Poetry – Penfluky

The Exciting Part Of Love!

People ask what is the exciting part of love?
Is it a feeling that is beyond and above?
What makes it unique and special?
Does it make a person go irrational?

Love is one of the lovely gifts of human evolution,
You don’t need anything extra to join this institution.
Every moment feels like a gorgeous sunrise,
Every minute feels like an awesome surprise.

It makes you feel secure,
It always acts as a cure.
It makes you confident,
It makes you feel sufficient.

You won’t notice the changes in a day,
Every moment feels like Yay!
Every second seems very precious,
Every moment of yours becomes ambitious.

Every hour of your day is the exciting part,
It looks like you are feeling a beautiful piece of art.
You want to share everything with your loved one,
When you are not able to, the sadness is next to none.

Everything feels like it is in the right place,
Every second passing by feels like an embrace.
It is a beautiful feeling that ever exists,
You will know what a genuine smile is.

I always had big dreams on the same,
Love is always in my frame.
It was exciting till I had it,
Then I had an emotional submit.

Nothing hurts more than a love break,
It feels like a huge heartache.
Nothing around you makes sense,
Everything around you feels worse.

You will tend to sit idle and tend to do nothing,
Every second you won’t talk to them feels like a sting.
The feelings hurt and you start overthinking,
Your happiness and smile start shrinking.

The exciting part of love is to feel the essence of it,
It embraces you and makes you commit.
The journey might appear to be futile,
But the destination will always be fruitful.

The Inner Demon

It howled at night in the pitch-black jungle.
It wanted to spring upon its prey,
Upon hearing the prayer.
Oh! It was a calling.

It possessed the man to commit the act.
The possession is real, oh, it's true!
The urge is real, the thirst too.
He's a conniving man now!

He turned towards the moon and smiled.
He pulled his claws and wings out,
And flew towards the moon.
Oh, the beast it was.

He got hold of a branch and moved forward;
Branch by branch and tree by tree; 
Moved till the end of the trees.
At the sight of lotus pond.

He stretched to grab the flower he loved.
In the water, when he saw himself.
Astonished, at his reflection.
For the Demon he was.

All along the way, was I always a demon?
Is my bad myself as the good is me?
Am I demon to act the thought?
Is the good thought-not-act?

He growled and cried for his own reflection.
The guilt killed his mind, ah, the tears.
The appearance too; unwatchable!
Turn me back! He growled.

But can he? Or will he change the act done?
The devilish deed and demonish greed.
The wantings of urge and pure need.
Now he is all the demon's feed.

The demon jumped out, sprung out from him.
Left him crying at the pond, laughing hard.
The man on his knees, crying out loud.
But would he know it left?

Would he ever again dare to see in the pond?
Could he ever have a glance at himself?
Will he realise that it was not him?
That it was the demon.

And the demon? Just part of his mind's jungle.
The one that hides and attacks when called.
The actions! It possesses them hard.
The thoughts however, not!

It is the thoughts that call it out to act open.
The man could have controlled the call.
But did he? He gave himself to it.
He sold the soul to the demon.

Now he gets what he asked for, the eternal guilt.
The burden of the thought; that unasked act.
That could have passed away; the thought.
But it did turn into an act.
The unforgettable.
The un-passable.
Quite natural.
But still is,
Not-allowed!
Is never.
No, No.
No.

The White Rose of Mary Garden

I belong to Mary garden,
The garden of beautiful roses,
Many are red, while one is white,
The red roses thought the white is special,
The white thought she didn't have the colour,
Every time we all grow a flower,
The gardener comes to take us all over,
He took many red, but didn't chose me much,
I thought I was not just upto the mark,
I grew flowers and then they die and fall,
No use of me like all the red flowers,
But fortunately, I was always treated equal,
Gardener loved me, he always kept me special,
I wanted all that red roses had,
Put in the normal ground with all the crowd,
Little did the gardener knew I was lonely,
He always thought I was charmingly lovely,
Neither he allowed anyone to touch me,
Nor he gave me that regular treatment,
For all I knew, I was just getting loner,
A few red roses loved me for my charm,
Then there were many that totally hated me,
I started growing weak with all that in me,
Mentally and physically, I was falling apart,
The gardener tried saving me,
But the poor didn't knew it all,
I am just a plant and I will die like all,
I tried to make flowers but I failed always,
Growing innocent that I will grow one day,
My little red friends also believed in me,
Always pushed me to get that extra mile,
I didn't want to disappoint anyone,
Pushed it harder to every ounce in me,
Unluckily for me, I didn't knew my power,
Either it was a boon or just a ban,
I realised I shouldn't have tried to know it,
When I didn't knew, I was "The White Rose,"
After I know it's all just a prose,
I died in the process just trying to bloom,
Now that I am dead, I can see it clear,
Dumb that I thought, I was the only white,
For now I know we are all coloured different,
Different and Beautiful, all over mesmerizing,
We all be born and die some day,
We all are treated equal and special,
You just need to see world from a different view,
Then you can fly and be out of the blue,
Wait the story isn't over! I did that too,
But how did I die, wasn't I supposed to live,
The red roses as I call them are all alive,
They all saw themselves normal and didn't reinvent,
or I was just a fool to think I could be any different

Compressed Room, Outburst Of Feelings.

I’m sitting in my small compressed room,
But my thoughts are going like boom.
Scrolling through texts on my phone,
Feeling like I’m in a place I don’t own.

I have a lot of emotions and want to share,
I really doubt that anyone would care.
I feel numb and start thinking of what is next,
After a while, my phone chimes and there is a text.

It’s from a dating app, and I got intrigued,
It is a girl I liked a few days ago and I’m excited.
I opened her and profile and it has no pics,
I gathered the courage to type my first words.

I want to talk to her but have no words,
There is music in my heart instead of beats.
I decided to talk to her by sending a text,
I had no courage and thinking of what to do next.

After some time, I sent her a “hello!” and was very nervous,
She read it, started typing and I got curious.
She sent me a “Hi” and that’s the best feeling ever,
Suddenly the compressed room isn’t gloomy anymore.

We are texting almost every day and it’s awesome,
It feels like my mood suddenly had a happy blossom!
Everything about her was perfect and beautiful,
Every slightest text or update of her was blissful.

She told me I’m the honest guy she ever met,
It felt like I’m looking at a beautiful sunset.
The compressed room now became a colourful one,
My happiness and joy for this are now second to none.

I started developing feelings for her and decided to confess,
I got the fear she might reject and my heart felt a little distress.
I finally gathered the courage to confess to her,
I hoped she would accept and we would be together.

She smiled at my message and replied “YES”,
I fell into a life of never-ending happiness.
I didn’t know how she looks and it doesn’t matter,
She came into my life and made it way better.

We are together and for me, it is a great success,
The compressed room became, a heaven of happiness.

The secret thought of my heart!

Should I kiss you back or should I not,

Guess this is just a curse, just a wrath;

Should I tell you this or just hold the thought,

Because you and I are made to be apart;

Is this what we call misery, or our fates throwing us dart,

Well, it might be just us again crossing the paths;

Should I wet my lips with you or leave them to rot,

Don’t worry my dear, that’s not your fault;

Wish you could ask me one more time to touch or not,

And I could tell that I miss you and you are too hot;

I laugh at myself about that because I thought I forgot,

For my mind keeps telling me, you are carrying a lot;

Whenever we meet, I can see through your heart,

Is it just me with you or is that my art;

May be I should seal my feelings like a clot,

Darling, you and I are made to be apart!

Read more such stories and poetry on https://penfluky.home.blog/category/stories/

Night Life, Expression Of Countless Tears.

When the time passes towards the night,
It is time to set everything straight.
It is time to log in and work,
Time to put on a fake smirk.

I have to speak to clients on the phone.
Treating their problems as my own.
It feels like the night is pulling me to oblivion,
Sometimes it all feels like an illusion.

I feel like a night owl that doesn’t know other sounds,
It feels like I’m lost in a gigantic abyss.
I can’t even cry about it as I need to speak,
My heart inside me always has that sad squeak.

I cannot keep these emotions no matter how much I try,
Sometimes in the night, I want to hug someone and cry.
Every night I work it makes me more depressed,
I have lost interest in things that make me excited.

Mentally, I’m dead and physically tired,
Trying to keep it together, emotionally I’m drained.

Oh naive idiot!

HaHa! What an idiot you are.
Did you expect some niceness in return?
It is you that is bothered with niceness.
But not the world.

How naive of you!
To think that being nice,
Will make people nice.
The quality of nice,
Is nothing but a mirage.
They do think they are nice,
You soft skinned snowflake.

Truth is not the world is harsh.
It is you that is soft.
So small is your threshold,
So ignorant are you.

All the knowledge and nothing works.
All the trials and no one cares.
Everything is a psychological construct.
You reap what you sow,
You see what you think.

It never did mean that you sow niceness
And you reap niceness.
Whatever you sow,
Something you will get.

Wasted analogies,
Useless metaphors,
Generalising the world into meaningless sentences.

How logical is the comparison?
Is it just poetic but not real?
Of course not, how can sowing relate to life?
Yes of course, what you sow that you reap.

But it is not such in life,
It is only factual in sowing.
In reality you only control only what you do.
You do not control what the other does.

Hence, it doesn't necessarily mean that you sow what you reap.
Even metaphorically, it is nonsense.
You sow what you sow,
People sow what they sow,
What reaps, reaps.

Don't tell me now,
That you reap what you sow,
Because you don't know,
You can not know.
How naive can you be,
To think what you sow reaps.

Heck with rhymes,
Heck with structure.
Heck with rhetorics,
Heck with poetics,
Heck with quotations,
Heck with books,
Heck with learnings,
Heck with morals,
Heck with manners,
Heck with niceness,
And heck with you.
Oh naive, idiot!

Oh mighty hawk! Where did you go?

In the middle, in the middle
Where did you go?
Leaving me here,
Oh, mighty hawk, where did you go?

Come to me, come back.
Oh, dear mighty hawk!
For there is something at lack,
Without your talk.

Looking at the people,
In their busy lives,
I think I might tremble.
Are you roaming with your wives?

You were inside me,
When I needed you the most.
You showed me a way to see.
Without you I’m just a ghost.

How can you leave me?
In this faceless jungle.
Jungle with no trees or bees,
Filled with people who are very terrible.

Please, dear mighty hawk,
Come back to me,
For there is no one here to talk,
Only a waterless sea.

Hopeless bricks and ice cream sticks,
All around the world nothing but tricks.
You flew away from me when you saw those pricks,
With ties, and suits, these corporate dicks.

Where did you go?
Oh, mighty hawk!
Did it hurt your ego?
By their bad talk?

I lost you long ago,
But I cannot forgo.
In the search of my lost ego,
I set foot, ergo!

Did you leave yourself,
In the quest for something else?
Where are you now, why are you now? 
Have you any understanding of who are you now?

Learn poetry writing with these simple steps

Poetry, a beautiful form of writing which everyone adores, right? Sounds intellectual, feels lovely! Oh, what a wonder is a poetry!

Oops! I started writing poetry by mistake 😃. Once one starts writing poetry it’s hard to stop. Because once we explore the beauty of poetry, it is hard to ignore. True that, who am I to tell this?

To begin with, I am definitely not a brilliant writer but I have been writing poetry for many years now. That being said, I think I can share you some of my personal tips, if you are willing to write an amazing poetry, especially for beginners.

So, let’s get into the topic. Firstly, to write anything, it is important that we understand what form and tone of writing is ours. One definitely can experiment with these but there might be something that is your strong point. Utilise the same to create a poetry. But if we do not write one before knowing the tone, how can we even explore what’s our style?

I meant to say that you may write small phrases or stories or quotes or anything else so that you can understand what your style is.

Now that you know what your style is, sit and start writing something.

What do I write about?

If you are a beginner, keep it simple! You don’t have to write brilliant things to make your poetry wonderful. Poetry is about emotions and opinions. In laymen words, if you are willing to write about feeling dizzy, make sure your readers also feel dizzy when they are reading your poetry.

How to write a poetry?

There is a misconception that if you are writing a poetry, it has to rhyme on every sentence. But that’s not true. You must definitely read about different forms of poetry writing to understand this part.

Simple tips to write a poetry

This all sounded a little easier said than done type right? Don’t worry, I have got you covered!

Remember these points while you are a poetry

Avoid writing cliches!

Make it understandable

Keep it creative

Use the magic of words

Play with the imagination of reader

Keep your motive clear

It is definitely not as simple as it sounds but once you get your flow, nothing can stop you.

One shall definitely make mistakes but remember there is nothing like a perfect piece of writing!

To learn more about content writing, read this

WHEN LAW TURNED TO FLAW

Law or flaw?
Judiciary or is some kind of a mockery?
To the brother who’s serving a life sentence;
for the crime he did not do;
That night will forever be of repentance.

The mother who taught him how to walk;
Has got such a shock;
Half of her body is permanently into shock

The father who gifted him his first car;
Is too old & poor to fight
& had to sell the roof which protected them;
From the bright sunlight.

The sister who’s an aspiring lawyer;
Has lost all hopes on the system;
For here innocents are the victims.

And the innocent who is spending his days;
In a 6*6 feet black hole
Is losing the power over his soul;
And for what?
For the doubts in the caste and religion.

So my dear friends,
What and for whom is the evidence?
To be fabricated? To be planted by the money & power holders?
Or for the law to behold the truth?

This poem is a tribute to Mohammad Nisarudin and many more innocents who spend their lives in the jails being the prisoners of the system.

Who was Mohammad Nisarudin and story of few others……

On January 15, 1994, Mohammad Nisarudin was at home in Gulbarga, Karnataka, preparing for his Diploma in Pharmacy final exams, 15 days away. After he qualified, the 19-year-old planned to get a job in one of the Gulf countries, a dream he and his best friend Sajid (name changed) had talked about since they were seven. But that day, the police knocked at the door of his parents’ home and took him away in handcuffs. Initially, the police booked him for a bomb blast that had taken place in October 1993 in a Muslim educational institute in Hyderabad, then he was booked in a few unsolved bomb blasts that had taken place in August and September in 1993, then he was booked under the anti-terror law Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act (TADA) — which was repealed two years later, in 1996 — for planting the bombs that took two lives and injured 22 in five trains on December 5 and 6 1993 in Mumbai, and after a ‘confession,’ put into Ajmer Central Jail. On February 28, 2005, a TADA court at Ajmer convicted him and gave him a life sentence.
On May 11 2016, the Supreme Court ruled that his confession, which was taken in police custody, was totally inadmissible, acquitted him of all charges and set aside his life sentence.
While the length of Mr Nisarudin’s incarceration is extreme, his isn’t an isolated case.

Take Abdul Wahid Din Mohammad Shaikh, 39 now. He was charged of complicity in the Mumbai train blasts of November 7, 2006 and spent nine years in Arthur Road Jail in Mumbai before being acquitted of all charges — the only one of those accused to be acquitted — and released. Mr. Shaikh told The Hindu that all the accused were made to sign many documents, some of which were blank. “Had I known the consequences I would have never done so.” While in jail, he enrolled in a law course, and finished a course in journalism. If he knew something of the law at the time he was arrested, he said, “I would have known what a confession is, what the consequences of signing on any written or blank pages are, what is the rights of an accused are, what the rights of those arrested are, what the duties of an investigating officer and agency are.”

And there is Adnan Mulla, 40, who was sentenced to 10 years for the Mulund blasts of March 1, 2003. Initially he was illegally detained in 2003 and not released because the police wanted to make him a witness. Then he was made an accused after he refused to give a statement against his brother-in-law of Saquib Nachan (former general secretary of the now-banned Students Islamic Movement of India, SIMI). “I spent six years and one month in jail,” he says. Throughout his incarceration, he was kept in the cell, an egg-shaped high-security block. “I was going to get married the same month I was picked up,” he says. “My fiancée waited for seven years for me to be released. Only I know how much she and both our families suffered. How can the loss of time be compensated by any officer or government?”

Who is the system for? Why is the system even their when they take their own sweet time and do not care for the innocents?

Full story: https://www.thehindu.com/news/cities/mumbai/prisoners-of-the-system/article17333262.ece