Train of thoughts

Savitri – A Symbol of wisdom and love   Eighteen years of austerity and endless penance, Led to the birth of a divine celestial child, ‘Savitri’ The girl grew up to be the embodiment of beauty, Whilst being the epitome of humility and intellect; Time passed by – she reached a marriageable age, Yet, seldom suitors came by! Alas, they trembled, For Savitri was astute and of impeccable beauty; Disheartened, her father – the King, sent her forth, To seek her own husband, to discover her partner; In her quest for her husband, she met ‘Satyavan’ Striking son of blind, exiled king – Dyumatsena; Yet, upon returning to her father, she was informed, ‘Despite his valuable virtues and his high qualities, Forget him and find another suitor, my child – for, He’s destined to depart the earthly world in a year!’ But Savitri was determined to marry only Satyavan,   She dismissed their woes and assured her parents; All persuasion went futile and Savitri mar...

Image credits : Unsplash  Numbers crawl on me and choke me tight,  I twitch, cry and struggle – put up a fight;  I watch the shapes and signs twist and turn,  Moaning at appalling memories they churn;  Integral signs entangling like Grim Reaper,  Vehemently – like the crawling creepers;   Massive cavalries of trig – sine and cosine,  Forcefully march their way into my mind,  I shut the book and fling it out the window  I go to bed, snuggling myself in a pillow;  In my dreams, I traverse afar – into a land,  With no math, with my worst fears canned;  I watch an empire of square roots – topple,  Watching them fall into their own debacle;  I let out an evil laugh, but it lasted a moment,  As what followed next, made my soul lament;  I wake up in a sweat, I had a nasty dream,  A dream, that ripped me off my self-esteem;  I miserably failed in math yet again!...

Image credits : Unsplash I'm filled with dread as I stare at a blank piece of paper, with my mind creating havoc. What if one day, I lose my ability to articulate my thoughts? What if I'm unable to pen them down to accommodate more chaos? What if words no longer come to me when I beckon ? What if the pen no longer remains my weapon? I shudder at the thought of being incapable of expressing what I intend to; I'm afraid, one day, I'll be unable to exploit my writing to move a soul or two.