for a single breath. Air, please. Feed my body, Its desires are strange. Feed my soul And cover my skin. Dirt, everywhere. Is thy soul too stale? Mercy, please. Save me from the wounds Of falling from paradise. Cover my naked skin. Save me from the grave In the pits of inferno, The grave I dug for myself.

From a tiny crack On the lush wrist, Out, flowed A thick liquid, Crimson coloured, From the deepest Of the bluest Of veins in it. "Let us go," Said each drop That dripped on The floor, As it gave away Its hue. "Let us leave too," The liquid screamed From within. The floor Embraced Each drop that spread And so it Turned Slowly, blood-red

When I had just begun reading The Bell Jar, that was suggested to me by Gaurav Da (Gaurav Deka, author of North-East India’s first e-book, Madrigal - a song for several voices ) , I thought it would be just another novel giving me a good time.  The last novel that left a long lasting impact on me was The Kite Runner; after reading it I was crying for days and I was sad for weeks. But I had no idea Sylvia Plath would leave a way deeper impact on me than that. I had read about the way Sylvia had decided to end her life, years ago but as I kept on reading her semi-autobiography it almost felt like she was someone I knew. And when I reached the last page of the book that talked of hope and uncertainties, at four in the morning, I was nothing but devastated as I knew the tragic reality that happened a month after her first and only book was published, on Feb 1963. Death is poetic at times, pain is bliss and suffering is romantic; but it's not so when you feel for someone else...