I Predicted The End, Merely After One Chapter, Half Written. The Rest Of The Story Waited Patiently,

How difficult it was to accept that you were never the one. Lying in the shadows of others, no source of light until they leave. It was never envy or jealousy, just question marks.

Just wondering where you were lacking. No matter the efforts, no matter how much of your time invested, you were just never good enough. The weighing scale always rose upwards at your side, the lines of progress descending. 

Life is a competition, I believe it too, As always, I prepared to achieve something, But somehow found myself standing in the “I wish, I could” queue.

Participation matters the most, they say, but those symbols of achievement just never reflected you. 

~ark

I Must Be

I have to be relatable to be seen,

I must feel the same to be heard.

I have to be patient and listen to their empty words,

I must be caring to make them feel like home.

I must remain unknown to make them known.

I have to make them feel happy,

I must compliment their flaws.

Standing in the courtroom,

I must face a trial for breaking the laws.

I should have a bad memory,

Forgetting everything

And move on,

I must apologise for not becoming their lifeless doll.

~ark

Guilt

The urge to remain where we are, not wanting to move, not wanting to change and then feeling guilty for not achieving, for not changing, for not beginning, for not ending, for not continuing.

Standing in front of the mirror yet avoiding it to not witness the failure achieved, to avoid the reflection of the coward who refused to give the best, who chose to ignore everything.

The guilt of not putting efforts and then reading the disappointed expressions hidden beneath the acts of consolation. To show that you worked when you never did and when they say, “At least you gave your best. That’s what matters” 

How do you break it to them? How do you present your cowardness, your lethargy, your unfaithfulness. And then, you opt for a path you never thought you would take. You become something with a void building within. All the emotions that were never expressed eventually stop hurting, they become a habit. The void gradually growing consumes all the emotions leaving a creature too selfish to even care. Showing acceptance for something you should’ve fought harder for but you leave it, you leave yourself where you were.

But in all of this, one thing remains,

The guilt of not feeling guilty. The constant war to define it, to categorise it as justification or an excuse. But these words seem inappropriate, what do you think would fit?

Cowardice, distracted, remiss or the inertia of not moving ahead from the information to know the difference to the wisdom of making one?

When I hope, I drown

~ark

TEN LESSONS SCHOOL THE INDIAN EDUCATION SYSTEM TAUGHT ME

If a girl gets harassed in school, it’s probably because she didn’t braid her hair in two plaits or wore “provocative” clothing.

Marks are way more important than knowledge and street smartness.

The victim is a bully, and the bully is a victim.

Equality is a myth.

Adults can hold stupid grudges on young children who have done nothing to them.

Everyone wants perfect students but nobody is the perfect teacher.

Science students deserve more respect.

If one ant bites you, crush them all.

Blame the students for everything.

Education is a business. Its main aim is to accumulate wealth rather than give appropriate knowledge.

Chaos.

My mind and heart are always in chaos. Their conflicts are my contemplations, their silence my dilemma. 

Their contradicting desires to fulfil a single temptation, their yearning to solve something unsolvable. And that’s what keeps me going. Thinking, understanding, then losing it and then reassuring. 

For the cycle to go on, they must stand at opposite ends so the boat doesn’t sink.

They must act parallel to walk together until my last breath.

But then, how will peace be achievable? For how long must this war go on? One must find content, one must feel fulfilled. 

We choose how we live. Life is a series of them, like every mountain followed by a valley. Pain followed by bliss, riot followed by peace. Read it backwards and the perspective differs. 

And at every turn, isn’t every choice, a war of wants?

Peace isn’t constant, a result of constant choices rather. Choice to stay silent and then speak, choice to find peace in war or war in peace.

Thereby, I choose to find solace in conflict. 

Between heart and mind

They must be against each other so that I can stand against the world.

Alone

All the answers known, I still chose to stay silent. Although I needed someone by my side, I chose to remain on a barren island. All the truths uncovered, I chose to act unknown, My true self drowned in the ink of guilt, I was ashamed to be shown. Descending in the darkness alone, Forbidden from the feeling of ‘home’. I was a stain for the eyes, That was meant to be on its own.

~ark

I wanted life to fill me,

to make something of the hollowness I carried.

But life was demanding—

it asked me to fill it instead,

to give my all,

to talk more than listen,

to be seen rather than simply see,

to laugh more than savor the moment.

I drained every bit of myself,

trying to stand at the forefront

of my life and that of others.

Until every bit of life was drawn out of me.

I was meant to be a simple soul,

finding joy in whatever came my way.

I don't know why the world

was so desperate to make me the engine,

when all I ever wanted

was to be a floating boat.

From hollowness to hollowness, I returned,

but now with a deeper yearning—

a longing to exist

without judgment,

without scrutiny,

without every step carrying consequence.

Now, I want to do things for their own sake,

to walk for the journey,

to breathe just for the next moment.

To let myself be filled of life,

Of the moments that don't carry meaning,

Just peace.

Areeba

Belonging

I let people go while I hold onto things. People drift apart, flowing rivers and I remain a shore, holding onto their fragments. The letters they wrote, the illustrations, the conversations, I preserve them, becoming soil, fertile and fruitful.

I hold onto memories, capturing the person I know would change eventually. Who finds the same person twice even in the same person anyway?

So, thereby, my efforts are never focused on caging the flowing river rather, take a part of it and make it a part of mine. 

Be it good or bad, I absorb everything to nurture my being, to experience bliss and pain, to experience fertility, to experience solitude when called barren.

The rivers become a medium of change sometimes, I flow through them, my silt deposited where it didn’t belong but still absorbs in it, becoming a part of something different yet I remain different. 

I wonder whether my identity of being silt was just an imagination. Being a human, I must be a river, ever flowing, irrigating fields of livelihood, ever changing, giving and taking yet never keeping.

But that’s where the difference came. I too give and take but after making it mine. 

I possess; hence, I belong. I belong; hence, I remain trapped.

Identity

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

How do I relieve myself of these emotions, If not by bleeding myself on paper? How do I express myself to the world, If not by baring myself for everyone to see? What is my comfort, if not being vulnerable with words? Where do I go, if not to pen and paper? To whom do I share my happiness, sadness, My sorrows, and guilt? Where do I let out my anger, Before it turns me cold and sharp? Where do I pour out the storm, Before it drowns me? Tell me, what do I do, If not write?

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

©Pen_Pain_Poetry