Ticket to Freedom

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Confidence,

Self-Belief,

are just sounds echoed till we actively seek,

To project and believe,

A daily task to open shackles of doubt,

To unleash potential and let it sprout,

Each day, I walk towards it,

Then I take a few steps back,

To cross this channel,

To dive a little deeper

Almost there, Almost

I crave to hear

Each day I raise the question louder,

Today, can I try harder?

Now, as I come close to the ticket window,

I need to muster the last of muscle power,

To smile and walk ahead in line,

Convinced, I have mustered enough currency of courage,

That lasts me for the journey,

To announce through the ticket window,

Yes, I am ready

Finally ready to take on this ride,

Tokens of tenacity,

I find them in my stride……

 

.Rupika Moitra

Circle of injustice and Anger

Five years ago, I watched in disgust and pain, an incident all over media about the rape of this young woman by a group of men. She fought till her last breath. The incident was grave enough to send shivers through the distant of hearts. It outraged the world, it outraged the men and women alike. All hoped for change. Change in laws and change in social construct, mental makeup of a society plaqued with patriarchy. I felt a sharp jolt every time the incident was talked about and enraged as I watched lawyers of culprits justifying the act.

5 years since and many such cases over, I notice a certain desensitised part of self that wants to run away..want to avoid at any cost. I don’t understand the inconclusive outrage, the protest anymore that doesn’t change a thing. I don’t understand the request to stone the men responsible to death.

I don’t understand the statement of “I am what I am” by girls coz if you have to say it aloud- then you are not really ok.. it still bothers what is thought of you. Authentic Acceptance of self come from guess who… self.

To me, those men represent a group of hyenas, really who traced a vulnerable cub, a victim. Their conscience is curved by their hunger of power. They are still the part of jungle full of animal instinct.

But, our egoic satisfaction through self-righteousness, I don’t understand and hoping actions of eye for an eye, wanting to propagate relentless fear… how does that change a society. Members just get good at hiding. Criminality is not something to be killed. It has to be fixed at the core like a disease. Punishment should be realisation of crime not vengeance.

Someone should ask them of their moronic motivation of a underdeveloped mind. Ask them why they have some to hate humanity to extend to shred it at it soul.

I am not there yet myself to forgive but I don’t wish them shameful deaths because I can’t objectify my own instinct to see someone killed.

Conniving destructive deeds and anger outburst. Where does it lead us? How many times? Social justice should begin from self. Killing hyenas wouldn’t stop scavenging.

Be the change…compel the world to change the channel to promote kindness..don’t push bad part to the naughty corner so deep that they creep up on you. How do we question that anger within, if we do ?

If it leads somewhere .. go ahead… if it doesn’t … make the change.. don’t be the ostrich and under the same sheet of sand.

The sheet of hatred.

Finding self through boundaries

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The week after Easter…Did anyone see the moon on saturday? I wonder about the sense of wonder that enhances after 30’s and takes your breath away as though you are a reborn child.

The break gave me moments to reflect about my struggles with boundaries of self and others. I endeavour to build some, around those streching that hand- not for really reaching out but to pat their egoic shoulder attached to that claims ‘I know’.

I want to shut out – the words carelessly thrown around as advice in a self-righteous tone. I see my weak boundaries crumple…I accept..I am so disenchanted. I am afraid someday, I might refuse to open to the one with purity.

Another part of self wants to find you – You under that shell, rightly placed. Under the civil, eye-wash conversation, lie that voice which is reaching out. Too scared to ask, coz ‘there is nothing wrong with me’- it says. I want to say- Yes, there isn’t.

Broken-we all are..

Lost, we all have been..

who is the saint?

Let in, someone carve a small window, where the iron door is shut tight and let’s share- ‘Where?We feel we sinned.’

Let me show you my wounds, they don’t hurt anymore but maybe, my flutters can assure you of your Glide. Then, we can take a flight together.

I was so tired once  sitiing behind closed door, waiting  for one who could make me hear my voice. I am tired now of making these walls, they crumple so easily. How does one love with such disdain inside?

Rupika Moitra

Strangers in a Park

pexels-photo-316889.jpegA Stranger occupied the opposite bench from her.

Every alternative day, She found him sitting there.

She opposed familiarity, Changed Seats;

Yet, unexpectedly, an expectation sneaked in,

To find him there,

He became a part of her day,

After many silent days,

She noticed his clear hazel eyes, smiling at her,

She looked away,

She feared, he will read her story too soon,

Eventually, he will know;

of her predicament,

her fears and all she longed,

But persistence was in eyes of this stranger,

She couldn’t return the gesture,

She began smiling and looking his way,

And suddenly one evening,

He didn’t show up,

Another couple of days, his absence created abyss;

She kept staring at the road, at his bench,

Her night and day occupied,

Why does she feel this void,

And this night, unknowingly a prayer,

knocked at the foot of her heart,

and slipped through her mind,

May he be alright,

May I see him again,

Something seemed unsaid,

Something incomplete,

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With weird hopefulness, She returned to the park,

Left alone her bench and walked to look at his,

Disappointment grabbed her feet,

How silly, she thought, Is all this…

Now she resolved, it’s time to leave forever,

This land where emptiness has reeked,

Everything will haunt her, remind her of him,

As she came to her bench,

Perhaps to say goodbye,

Awaiting was this flower bunch,

Confounded, She was,

Is the seat taken?

For no one is to be seen,

She read the note written in bold letters, saying,

“Walk with me, to the other end”

She knew, She could tell, “It’s Him,”

She knew, it was time,

To bid aideu to unfamiliarity,

It was time to walk his way,

To fill their beautiful silence with words,

She thought, she would start with,

“Where, missing have you been?”

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-Rupika Moitra

Learning

I am still learning,

Wisdom from a 7- year old,

Love and pleasing from a 5,

I am still learning to be me,

To hold my hand and walk me up to a stranger,

Kindness eludes me when faced with discomfort,

I am still learning,

Perspectives could me many,

Truth could be hiding in middles of those,

I am still learning,

That your smile is not mocking,

It’s as scared as mine,

Hiding scar of hurt and burns,

Deceit, defeat, still we soldier toward

The shifting goal post,

Scared to love, scared to let go of defences,

I am still learning,

To hold a praise,

To carry it – with grace,

I still welcome the green eyed snake,

I am still learning,

To do what’s right,

I know of things,

Strange things, obsolete ones,

Yet, I still learn…

Say it

Say what you think… no matter how hard. Say it. Don’t cover it under layers and layers of political correctness. Give a voice to that Unwanted side of yours. Accept it and reveal it….. Because if you don’t attend- it’s noise is getting louder and louder.. until you notice and react to the dance of destruction.

You will break some relationship if you do or if you don’t… but at least you will set yourself free. You might break open self but you can carry the broken bits with pride for the attempt. Let shame not guide you, to harbour a silent death sentence of ‘authenticity’

Speak with urgency of truth in reaction to the preciousness of your life.