A whisper to the stars

What would I tell my lover if he would hear me right now? Listen, to the ticking of the clock as each passing second I lie in wait for your voice to fill my ears 

Feel, the emptiness that wraps my body in the absence of your worthy arms

Show, the many faces of strength and fake satisfaction, in the wake of you not being here 

See, the times I have left for journeys alone, even though you ought to be with me 

Laugh, at the times I dared to hope that you may await me at the next turn

Cry, as every almost lover ends a tale with the deafening silence of heartbreak 

What would I tell my lover if he could hear me now? 

I would write to him a letter soaked in tears of endless wait 

I would speak to him of times I sung for him in vain

I would whisper in his ears vows of eternity 

I would shout from atop the mountains the cries of desperate patience

What would I tell my lover if he would hear me now? 

Breathe, I would murmur, breathe, my love 

As I am not far away 

A kiss, a moment, a step is all that it takes. 

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Why I am an attention whore and what I do about it

Brown eyes stared back at me and I was forced to blink rapidly to see clearly. Worlds had shifted and suddenly I could hear the blood pumping through my veins, the drumming of my ears became louder and breathing became heavy. I could see my reflection stare at me desperately. 

I stepped out of the washroom and there he was. Bleeding from the head, unblinking and clouded eyes looked as if they could see the coveted light of peace. My insides wanted to scream ‘Dada, Dada’ but like one of those nightmares where our voices betray us, I stood glued to the floor.

One last look at myself before I hurled my breakfast into the sink. Ugh. Sick all over. Brain and mind and body. The rotten smell of the disgust with the nausea from the blood I had cleaned seemed to render all sane thinking coherent. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. Wake up! Dada has fallen down! He’s bleeding! My mom rushed out in her nightclothes as a pale faced brother of mine followed. Servants emerged out of the shadows that they are trained to be in, to help two screaming women and a teenager pick their bleeding grandfather off the floor. The ambulance was on it’s way. 

Sirens in my head and prayers in my soul. First thought to enter my mind, you ask. Oh God, why does this have to happen before my birthday? A piece of my conscience raised it’s eyebrows as I mused – God is too cruel. Everything is ruined now. A funeral on my birthday? No thank you. 

‘Thank you, thank you so much.’ Sputtered my father as he shook the doctor’s hands. Papa’s eyes had dark circles beneath them, owing to the late night flight from Dubai to India and many a sleepless nights before that. His ever present smile had been replaced by a worried frown and a prayer to hold on to the last surviving member of his original family. 

Family should be enough. No friends and no party but yeah. Mum, Dad, Dada and Brother. Good enough. I couldn’t believe that this is what it had come down to. My birthday. God I remember college. Such attention, such love and so many gifts. Now that is what I call a celebration. Not this year. Not now. 

Not now. Not yet. He prayed fervently at his Father’s bedside. Papa turned, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Our driver had got Dada’s favourite. Pineapple juice, for him. Tilting the hospital bed upright, Papa tried to make him sip it. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he smacked his lips, Papa heaved a sigh of thanksgiving. 

In my own time of thanksgiving, I sat in the temple on my birthday. The peace gave me space to think of the past week. So much had happened. A life had been saved, a family had been strong and a selfish girl had been born. Sometimes, as humans, we are too hard on ourselves for our shortcomings. And sometimes, we should be. On the outside I am understanding and forgiving, while on the inside I can, I admit, fall to any depths to be the centre of that attention. 

I have learnt that if I think of what should, what would or what could be, I lose sight of what is. I lose sight of who loves me in search of all those who don’t anymore. And for this, my soul asks forgiveness. In silence, I pray for all those who could forgive me if my behaviour has caused them pain or hurt. I accept all and thank Her for all that She has given me. 

Freud can probably explain it better than I can, for I cannot. I have learnt to be less surprised at the grayness inside of me. But I have also learned to be graceful about it. We’re all guilty of thoughts that we ought not to be. Of silent hopes of someone dying or living or falling down stairs or of someone failing the test we know we screwed up. But in the end, it is our self awareness that defines us. The most human thing is to make a mistake but the most diving thing about humans is the ability to accept them, to forgive selves and better them. 

Brown eyes smiled back at me and my cheeks lifted as my lips curved. They spoke to me. It’s okay they said. It’s okay… 

5 Things Cis People Can Actually Do For Trans People (Now That You Care About Us)

The (Trans)cendental Tourist

It’s been a weird year for trans people.

Allow me to be more specific: It’s been a heated, daring, tumultuous, graphic, specularizing, aggressive, pointed,contentious, highlyfatal, and really, really complicated year for trans people.

Here are a few examples: Kristina Gomez Reinwald, Ty Underwood, Lamia Beard, and many othertranswomen of color have been brutally murdered at the hands of lovers, family members, and strangers.Meanwhile,Laverne Cox and Janet Mock have come to fame and exhibited incrediblefeats of grace, articulation, and poignancy under the gaze ofan eager media. Blake Brockington, Leelah Alcorn, Taylor Alesana, and many other transgender youth have committed suicide afterenduring endless bullying and systematic brutality. Meanwhile, Jazz Jennings became the new face of Clean & Clear and published a children’s picture book about her life, and teen trans couple Arin Andrews and KatieHill (best known for “Can You Even Believe They’re Trans?!” types of headlines) wrote and published individual books…

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The Truth About Immortality

In these words, lies the truth about immortality. So, close your eyes and open your heart to me, for this I shall say unto you. All that we know be nothing but a lie. This body I inhibit, this brain that yields logic, they aren’t mine. Upon my last breath, they are which that shall be taken from me. These failures, these successes, these achievements, these grades, they aren’t mine. If I am not as lucky as the heroes I sing of, my stories shall be buried in my grave, along with that which is my mortal being, my destructible body. Listen closer, for the time of truth draws near. What is immortality, they shall ask of me at the gates to heaven. And I shall say to them what I say to you. My spirit is immortality. My soul is immortality. My love, my pain, my loss, my fears, my bravery is my immortality. Not what I have earned or haven’t, but who I loved and didn’t. My learning of my place in this big, dark, vast, glorious universe. My growing, my strengthening, my flaws, my perfections, my very being. Then why must I worry? About these failures, these successes, these achievements, these grades. Why must I feel unworthy upon witnessing fellow mortals’ successes? When it is I who have unlocked this great secret. This great secret hidden in plain sight, in every teardrop, every echo of laughter, every gust of wind, every fallen leaf and every splash of rain. The great secret stored in every element, every star, every planet and in the all-encompassing darkness. This great secret my Mother Universe has bestowed upon me. This great secret I pass unto you. This, the great secret of immortality.

The colours in my palette

So I’ve been doing some thinking and I thought to myself of this word that people like to define their lives around. It’s a seven letter word called purpose. I sit and I see around the lives of people, moving so fast to achieve that purpose. They’re like splashed colors on a colored canvas, indistinguishable and unnecessary. What ever happened to the real purpose? Of happiness and oneness and love. Of freshness and honesty and beauty. I like my colors. They’re all bright and white.  They’re all strange and unconventional. The purpose of their existence is existence and their existence’s purpose is simple. I like them. They are distinguishable. They stand out in the canvas of life.  

10 Short Medieval Poems Everyone Should Read

Interesting Literature

Looking for some great short medieval poems which are easy to read? Look no further than this, our latest post…

Medieval poetry can be a daunting field to dip into (to mix our metaphors terribly). Although Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and Dante’s Divine Comedy are masterpieces and essential reading, perhaps the best route into medieval poetry – as with any poetry – is to start small. What follows is our pick of the best short medieval poems written in English.

They are all presented in the original Middle English, because here at Interesting Literature we believe that that’s the best way to read the poems. This does mean that several words/phrases need glossing, so we’ve done this briefly before each poem. All of these poems were written (or at least written down) some time during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries: our source for them is the excellent Penguin book of Medieval…

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I am Human

What am I if not human
What am I if not a mix of fears and of love, of feelings and of logic, of heart and of the mind
Why should I be confused when all the world is waiting for me to live
Why am I on the precipice waiting for something that has already happened
Where do I look for this happiness that I have already achieved
What am I if not human
Just an artist, just a writer, courting insanity itself
Just a girl, or a woman searching for herself in the crowd
What am I if not loved
Just a heart palpating in silence
Just a mind thinking in loneliness
A loss of words is normally not a loss of emotions
The feeling of emptiness takes over but it shall pass as replaced by the sun itself
As the light shall enter the grilled windows and illuminate the darkness of the troubled minds
As all of us shall join hands in our portrayal of our own paintings
As you and I shall fall and rise again, autumn after winter after spring shall be followed by summer again
As souls shall be immortalised and troubles forgotten
What am I if not alive
Just a mix of fear and of love, of feelings and of logic, of heart and of mind
What am I if not human

And the tale of the escape

The autumn leaves were fallen on the ground;
they glowed brown and shined red
The cold wind blew them in her direction, flying past, grazing her face and hair;
Just like the sorrows of yesterday.
Upon the lost souls of thee, does the noon sun shine, melting the ice of fear away.
In the water below, I see the light of hope bouncing and playing with the waves of capriciousness.
In the bent tree above, is the evidence of growth against the pull of deadening and restricting gravity.
The air I breathe carries the scent of freedom
And through the iron bars I see the city of love, frolic and escape.
The white flag wavers atop the hill and sings to the sound of the wind.
Freedom is close, the beginning is ending as the ending of a beginning approaches.
The heart shall find its way through the solitude of the lost yesterday
And hands shall reach to grasp the blue skies and she will disappear into the magnificent nothingness of the escaping white clouds.

Run, Run, Run like the wind

I always wanted to run away, ever since I was a child. To run into the woods and to face an adventure. To go so far away that even the sound of silence is not heard. To be with my colours of the soul and elements of the nature. To sit under the clear sky in the mornings and gaze upon the wintry moon in the nights. To be present when water splashes against the immovable rock, curving it’s ever changing path across an ever stationary nemesis. To be able to breathe an air that is just mine because you see, nature speaks to you, through the animals that love and its birds that fly. It hums the tune of majestic solitude in the face of deafening responsibility. It wants you to fly with it, to fall when it falls and to soar through reality, as it pleases and on own time. Nature does not demand consistency, it asks for faith. It orders no rules, it requests for boundaries. I draw my own lines and I’ll write my own story. I make my own friends and I’ll pick my own fights. I am the child of Nature for she is my Mother. For how am I different from her in my spirit of flight? How am I unlike her in my silence and in my thoughts? I give to her what she gives to me for, you must recognise, I am nature. Vain, beautiful and unpredictable in all its glory.

CHILDHOOD OF ETERNITY

CHILDHOOD OF ETERNITY.

Childhood of eternity

Little kid over there chases the sunbeam.

Little kid over there runs across the stream.

Little kid over there swings by his troubles.

Little kid over there blows his sorrows away to bubbles.

Oh look! Look at the little kid over there.

 

Little kid over there is suddenly lost.

That little kid’s dreams, turning to frost.

Is lost, is lost in a world so cruel.

Why must he alone face this life’s duel?

Oh look! Look at the little kid now.

 

Not as simple, these trials of life

Not as expected, why this strife.

Little kid is little no more,

Memories of past have gone so sore.

Oh look! Where is the little kid now?

 

I grew and saw the world so bad

But sometimes I think, is it me who am so sad?

Bring back the innocence of the child

Bring back, oh bring back, the sweetness so mild.

Little kid in your heart,

 Little kid never to part.

 

So don’t forget the kid within

Remember happiness for infinity

For a childhood is of eternity.