Category Archives: Cliff-Hangers
Rows of white
Lilies bled in the
A beautiful cacophony of
In the darkness they dwell,
Uniting hearts and
Stirring the thoughts of those
Who sleep, sound on their
They catch glimpses and
Run amok the pure rows,
Run wild creating
Friction so dynamic that
The universe binds itself into
One and across the realms of
Each others existence.
The numerous spirits
Applaud their courage
As they sweep back into the shadows while
Dawn approaches again.
x EdgyShark x
What is a lifetime?
It is a moment’s happiness strung with another’s pain.
Transient, it lasts till you live it.
One life, that one time.
x EdgyShark x
You can only hope that the world you’re living in, is something that you’re actually living. What if everything around you is nothing but a projection of your own subconscious? What if everything that you’re actually living, turns out to be a lie?
But you wouldn’t know, would you? Because it’s the power of the mind, you’re very own subconscious that’s feeding these thoughts into you like a parasite. You can’t resist it, and on another level you do not even want to resist it. It’s playing a trick on you, something for which you might have to pay a very high price for later.
But you can’t stop what it’s doing to you, because on another level, you want it to continue. Because after all, it is but you’re mind and your thoughts that are causing it to do whatever it is that it is doing, thinking about.
Where does reality begin? Is it where the artificial world ends?
Everything is what you think it to be. Projections of your own subconscious, something that is beyond the control of your grasp when you’re awake, but perfectly in tandem with your emotions when you’re in a state of dormancy. It’s ironic, isn’t it? How you’re able to control something better when you’re not doing anything?
At least you think you’re not doing anything, but is that the truth? Who knows what’s happening when your eyes are shut to the world. The world you think you live in.
But you don’t know for sure.
Every single time a positive emotion takes over your mind, it is bound to take place in reality unless it becomes ill equipped with bouts of negativity. There is no one capable of making you think out what could be even if it is not what is meant to be. What has to happen, will happen. But isn’t that something that you can control?
Water will flow, the sun will shine. Those aren’t things that you can take care of, but are things that could be present in your world. What if I told you there is nothing of that sort in my world? My world where things happen how I want them to.
My world, where whatever I wish takes place. Things I do not even know I wish for, happen. Because even if it is my existence, your existence, you’re thinking about that each and every projection and how it goes about it’s daily routine.
And at the end of the day, when you come back and lie down on your pillow, it’s the time when you don’t think about a single figment of your mind, but what it is that affects you and how it is that affects you. Melts you down, makes you stronger, stranger.
And at that moment, everything seems real, until you fall into a state of bliss again. Not knowing what is going to happen next, or what might have been had you not fallen prey to your own self.
Your greatest enemy, your best friend.
The only thing that you shoudl treat like God, yet you invite foreign particles into your thinking and slowly, with time, fool yourself into believing that you are not the sole entity of your own existence.
It is then that you invite trouble. In order to take the lime light off yourself and not be the center of attention. Gradually and eventually, you begin to treat yourself as the enemy and forget where you commenced. You forget that even though you might not be the most vital aspect of the universe, but you are the single most important thing of your own existence.
And that is all that matters, because who is to say that the others around you are not real but are actually your imagination?
But you will never know that, even when at the last moment, it all comes scathing in a rush to tell you that it’s your last chance to survive in the game.
x EdgyShark x
Please note: This post is copyright protected. Any person found misusing the material will be sued and will have to hear an ear out from me. I will also haunt them after my death. Unless of course you’re ready to recruit yourself to my religion and promise minion loyalty. This is just a preview to the real thing.
Do you know the story of Benjamin Button and how he reversed in age, growing younger and then dying a child? You’ve already done whatever you had to in your life. Believe that you’ve accomplished everything that you wanted to. And then move towards a sphere of achieving those goals. If you know you’ve done it, there’s nothing to stop you from focusing those thoughts in the mentioned direction.
It’s like you slowly reach a break-even point where both sides of your growth and development converge to form your physical well being. You’ve done what you had to do, and you have to do it too.
Do you know about the Quantum Theory? If you fire a bullet, it’s going to move in the same direction and nowhere else. You can determine exactly where it’s going to hit.
Yet, this plays on the lines of karma.
Now I know where I’m headed. I don’t know, this might sound confunding. But that’s where lies the difference between you and me. I have the exclusive conversations that boggle my mind and leave me brain washed. At least I’m trying to convince you. I need to convince myself a little more first.
x EdgyShark x
I’m not going to say anything. And you wouldn’t either.
She cries in the night. She’s all alone, twilight’s fallen. The moonshine streams in through her silky curtains, milky in colour, as it radiates the glow of her skin on the walls around her. She doesn’t feel trapped, but she knows she’s been captured. Her green eyes, a window to her soul, scream out in desperation. It wasn’t meant to happen. The tears fall down her face, like water gushing out of a broken dam. And they keep falling.
And there’s no one to wipe them away.
All she can think to herself is, “Cry Juliet, cry. It’ll make you feel better if nothing else.”
x EdgyShark x
La Rouge Nuit, as promised was supposed to be a prose piece written here. But, as mentioned earlier, I need to be more fluent with French before I can start with my writing. It’s going to take some time, but it’ll happen. Until then, you keep enjoying the english.
The cold winter night hadn’t seen this coming. Dry wind blew all around Lahore, chilly and far from comforting. Distraught souls aimlessly roamed the city, some wanting to pounce on the enemy and draw out the crimson liquid out of their bodies, others seeking solace amongst equally lost, but familiar strangers.
That night, she was in pain. Pain such immense that the thoughts of succumbing her precious life to the wrath of the darkness seemed better than possible. “Precious,” she thought and spat out in disgrace with all the energy she could muster.
Every life is precious. A beating heart full of adventure; Adrenaline ready to take over the world. So was hers. But they didn’t understand that. They never tried to understand her anyway.
They treated her like dirt, like she didn’t belong. She was supposed to cater to all their wants and needs. Never did she have any time for herself, it had always been either a matter of being forced to be obedient, or get imprinted with the lashes of that wretched brown leather belt on her frail back.
And she didn’t want to answer any questions any more. She was tired, so let it all surpass and gave in to the red night. Twilight broke past the torn green curtain as she realized she was bestowed with the responsibility of carrying a child.
Tonight, that child wanted to break free of its protected womb, and get a taste of the cruel atmosphere that dawned upon mankind.
She wished it was a boy. Otherwise she knew they wouldn’t let it live. Her screams were soon drowned by the loud wails and gasps of a tiny little boy, swathed in red and fluid. She didn’t know which emotion to feel. She tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but it wouldn’t come. The pain hadn’t subsided as yet, and the pitiful reassurances of the midwife troubled her mind even more.
She winced because of the trauma that was being inflicted on her, both mental and of the body as the two other women in the room got ready to help the boy’s twin sister out.
And she thought she had failed; because her daughter, she knew, would be killed as soon as she would try to breathe and take in a whiff of oxygen to fill her tiny lungs. It was the beginning of the end.
Kael was eleven. He spoke in a way that mesmerized people around him. His grey eyes, a window to the world, spoke of his latent innocence. His voice, almost hypnotizing, he hummed and sang, while going about his daily routine, trying to make the most out of mundane circumstances that Lahore had to offer. Mundane, yet full of terror.
Kael’s experiences ran past his years. Always calm and patient, the boy felt he was missing something. Something that was his, part of the same world, mind and body. No, it was not his mother: He never felt her emptiness. He didn’t know what she was like, and he didn’t want to either.
It was something else, the reason for which he didn’t feel complete.
She worked in a small tea shop on the outskirts of Punjab. The war was almost over. Many didn’t even want to use that coined term, war, yet what else can such a grave division of one’s motherland be called?
She was not alone though. A little girl, over a decade old, always managed to keep her spirits up. Her imagination, as vivid as a myriad of colors, expressed itself through her grey eyes.
Her mother had just finished telling her the gruesome yet wonderful tale of their escapade. She wanted her daughter to be able to make the world a better place through her beautiful song and lyrics.
The woman proceeded to tuck the cheap glasses away on the bottom rack of the wooden stall. The clinking of the cups sounded comforting mixed with the hum of the wind that came in from the neighboring enemy outlines of Lahore.
Yet the wind is pure, aged and wise, and the little girl laughed as it blew her hair away softly. “When are we going to meet Kael, mother?” she inquired for the umpteenth time. “Soon Kyla, soon,” her mother said as she felt her guilt overtake the burden of false promises yet again.
x EdgyShark x
We’ve been four really close individuals for a decade now. And we’ve grown to live with each other’s differences – both matter and opinion. Our names are Fifteen, Thirteen, Nineteen and Sixteen. And we have epiphanies in snack bars during the frequent rendez-vous’ and night outs together. We fit in in high school too, even though we’re all scattered now. Yet, we always get to thinking, “What If..” Well. Here’s what.
Fifteen is shy. Apprehensive, but not diffident. She might seem like an open book to many around her, yet isn’t so. Excellent at manipulating emotions as well as people, and possesses the qualities of the perfect narcissist. The High School Cheerleader, perhaps. Loves thriving, and sports. As well as the usual mascara touch ups. Doesn’t like to admit her love for fur and frill, and tries to be stone cold. Very assertive. Very charming. Very fair and pretty.
Thirteen is just too excited and hyper and could be passed off as the cutest little thing jumping from the walls of the Beebleboos all across the other side to the Beeblebeans. Tall and punk, she’s The Annoying-Funky-Sister. She’s hip and cool. And she can’t stop scribbling gremlins or talking. x) She whizzes by with a myriad of colors, and you can just tell, she’ll probably make it to the popularity list in the senior year with all the perk and math inclined brains.
Sixteen is bipolar. In it’s normative as well as scientific way. She mixes with everyone, yet her best mates are just the close ones. Pretty open about her thoughts and feelings, and a tad bit misunderstood. She is The Bitch That Rules The News Paper. Her beliefs lie within the proximity of truth, and her mind tends to rage storms inside all the time. Very expressive, dynamic and professional, she tends to lose herself at times, psychologically. She doesn’t care about all those who make snide remarks about her, because Nineteen taught her she’s better than that. No you can’t catch her. Because if she’s not busy working, she’s probably in a pub somewhere, downing Fosters’ or espresso shots with the mates, watching football while alternative booms in the background.
Nineteen. Is quite calm and mature. She’s The Loner. The artist who doodles in her notebook and tries to blend in with the crowd. Nineteen detests drama and wants things set straight. Also, very in-your-face kinds, she’s taught these above mentioned other Stitch Punks a hell lot about life, love and other disasters. Extremely diligent, she finishes whatever she knows she has to. Extremely precise, her sense of style never loses it’s allure. An excellent taste in music and books as well, which include all kinds of genres. She does what is right, and no more. She doesn’t want to disappoint anyone. Nonetheless, the temper’s not quite stable, and the sarcasm is quite cutting-edge. You might just want to stay away xP
And these freaks are all still happily living after.
x EdgyShark x