©
0 Raw Whispers © Edition-4, 20.09.2020
Accepting the harsh brushstrokes of life and keeping alive good memories?
-Rinchen Angmo
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Pieces
1. Seasaw -Prerna 3
2. Summer of 2020 -Shumzin 4
3. Composed under a Cloudy August Sky -Samson 5-6 Haokip
4. Questions without Answers And other Random 7-9 Thoughts -Harsahej Mann
5. Paradox of Existence -Tavishi Agarwal 10
6. The Smeraldo Garden -Anushka Saha 11
7. That Latent Goodness in Us -Sonam Angmo 12
8. gluttonous clutches -Bidisha Dam 13
9. It kills your happiness -Aastha Sarraf 14
10. Trace the trail of raindrops -Mehak Talwar 15
11. Faces -Prerna Kejriwal 16
12. Is it a rendition of my heart -Sonam Chhomo 17-18
13. Must we give in? -Poorvi 19
14. Continental GT -Samson Haokip 20-21
15. I carry my heart -Saanvi Hissaria 22
16. The light you see -Aastha Sarraf 23
17. A story of three people -Rinchen Angmo 24-27
18. Thank you 28
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Seasaw
Within me, a deep sea I swim up but go down Light at the end Seems almost within reach. Not for long Will I be alone.
The sea is me And I the sea. No divisions, No limits. I am infinite. The sea one day Will be as free as me.
Store is closed today But I still go to shops Wanting to capture water, End up catching drops. Today is the last day It shall be closed. I'll be a loyal customer Till my last breath.
In the beginning, there was me And the sea. We were lonely Before we found each other. The truth unspoken The self undiscovered. Now together at last, My soul is united With the deep. -Prerna I'll never leave me again.
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Summer of 2020
Reminiscing the days of summer 2020, We would walk for miles and climb mountains together Have long conversations under the night sky, Count shooting stars Giggle Trouble Fancy each other... I wish these days return And we can stay together forever..
-Shumzin
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Composed under a cloudy August sky
In the cloudless sky of an ending August night Four stars populate the sky, The cool wind of winter permeates The moist warm atmosphere of Delhi.
This fresh touch of an impending winter Tingles my nerves and spine Not for its cool, passive touch But for another reason altogether—and the reason is Change.
Change in all forms and sizes is always unnerving. One can’t predict what the spring or winter brings But one surely knows, feels the exhilaration of standing at the cusp of a change. These may or may not be desired But once its foot reaches the plains of our reality We begin to change. Nothing ever stays the same: That which does – also changes, Morphs into a relic left behind.
I do not fear Change, Not anymore But the cusp is not a pleasant place to stay: The longer I tarry and anticipate The lesser I become in my own eyes. Sometimes, I want to stay Not because the cusp is a pleasant place to stay But because my failed nerves and dying sinews Refuse to budge, to move. Sometimes, I prefer delaying the heavy hand of disruption, Though I know the later it reaches me The heavier becomes the blow. I admit my desires are not the best, But I sometimes give in to them I admit that sometimes The cusp freezes me And instead of burdening my feet firm I let them float;
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Let myself flow in the many airs and winds. I admit that sometimes I give up On trying my best to fix and build Whatever it is I envision and dream— But I also get back up And in-between these two moments of falling and getting back up I drift into an invisible stream Felt only by me Where I let my sinews unwind, Die and grow again.
I take my time.
The exhilaration of being in the cusp Overwhelms me— And I let it. There I die a couple of times Until death no longer worries me— at least for some time.
In this cusp I feel The creative urge to pen a verse. My verse is ethereal, It seems to not have a substance but why should I Attempt to justify The inner workings of my mind? It is the love child Of the cloudless August night And my sense perception. Just as the cool winds can inspire a verse So can a mosquito’s bite end it.
-Samson Haokip
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Questions without Answers And other Random Thoughts
There are no facts , only interpretations - Frederick Nietzsche
Epiphany
Blank . Empty . Ephemeral . Ethereal . A realisation that does not last : Misty clouds swirling like mounds of rarified vanilla ice cream disappearing into the baroque depths of a smiling sky . Epiphany , like a euphoric moment , disappearing almost as quickly as it appears . Epiphany , like the tune of a song whose name you cannot remember . Epiphany like the taste of love that used to be , but now is naught . Epiphany , so transient that it never lets you forget .
A new dawn - A Charlatan
The golden splendour of sunlight seeping into the veins of red leaves , obliterating the mauve dusk to blossom into a peach coloured dawn . A new dawn , promising to engender numerous dawns like itself . A new dawn dressed in the sartorial splendour of cherry coloured love . A new dawn , reminiscent of dawns long dead , now traipsing around as the harbinger of light . A new dawn holding the promise of novelty and love but giving neither love nor hope . A new dawn , scattering shards of iridescent glass across the terrain of cracking hearts that had heretofore sealed their cracks with the golden threads of hope and light .
Reality
Phantasmagoric Spaces and places coloured by blue and pink skies , cut by the searing sharpness of a sleek sky line distinguishing glorious skies from mortal land . Reality - a sleek skyline reeking of a banal reality slowly obliterating the allure of sweet illusions .
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Life
A couple of couplets or a code ? An algorithm or a philosophy? An illusion or a fictional reality ? A monotonous sequence of events or a courtroom drama ? Utopia or dystopia ? A paradox or a lie ? An amalgamation of narratives or rhetoric ? A personal essay or a polemical debate ? A fractured account of a larger episode or the first episode of the first season of a television series ? An opera or a street play ? A book review or the script of a play ? Us mortals , mere letters on a page or actors in a rigmarole ? Life : a play , biography or an autobiography ? Life : an interpretation , not a fact .
What Colour Is No Colour
Liminal spaces . Grey . Nor here nor there . I do not know where . Neither black nor white , nor grey . Spaces - Blurred boundaries , Broken barricades , Fragmented territories interspersed in an ocean of nothingness . Like a lost traveller , I navigate liminal spaces. Liminal spaces neither here nor there . Liminal spaces neither black nor white , nor grey . Liminal spaces , I don’t know where .
How
Red Roses out of coarse mud . Red out of brown . Sweet out of bitter . Beauty out of crassness . How ?
This Article
A cohort of random thoughts ?A set of questions ? An assortment of thoughts , or a page from my personal diary ? An extract from the book of my life or a letter to a dear friend ? A levitation into numbness or an attempt to add to my writing portfolio ? An ode to conversations on rose specked hillsides or a recollection of a lovely dream ? A note on the margins of my English literature textbook or a draft on Wordpress ? A question seeking an answer or an answer seeking itself ?
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A Question Without Answers
A question with no answer. A statement or a question ? A blue sky with no clouds . A sky or an ocean ? A sky with no skyline . An Ocean or the sky ? An open window with no view . A window or a canvas ? A room with no door . Locked or open ? A flag with no mast . A Flag or a cloth ? A girl with no dreams . Complacent or content ? A man in tears . A man or a woman ? A sentence ending with both a question mark and a full stop . A question or an answer ?.
Full Stop
An end to an end or a beginning of a beginning ? The termination of a preface or the new beginning of an aftermath ? An aftermath to a preface or a preface to an aftermath ? A semi colon - a continuation as well as an end ; a comma -a slight interim , a full stop the end of all commas and interims . A full stop , the end ?
The End An end to an end or the beginning of a new end ——————————- .?
-Harsahej Mann
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Paradox of existence
The bittersweet truth of existence , also the enigma of subsistence. The bigger is the world yet a smaller place to dwell; The less you relish the moment, everyday will feel like a farewell. The only certainty is the uncertainty for change is constant; The more minimally you speak, the more eloquent you are. The nearer you think is the destination , the farther it is disillusioned; The more choices you have, the harder it gets to find the solution. The more you are attracted to something ,the more it shows resistance, For these are the paradoxes of existence.
-Tavishi Agarwal
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The Smeraldo Garden
In a far away land, Of desire and darkness, Bloomed a story of unrequited love. A story that was intertwined, In the rather unfortunate fate, Of two oblivious souls. One at the mercy of her empty stomach, And the other at his unknown and unspeakable origins. In a tall, dingy castle, He remained hidden, away from vicious human sight, For he did not have the courage to show his scarred face, a reminder of his bitter past. To find solace in his life of solitude, He started to grow flowers in his garden. Until a thief came by, and stole them. Every night, he patiently waited, To catch this trespasser. Only to learn that it was but a poor girl, Who sold those flowers to earn a living. Whether it was sympathy or kindled compassion, He did not know, but he wanted to help her. He knew she'd never accept his imperfect self, so he decided to be of material interest. By creating a flower that never existed before, As precious in value as his love for her. And he finally succeeded, and placed it in his garden for her to take. But to his despair, he learns of her untimely death. And soon enough, the flowers withered away, Along with his memories. If only he could face her, and face his truth. If only he could stand by her side, And live a life happily ever after, Like in the tales of beasts and a beauty. Alas their story remains buried, In the garden of Smeraldos. A story of a secret that only the impeccable petals, Will remember for eons to come.
-Anushka Saha
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That Latent Goodness in us
What is that thread that keeps us connected & hanging in through it all? Pandemics, isolation, possible wars? What is the essence of that fire that keeps on burning & giving us life? No, “life” not in the sense of mere existing & passing one day after another but life in the sense of that grateful, tearful, joyful, hopeful collaboration of sorts. Collaboration with one another & with different facets of our own feelings & emotions unravelling in a span of a day, day after day. No matter how short – lived this essence seems-that few moments when it resurfaces, that few moments when it takes us by surprise, knocking on the closed doors of our minds-it reifies its existence. This essence is that latent goodness in us, that warrior kind of goodness that won’t give up. More often than not, we seem to suffer from amnesia of sorts, not having ears to the calls of this latent goodness. So much so that we have begun to view it as a weakness in the dog-eat-dog world we live in today. No wonder this whole current situation in the world is getting us to think much about impermanence. So lately I too have been having lot of thoughts about death not in a morbid, hopeless kind of way but in the sense of it being that inevitable exit that we can’t escape, so we might as well try & understand it, may be even use it as an opportunity as some traditions expounds. It feels like most of us have such an unwise habit of not even acknowledging it & living in utter denial, that it always comes as a shock when it does. So wandering along these thoughts I found myself asking what would bring me that hard earned peace while I struggle to take those last breaths, what would help me stay away from the words like regret or guilt at that time? There is just one way to do that-nurturing this extremely flickering & seemingly feeble latent-goodness. How fortunate are we that the humans of the past have been through these, have spent their lives finding the answers, have written books about this, have left footprints & road-maps about this-all for us to learn or to unlearn may be, all for us to be reminded of this basic goodness lying still & somewhat dormant in some dingy corners of our minds.
-Sonam Angmo
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gluttonous clutches
hands grip hands, say “let’s swallow the world.” and she wants to, wants to grab the sunsoaked earth between her palms like a cosmic lemondrop and crunch down, taste the satisfying flavour of armageddon as finally it no longer bows his shoulders and snapcracklepops her spine, the liqourice sky guzzeled by their ravenous mouth. but-
as hands grip hands worlds grip throats, and she is no martyr.
-Bidisha Dam
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It kills your happiness....
It kills your ability to express whatever little you learnt to and after that nothing is enough to make you feel anything deeply. It consumes you. Even in the moments when you feel a little ecstasy, it's just on the surface and it feels unreal to be honest; deep down you are just sad but are you? You stop feeling a lot of sorrow eventually and if you're lucky, you can still cry. It's not like you're always thinking about it, it just keeps coming back to you randomly. You can't even forget it because every time you try to do so, you end up reminding yourself of it; your efforts thus wasted, leading to the opposite outcome! All the time, it feels like you are just trying to distract yourself from it because nothing else seems to work. You try to reason out everyday maybe if you did something to deserve it and if you are to blame in some way but it eats you up even more. It's frightening to think how much longer it'll last and if you'll be able to hold yourself till then. Each day you lie down with this heaviness and dullness inside you. It's like you know all the answers to your perception of it but they just don't fit in its blanks! It feels like you can't come out of this mental misery no matter how much you try. You feel disinterested in everything after a while, you lack motivation to do anything. At the rare moments when you think of doing something worthwhile, it becomes overwhelming and you feel like you should rather deal with what's bothering you..... All you see is a dead end but it keeps going farther away and you are just flowing towards it like debris; you try to fight the intensity of the waves but it overpowers you every time. So you stay afloat like a speck of dust drifting to someplace; relieved to escape the bitterness of the sullen now and impatiently waiting to get through it all, aware that you can't lose yourself anymore because you already lost all of it. It hurts you everyday but all at once and you aren’t even sure if you are really feeling that. It kills you again and again; and not just a part but all of you. Ironically, the stronger you get the worse it becomes but really in fact you are barely keeping firm and just preventing yourself from breaking, falling yet again. How make times will you have to fall to break entirely? Infinite because you can't, even the smallest part can be broken again so you never actually shatter.... Maybe one day you won't be able to regenerate or maybe you will be able to fully integrate, but is being hopeful really helping you in anyway? A little. Maybe you have to decompose to reconstruct yourself. Maybe you have to go through this to face what lies ahead but why? Why do you have to suffer in this unbearable monotonicity of pain to be able to acknowledge ease and calm. It may be one thing or many but it kills all of your happiness. It kills your ability to express any emotion. Even in the moments that you feel cheerful, it's surreal. You stop feeling sad eventually and if you are fortunate, you can still cry.
-Aastha Sarraf
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I trace the trail of raindrops, As they slide down the window. I sigh, as I know it will be over soon. However, What about the pitter-patter inside my mind, Looping forever, Into thunderstorms?
-Mehak Talwar
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-Prerna Kejriwal
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Is it a rendition of my heart?
Korean OSTs have become an essential prerequisite to watch Korean dramas. It feels as if the tone of the plot is set through the use of music, especially when a trajectory or a purpose is befallen upon the protagonist.
Do you know that restlessness that arises due to unfulfillment of desire or wish? Sentiments that are hurtful and forgotten often have a way of returning back as resentment to their original owner. Yet each time you dismiss that sentiment, you begin to feel the tone.
Music somehow has that power to induce something sanguine inside you; especially when you become addicted to someone and for some reason that yearning to hear someone's voice becomes impossible. It is during these stressful, meaningless times when switching to music feels like a calm breeze slowly blowing into your face. Perhaps that's the reason why we often resort to music when we are sad. A sweet melancholy often keeps you awake as it let's you stay adrift in your ocean of emotions and cathartic moments. If music could have those permanent healing properties then perhaps a majority of us would have taken it voluntarily as a supplement to prevent excessive bleeding of our wounded souls.
A similar sentiment develops while listening to 'Can you see my heart' by HEIZE, one of the frequent OST's played in Korean drama 'Hotel Del Luna'.
The lyrics of this OST is in Korean but when translated into English, we understand the reason behind it's rather absurd title ''Can you 'see' my heart". The ost revolves around the realization that the heart after all may not stay forever, it'll have to undertake the journey, alone, into the abyss. Thus, from the starting of the first episode, this ost reminds us of the premonition that the characters may after all have to part from each other at some time.
Seeing or the sense of the eye/visual imagery is a powerful trait, often enfeebled by its possessors. Perhaps if its potential is realised then we may be able to see great little things which pass by us on a daily basis. Perhaps if, like our main protagonist who was earlier ignorant of his sixth sense, we enhance our vision beyond to what we want to see, then we can certainly sense the heart which is just an organ in our perishable body. The heart can be traced, felt, seen and heard. It just needs a mental push, a philosophical cry, or an angel's jolt. Perhaps this ost is also a reminder to our vulnerable viewers to
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prepare themselves for a sentimental journey of the heart as the heart, once seen, can be changed from its cold temper to a warm, affectionate core. When you connect this ost to the entire drama, it becomes enriching to see the plot unfold and wonder if folklore and our elders' tales could exist non-chalantly in the present world as well. The idea of impermanence resonates throughout the plot of this famous drama. The characters in the series are guests in a hotel but their resentment or guilt does not let them venture forward in life or death. The guests, in some ways, represent all of us who are stuck in the past. The managers of the hotel who help them may seem to be extraordinary but they too cannot escape their fate, that is, the ultimate fate of forgetting everything and taking a step to embrace the new. The tunnel and the bridge, which the guests step into, are simply fragments of this vast universe which explore time zones and extra dimensional spaces. If we had a chance to reverse our time periods, then would we leap into its fold? Perhaps the wise decision would be to remain as it is. There is nothing more or less that we can do for ourselves. We may remain in the memories of our well-wishers but we cannot do anything more than which has already been set in place. Change is inevitable, death is irreversible. Thus, the theme of impermanence reinforced with supernatural folklore invokes the very essence of the viewer's imagination and their own interactions with others.
-Sonam Chhomo
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Must We Give In ?
When the youth cries, they say: don't. It makes you weak. You need to be strong to survive in a world so tough When a boy falls in love with a man, a girl with a woman, they say it's a sin. It is forbidden
In this world.
When she tries to love herself, they mock, they ask, what is this mental peace, you don’t need a therapist. When a child wants to speak, they shut him for he knows none about how this world runs
One is lynched, one can't breathe, one gives up. They sympathise but even in prayer there lies an acceptance- this is how this world is. And to not come to terms with this can rebuild what awaits.
We can cry, We can love : ourselves and anyone, We can speak but with the capacity to listen, We, can sympathise. Let us not give-in into beliefs for it is us who make this world tough to begin with.
-Poorvi
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Continental GT
The sub-vocal rumbling of air Which reverberated inside my helmet Had drowned my head in a soothing, Almost-tangible, pool of noise. It was the first time I rode a two-wheeler At 120 kmph, or any vehicle for that matter. For a brief moment, which seemed to me A space hidden between temporal minutes, I forgot myself. For a brief moment – only a mere Five minutes – I forgot people, pandemic and academics. There was the road ahead, the bike and my father behind, And for that brief moment I forgot him too.
Riding at 60 kmph on the Mahatma Gandhi road Overtaking slow and careful drivers Sends a youthful thrill down my spine. Though I don’t do it often; I am a careful driver too. But gliding away at 120 kmph On the vacant Noida Expressway was not thrilling. It was pacifying.
The vacant highway blurred the perception of speed. With few vehicles to contrast how fast I was going The speedometer was my link to ground reality.
My Pulsar can’t go beyond eighty, it is old. But the Continental GT effortlessly pulled a hundred. It’s mammoth weight is a pain to balance in the narrows streets Of Sunlight Colony. But on the highway, it held the ground well. I once rode pillion on a Scooty going sixty, it was a joke. It felt like riding a paper in a tempest.
The Continental GT is not mine. My cousin brought it from Chandigarh To take it to Ladakh or Shillong. We have it for safekeeping till he finishes his errands. So one day we took it out for a run, I am glad we did. It eased me for a brief moment; I can always go back to it through the mind’s eye. It helped me forget for a brief moment Even the pangs of a concluded love. -Samson Haokip
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I carry my heart as heavy as the moon, As if it is most likely to sink in the Dead Sea. I wonder how I am coming out of the void of my own intricate thoughts to look at them look at me
Who came up with the concept of time?
Why wired my brain in this manner?
Am I the only one who seeks for the hidden realities of this maze?
I cry tears of an eternal laughter wanting to know their artless devotion to life, My melancholy sings to strike a chord that always quivers in their hearts and My homelessness waits for them to truncate my pain. But how can they easily cover my sadness in the name of my NONCHALANCE! This makes me question myself for minutes that turn into hours that become weeks..... Whether or not I AM FOR REAL? ~delicacy
-Saanvi Hissaria
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Sometimes, the light you see may be a of different colour than what you perceive but in the dark, it's presence will be enough to lift your spirits.
-Aastha Sarraf
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A story of three people
A story of three people, or is this about one? Maybe two people? Maybe all? I think they were related. But I suppose we’re all related in some way or the other; especially the people one bumps into. Aren’t those the most special kind of encounters, precisely because they’re unforeseen, which is precisely why they bring a smile to your face even in the darkest days. At least that’s what Skalzang believed. Skalzang was at the height of her youth; an interesting period. A period of immense pain yet immense understanding. Sometimes her mind wavered a bit, or maybe a lot….but who defines how much the mind wavers and how much is ‘normal’? Maybe, we never pause to acknowledge that we’re all just different…recognition and respect of these differences is what fosters friendship. And why not? Skalzang thought it was delightful to meet different people: to get a break from herself or rather, her mind. These ‘different’ people may not entirely understand her as she may not understand them, but what mattered and brought a smile was that they tried to understand, to be patient, to care not because but despite…
Tashi, was the epitome of empathy; which often bordered on confusion. That’s because he had a heart of gold; so, how was he to understand how vile people could be at times. And so he continued being kind-hearted even to those who were the opposite. But, even people with a heart of gold eventually understand that if they can expend gold from their heart for others, perhaps sometimes others could too. You see, we’re all inherently beautiful beings, so why not be kind as per our capacity…well, this will initiate many subjective responses, and rightly so..after all, everyone has their own perspective… This was something Skalzang was beginning to understand…maybe because she was beginning to critically examine her own behaviour towards others as well… You see, she never meant harm (well, nobody does), but sometimes her mind wavered, or maybe it was people, or maybe it was life, or maybe it was karma….. whatever the matter was, her mind became clear every time she looked at that particular backdrop and the memories that invoked and the hope for maybe some more memories for her special jar. Her jar of memories…the second most special remnant of her life…though time faded, the memories remained…and the wonderful thing about memories in this jar was that nothing could change them, nothing could stain them, not even herself….because though she owned the jar, she didn’t own the memories…she shared the memories with many beautiful beings… 23 RAW WHISPERS I Edition 4
Which brings us to Unsung Hero, Tashi’s grandfather. If ever hard work is personified, Unsung Hero will be the perfect manifestation.
And then there’s a fourth person… well then why did I mention only three people in the beginning? But don’t we all? Don’t we always nullify the ‘extra’ person : the maid, the bullied student, the bullied teacher, the guard, the gardener, the homeless person on the road, the ‘ugly’ person, the poor person, the uncool… don’t we automatically assume they don’t feel as deeply as ‘us’…wait, who is us? An imagined community of important people? Important not independently but relatively..rather, interdependently… what is the ‘I’ truly worth when seen for the ‘I’ alone….is the ‘I alone’ worth anything?....can there be an ‘I alone’…..so if there isn’t any ‘I alone’..why the hell is the human being so full of oneself? I mean doesn’t a maid feel as hurt, as happy, as sad, as confused, as in love, as perplexed, as lost……isn’t a maid, first of all, a human being? then why do we treat ‘others’ like they’re stones…why why why?
‘Including myself’, thought Skalzang.
There is no answer…only a chance to try to be a better person……….let these questions question, question, question…… allow yourself and others to be….to be…..to be………….what?...... who knows…
Another question that perplexed Skalzang was that of ‘fondness’…and why was it that this fondness always came at a price….why?.....and yet, fate puts you there…so that you fall more and more into the emotion and suddenly come face to face with an abyss….and then you sit by the abyss and analyze….but there is no conclusion….only time will tell only time will tell……
Again questions…..and the answers? Who knows who knows…who knows…
….If you liked them, either they’d disappear (after appearing!) or she’d disappear before getting too attached. Why wouldn’t anyone understand her and why didn’t she understand anyone?
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Again, questions. This thing called love was rather weird. Just when she’d feel like she was about to ‘fall’, bam she’d clip on her wings and fly away. After a few days in the sky, she’d start to realize that her feelings had already become too beautiful to fade without pain. But by the time she’d be back, she’d be at the receiving end of the phenomenon called disappearing. How perplexing…time is a treacherous thing..yet, time can also heal…..she had begun to heal, maybe because of the subject of love, maybe because of life?...but just then, the subject would disappear, life would decide to throw pain again, and there she’d be… sitting alone in her unlit room with tears trickling down her young face. Very few knew about this, they’d never care to know anyway… ‘a smiling face is a beautiful face’ they say, but what if I decide to not smile?
But I had smiled she said. I had dared to smile…and just then fate took my smile away…so how can I think of smiling again…
Again…again they’re all shouting at me, thought the Unsung Hero. I agree I make mistakes, but so does everyone. What’s unjust is that they only shout at me…it seems this has become their hobby…I’m begin to worry whether it has become my hobby too…I’m beginning to wonder whether or not I should live….for what good is living, if no matter what I do, they shout…they all shout.
Tears streamed from Skalzang’s eyes. Misery/ paranoia/ delusion/ karma/ reality/ suffering…which was it? Or were they all? There were few who brought her out of this pool of pain. But they were either away or had disappeared. Being away she could she deal with, but what was with disappearances….why appear at all then?..though appearances were beautiful.
But besides these few beautiful moments (which seemed to have gone), she felt hollow and all that occupied this hollowness was pain…
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How she wished she could turn back time to treasure moments she had taken for granted….moments that seemed all but gone….how? she honestly didn’t know…how does one fill the void created by the disappearance of what healed your previous pain? Healed your previous wound, only to leave you back to it with an additional, though different, wound…. Life and paradox are best friends, they say? Who says?
Tashi was slowly beginning to understand who said what…who said the truth, who didn’t, who meant well, who didn’t ….
But Skalzang’s pain and confusion was beginning to relapse just when it had got better…where was the eleventh hour Samaritan…seems like he’d departed for good….for good? What a paradoxical way of saying for bad…many think they are the samaritan, but there’s only one at a time, unknown, the soul lurking round the corner… but still the question lingered and she wrote: ‘Where did those times go, They seem unreal now, Will we meet again, or is the end of the show?
I know my life has just begun, And this could probably never be, But I’d hoped That atleast until then we could Talk in the sunset’s gaze, Even if a phase? I already do and always will miss those days’ …she hoped no one else placed themselves in this when this was only meant for the samaritan…
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And the Unsung Hero? Well, he probably had another mission on his checklist. But you see, all his missions had great meaning. He once said to his granddaughter, “Tsamo, in life there is a source of satisfaction in any work. My satisfaction is that today my grandchildren are living comfortably in the hotel I built.”
And ache, she was lost in her world of music. I hope she is happy, I hope everyone is. I hope the best for the eleventh hour Samaritan.
Three people, no, four people..this life..this samsara…where does one go when the mind seems lost..
Wait a second, the eleventh hour samaritan has not disappeared for good..for what good is there in goodbye.. the Samaritan speeds past, like lightning he appears and the same way disappears.. but as they sun sets, they look for each other…but Skalzang cared mainly for the Samaritan’s happiness…even if that meant only distant sightings but different paths…wasn’t that love, caring enough to wish well for the other person irrespective of you, even if you didn’t really want to walk away yet…
What is life? What is pain? What is love? If all this is transient, spare me the trouble, but don’t, for good memories last forever I believe.. I think.. I think…. I keep thinking..they think..they think they keep thinking, thinking, thinking… tomorrow I might bump into the samaritan…tomorrow I may not be alive…tomorrow I may be happy..tomorrow I may be sad…. Wait, tomorrow never comes?
-Rinchen Angmo
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With the unending online classes and endeavours, Raw Whispers is still alive! All thanks to the lovely contributors!
Thank you to all the supporters as well, who have given great suggestions and made Raw Whispers a community!
Hope this edition brings peace and happiness, and maybe some tears and cheers?
-Rinchen Angmo
Feel free to send your pieces for the next edition before 1st November, 2020 at:
http://[email protected]
Website: http://rawwhispers.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rawwhispers/
28 RAW WHISPERS I Edition 4