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...
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Of outbursts and outcries
of myths and lies
in that gentle veil of silence
the love so pure, dies
The heart wails
and it bleeds
for all it couldn't get
and all it needs
And he's punished
for all that is red
for all he had worn
There were wounds
there were scars
and he was tied
behind the bars
and there was cure
there was lunacy
and there was lure
There was lust
on top of hatred's pile
there were the unfulfilled desires
and a wicked smile
Oh, there was freedom
there was salvation
but he knew it cannot die
not his own creation
On the path of oblivion
lied his grave, treacherous
and so he awaited, unaware
of the fate precarious...
(We, the contributing authors of Kaleidoscope were wondering how to make our weekends more productive and so we came up with the idea of conducting contests among ourselves inviting honest criticism from each other. Below is the first one - To write in 300 words, one's perception of the picture below)
I often find myself trapped between my other two sides. On evenings like these,when the setting sun of life draws a curtain upon my peaceful existence,I begin to introspect. I am lost in the chaos of my own silence as I discover my other sides. I am tired with the days happenings, of my failure that vapourises my prior feats. Like the early bird, that returns home with the pride of touching the blue skies along with the regrets to fall back on the land. I was the winner all along. I still am! Stars never fall to dust, nor do they fade when the nights get the darkest. This is one of those dark nights. While I am caught midway with repeated failures to fly higher than before, I need to my a choice. A choice between looking back at those glorious moments when I outshone myself, inspiring myself not to give in. Or to choose between my weaker soul that chooses to look down and give up! Both the sides are a part of me, the question is which one of them is more prominent. As the evening dissolves into a new hope,I choose the one the inspires. I choose the lessons of the past that will help me fill in a new flight. While a whole new morning awaits me ..
By Smriti Mahale
There are three kinds of people in this world.
First, who are seeking all the answers from within themselves. These are people who are restricting themselves in their shell.
Second we have people who are looking at others for their own answers. They depend on others to seek themselves.
Third and the most successful are those who do neither of the above. They are not too much into them. They are not finding themselves in other's journeys. These are people who are looking into the horizons and writing their own stories, charting their own paths, walking their own journeys.....
By Parul Tyagi
Crow #1: Hey, you know he smells different.
Crow #2: Yes, he’s been with them. He reeks of humans. Now he sits aloof from us as if we are beneath him.
Crow #1: I never thought he would change so drastically. We were together in all the ups and downs of life. Should we talk to him?
Crow #2: Nah, you wait. He’ll come back to us begging. The nerve of that guy.
Crowd #1: You’re right. We’ve done too much already for that guy.
Crow #3 (in deep thought): I hope my friends accept me even if I’ve been tainted forever. I don’t know where else to go. Who am I kidding? They’ll understand I had no choice. After all, we’re the best of friends.
By Rafaa Dalvi
When the Sun hasn't kissed the horizon to rise, they rise like clouds on a windy evening. Leaving the comfort of their nest, to perch on the thin wire that carries electricity like the restlessness in their own veins, they fly as the dawn follows them. And they wait, every dawn, not for the Sun to rise, but because the dusk felt too long to sleep.
He looks down, the darkest of the crows, in a search for a sign of raw flesh lying dead on the ground as he gulps his fear that he might see something he shouldn't.
The other searches the skies, looks all around; he hopes against all odds that what he searches for will come flying to him one such early morning.
But the third one knows it all; he pretends he doesn't know what his brothers are waiting for. He pretends he is lost in thoughts. He recalls the old days and he fears the future darkness holds. He looks up at the heaven and gently sighs - “Mother, I wish you were here.”
By Sanhita Baruah