Scribble Express.

THE MANNEQUIN (I). Though at times I want to dress in green, But as my built says, Obedient is what I have always been, And I am known as the Mannequin. I am the one who observes you all bit by bit, You come to our home, And by silence is how I greet. I see faces and faces all day long, Some tired,some exhausted, Some happy and some in gong. Every day, every hour,  and every minute the faces change, They flashed and went and flashed and went. But once by a glimpse, I remained startled for a moment, The feeling emerged in me, Felt like my biggest achievement, It was a face unknown, With sharp noticeable features, He went to the side departments to get the purple covers. Though always the faces came, went and altered, This was the time when just one face mattered, I so wanted him to enter the department of clothes, Where I was standing eagerly waiting, And this one thought of not being able to see him again kept me bothered. When my tickling sensati...

YOU! You know what is it, You know how is it, You know how that works, You know how it goes. You know it already! He has set it in you, The ability to know. You are aware, Better don't pretend. You know they are going to judge, The world is a stage where judges always may not be even, Some mean, some gross, Some exact and some overboard. But you know that this world is diverse and are diverse the thoughts and talks, So let them say, But leave no space for you to be provoked. You laugh, You laugh at yourself and there it goes minimized in others, You play around with self and you leave them with zero gap to dump you out. You criticize you, And you leave them the thinnest strand of talk to find, Then you may see the pleasure is actually divine, Crushing without crusher, Firing without bullets, Cutting without knife, But still there is pain. WORDS! They are stabs of scars irremovable. They are marks of the devasted land they leave. If they say, Do...

Some days I feel the touch of this gusty waves of wind on my face, It at times brings me my childhood stories of playing hopscotch and the biased running race, Where I used to win all the time as I was playing alone. This flutter sometimes brings me the scent of you, The scent of my dreams, The scents of the deserts and the seas. It reminds me, I have oceans to cross and mirages to tackle in balls of sand. I look at it. I let this whirl touch me, I feel you every second as you give me force to breathe, You have always wafted by my side, Danced along my joys and have brought in songs to my tears, You have wiped them off to blow when I had fears. I have that vintage connect to you, You make me nostalgic of some things I have never have had. I feel in you the glee of making others jovial. I feel in you the fear of being fierce at times. I feel in you strings that tickle my heart, I feel in you the grief you have of when someone is hurt. I let you touch my face, Or ...

I love you not because you are pretty, But because you are short. I love you not because you are demanded, But because my heart throbs when I am with you. I love you not because you are lonely, But because you add on to my being alive. I love you not because you like Bollywood movies, But because you are the tune I feel like humming all the time. I love you not because I am striving to get love, But because you shine like morning in my weeping nights. I love you not because the clock fleets for ageing, But because you are the time I want to freeze in. I love you not because you are the topper of the class, But because you make doltish acts while walking. I love you not because you like lighted chandeliers, But because you can be the moonlight for the veiled room. I love you not because you are curvy to every angle, But because you are the breath I feel freshened when taken. I love you not because you are the daughter of some merchant or man of power, But ...

Just a mist of water, And a fog of snow.  Just a calm of fire, And a dust of crystal. Just a flow of rocks, And a pause of time. Just a spark of simple, And a simple sparkle. Just a way of trillions, And a footstep of none. Just a laugh of dumb, And a numb of chatter. Just a piece of moon, And a whole of half. Just a day of one, And a show of lights. Just a hush of wind, And a blow of earth. Just an Illusion. ~Akankshya Das. 🌸

What good does this crimson do? When this heart lacks to feel. What beauty does this odour fill in? When this ticker is full of void. The thorns now grin bigger and bigger, Each time the eyes see them they get tingled and prickled. Each time the void decides to load up, The vines set already, Pull the sinker for the world to shrink out of the bosom. Now the ticker is set on mode fearsome, Fear of being itchy to the muscles and bones, Fear of entering to humanly zones, The biggest fear to face the faces of these demonic clones. Even if now the crimson melts down to blood, Or hounds my void fierce, Won't affect it any, As it is already blocked. Blocked by stagnant rotten emotions, Duelling with constant betrayal rotations, Darker than night that place has become, Blocked by scattered pieces of trust and devotion. Ointments can never make this nice, And now, words won't suffice. A broken flower is always a twig which is crushed, Fo...

There is always A story behind The Story, There is always A painting behind The Painting, There is always A song behind The Song, There is always A tale behind The Tale, There is always A wish behind The Wish, There is always A wound behind The Wound, There is always A pain behind The Pain, There is always An eye behind The Eye, There is always A hope behind The Hope, There is always A lyrics behind The Lyrics, There is always A solitude behind The Solitude, There is always A silence behind The Silence, There is always A you behind The You. There is always A star behind The Star.  *All love and one* ~Akankshya Das (Scribbler)! 🌸