'Few Breaths' by Shikhar Pathak

Few Breaths

That thing which keeps slipping, every moment! Few Breaths! How long their duration is? Do you know when their installments will be completed? There are no roots in the feet, but whom to trust, once the thread of kite breaks?

These breaths are the thread of kite, when these are tightly held, the kite of life seems to fly far away in the free open sky, and on the other hand blood keeps leaking. The relief of destination comes along the end of the road. There always lies a return path across that side of road from where nothing can be started from the beginning.

Everything goes around the pupils of the eyes differentiating between black and white, but who is aware?

There are four walls in a room. Leaning back at the floor of the past and looking at the roof of future feels like straightening the waist, but at the same time both the surrounding walls get disappeared from the eyes.

Whom to see! Whom to meet! Whom to trust and lean the back... It is difficult to understand everything in a moment! Very difficult.

Door of this room is about to shut forever it is just waiting for me to step outside and on that day the hands will be freed! Kite will also take its journey on that other side Of The Road and then the pupils of eyes will also get rest.

~ Shikhar Pathak

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City and the Mountain

I still remember that morning!
On one side of that steep Road, the smoke rising from the snow capped mountain was forming its own distinct cloud right from the first Ray of dawn.
It is said that we write about the same things that we think about.... I don't know what I lost in trains , rain ,that city and now in mountain and when I would find that.
Tightness of inside, starts to take a grip on the mountains by stretching its arms. The snakeskin of the old man begins to fall in the Gorge itself. A new person comes from inside to grow old.
On that golden day a boat had landed a little inside the lake.Why? and how? No one knows. But he was relieved to think he would get along with someone to come back to shore.
People say that on one night the mountain had moved from its place to the city. The city told the mountain about its true colour and since then the memories of people are still very dark about that night. When a piece of nail gets broken it feels no pain.... But that night before the mountain broke,  it screamed very loudly.... And I missed you...
As if while remembering that black night, it was like remembering that mountain shining like gold! Like listening to the melodious tune in the present buried under the screams of future.... Such as feeling the pain similar to when nails were cut....

'The End'

Today ,my heart wants to talk to you again, about those things which will never end now....
I don't want any of us to say 'Aur batao' these words indicate the end of talk... I have to spend this life talking to you. And my heart no longer wants an end , but a beginning in which there is nothing like 'The End'.
I have seen an end, of myself ,yours, ours and of whatever we had.... And after seeing the terrible face of 'The End' so closely, I do not want to live again what I have already lived.... Back then, how much things got changed , that I realised how terrible a word made of combining  four letters is, smaller the world larger its form...

I want a beginning , a beginning in which we start things from where we came close to each other ,and what you felt after that terrible 'The End'?What I lost? and how I remain alive in the hope of your coming back?
 I want to live a phase of life telling each other all these things.

I want you to tell more, so that in the meantime I can keep looking at you to understand every change you acquired in this passed time. Is your laughter still the same? Does your face still turns reddish in the sun, like before.... Or now it has also molded itself with the situation? Do you still know to give that false smile ..... or everything  has changed now?

Well I also wish for few things has changed so that this beginning  does not come to 'The end'... I want our talks to be ever increasing , but let our words remain incompleted, so that in the Greed to complete the things, I do feel short of a single life craving for many more, thus fulfilling the criteria of never-ending, ever-increasing and a selfless love.

~Shikhar Pathak

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#shikhatpathakword's

Story or Desire

Some stories are strange.
Absolutely complete despite not meeting their fate.
Stories which started from the middle of Whirlpool and got stuck somewhere. Stories with their end moving in the opposite direction, are in search of a common arrow.

People who think for others beyond themselves... Possess the destiny of often losing their own self.... the definite destiny.
People having high dreams, who ever wanted a lot from life. Life gives them everything but in a ruthless transaction it snatches that one small heartily desire secretly from small estate, ultimately equalising the deal.

Characters like such will get lost in the mist somewhere far away.... In just 3-4 years. When for the time are flying, vagabond, alluvial clouds stayed ? They will find a place to shower their empathy.

The day when accumulated capital of emotions, memories, the binded way will become unbearable...
When the heart will get tired by frequent acts of being rebel.
That day , on an unknown level it will rain to compromise with that sole desire left to be fulfilled.
That day ,the real personality must die in the game hosted by the nature.

Those murmuring clouds , somewhere far away must have permeated the earth with their drops getting bound but devotedly.

But that story???
What about that....???
Stories will remain imprisoned for centuries in that vortex...
Waiting for the clouds which will never return.
Clouds which got settled somewhere else...
Forever and ever....

Read 'Those Stains'