THE BITTER SWEETNESS OF LOVE - Poem


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Having someone to love is considered the greatest wealth
But believe me, that is so bad for your health

I say this because, for you, I care
Its a dangerous road and I have been there

You think about a person and it drives you crazy
And everything in front of your eyes becomes hazy

You would do anything to make your beloved happy
If she is upset, your life, too, feels crappy

You are satisfied, even though being manipulated
You are giving everything away, but still feel satiated

I know all that, but still, I can't help it
I enjoy all these feelings, every bit

Being in love is like walking on the edge of a knife
But it is still worth sacrificing your entire life

Love gives you the most intense yet sweetest of pains
But losses in love are, in fact, your greatest gains

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Uneb

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PhD (Transportation Planning)

Assistant Professor in Department of Civil Engineering at University of Bahrain

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“EXCEPT THERE WAS NO MAN…” Moving out wasn’t easy. Leaving your divorcee father alone in Chandigarh and moving away for a job in Montreal wasn’t simple. It felt like you grew up too fast to be moving away. I swear I was 16 yesterday but now I’m 30 working in a stressful IIT company. I was working fine in Chandigarh, earning a minimum wage every citizen of India gets. However, my promotion had happened. I was planning on declining it, but my father insisted I go. When I read the letter carefully, I would work in Canada and not anywhere in India. I was scared, scared because my father would be all alone with no one to take care of him. Maa had left him when I graduated high school and no relatives were ready to take him. The patriarchal mindset of divorce was against Indian communities and families. But my father said, “Phikara na karo Hera beti, maim thika ho javangi,” meaning “Don’t worry Hera, I will be alright.” But what if he’s not? When I reached Montreal, I booked a rental 2BHK villa. Most of the furniture had arrived by the time I reached the flat. The villa was satisfactory with all the emergency help required. A metal board on the door with emergency helpline numbers like the local police, ambulance, civil defence and even a women's helpline number. I felt safe here. Back in India, there isn’t even a board with such numbers like these. No wonder so many cases happen every minute. I arranged the furniture and cleaned the whole house. I had organised a small puja for my new home. Praying all the negativity and any evil nazar (eye) should never step into my new home. I had already made stuffed aloo paratha before coming to Montreal. I removed them from my handbag, heated them in the microwave and sat on the couch to have my dinner. My internet box was already set up on the TV table. The bedrooms compared to the hall were small. The hall was a modern set-up with the essence of a vintage era. Next to my TV, I had put a photo frame of me and Dad being together. Canada's weather wasn’t hot or steamy, rather it was cold and chill. I kept the window open for the wind to pass through my home, making it cosy. I grabbed my large blanket to cover my body and ate my food, binge-watching my all-time favourite series F.R.I.E.N.D.S. It was my comfort show growing up and all the fun moments in the show were highly sarcastic. I was done eating my food by 10.27 pm and decided I should arrange my closet so that tomorrow I wouldn’t be late for my job interview. It was in the policies, that if you move to another country due to a promotion, you always need to give a second interview to see if you fit in the same position or they might switch you to a new position. I had my outfit planned for tomorrow: black blazer, white tank top and black jeans. It was 11 pm by the time I arranged my closet. I tend to sleep by midnight or even later, hence I read at night. I grabbed my novel and sat on the couch reading with my tea. The wind blew through the house with a powerful passion, scattering my old documents kept on the table. I got up from my couch to keep it inside my drawer. When I kept the files in the drawer, I saw a human figure standing outside. Approximately 10 km away, but I could see its figure under the flickering street lights. I was confused, why would a man come out at such an odd time? The clock had already struck midnight and this man was out roaming? Strange. I scoffed and was about to turn away when I saw from the corner of my right eye, he came closer. Too close. My villa was on the ground, and anyone could snuck in without any difficulties. I was frozen in my spot, unable to move an inch. The atmosphere becoming more and more tight. An intense change of time. In moments, I feel a hand over my mouth smothering me, making me unable to breathe. My scream not being heard by anyone, but the person’s hand pressing on my mouth made it hard for me to speak. My eyes felt an intense burn, and my throat was dry. He finally let go of me, and I was on the ground crawling to get a knife from the kitchen. My legs had gotten weak and I could barely breathe. Tears scattered all over my face. I crawled to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I kept it ready in my hand and hid behind the huge kitchen island. I couldn’t crawl or walk anymore and rested my head on the microwave under the gas stove. Thud. My eyes wide open when I heard this sound. Thud. It sounded like a man’s footsteps getting closer and closer. Thud. I slowly peeked over the kitchen island, as the man’s footsteps got closer to the kitchen. Except there was no man… A mannequin. Without a head. I screamed until my throat was hoarse, the sound piercing the silence of the night. I ran to my bedroom and my hands trembling to lock the door. “Please please God, lock the door!” I muttered to myself. When the door was finally locked, the lump in my throat was gone. I slid down facing the door and sat on the floor. I couldn’t take this anymore. I took a few clothes out of my closet, put them in a bag and locked the suitcase. I decided to get out of the house by the windows. I opened the windows and threw the bag down on the ground. I then got down and took my bag. The Headless Mannequin standing in front of me. I was unable to move, talk or even tilt my pupils to the right or left. I was paralyzed. The night was cold but now it became intense. For a second, I felt he was going to me stab so I flinched back, but he brought out something which was even more disturbing than a knife or a gun. My Dad’s cut-off head. He dropped it on the floor like it was a piece of cardboard. I picked up my Dad’s head and sat on the ground. He’s dead eyes shooting right back at me. I looked back at the mannequin and stared at him with my tired eyes. It’s not like he could stare back at me, but his back bent down and he was standing straight again. For now, my destiny circled back to the two headless people, first, my father’s, and second, my father’s tailor shop’s mannequin. THE END

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“EXCEPT THERE WAS NO MAN…” Moving out wasn’t easy. Leaving your divorcee father alone in Chandigarh and moving away for a job in Montreal wasn’t simple. It felt like you grew up too fast to be moving away. I swear I was 16 yesterday but now I’m 30 working in a stressful IIT company. I was working fine in Chandigarh, earning a minimum wage every citizen of India gets. However, my promotion had happened. I was planning on declining it, but my father insisted I go. When I read the letter carefully, I would work in Canada and not anywhere in India. I was scared, scared because my father would be all alone with no one to take care of him. Maa had left him when I graduated high school and no relatives were ready to take him. The patriarchal mindset of divorce was against Indian communities and families. But my father said, “Phikara na karo Hera beti, maim thika ho javangi,” meaning “Don’t worry Hera, I will be alright.” But what if he’s not? When I reached Montreal, I booked a rental 2BHK villa. Most of the furniture had arrived by the time I reached the flat. The villa was satisfactory with all the emergency help required. A metal board on the door with emergency helpline numbers like the local police, ambulance, civil defence and even a women's helpline number. I felt safe here. Back in India, there isn’t even a board with such numbers like these. No wonder so many cases happen every minute. I arranged the furniture and cleaned the whole house. I had organised a small puja for my new home. Praying all the negativity and any evil nazar (eye) should never step into my new home. I had already made stuffed aloo paratha before coming to Montreal. I removed them from my handbag, heated them in the microwave and sat on the couch to have my dinner. My internet box was already set up on the TV table. The bedrooms compared to the hall were small. The hall was a modern set-up with the essence of a vintage era. Next to my TV, I had put a photo frame of me and Dad being together. Canada's weather wasn’t hot or steamy, rather it was cold and chill. I kept the window open for the wind to pass through my home, making it cosy. I grabbed my large blanket to cover my body and ate my food, binge-watching my all-time favourite series F.R.I.E.N.D.S. It was my comfort show growing up and all the fun moments in the show were highly sarcastic. I was done eating my food by 10.27 pm and decided I should arrange my closet so that tomorrow I wouldn’t be late for my job interview. It was in the policies, that if you move to another country due to a promotion, you always need to give a second interview to see if you fit in the same position or they might switch you to a new position. I had my outfit planned for tomorrow: black blazer, white tank top and black jeans. It was 11 pm by the time I arranged my closet. I tend to sleep by midnight or even later, hence I read at night. 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My scream not being heard by anyone, but the person’s hand pressing on my mouth made it hard for me to speak. My eyes felt an intense burn, and my throat was dry. He finally let go of me, and I was on the ground crawling to get a knife from the kitchen. My legs had gotten weak and I could barely breathe. Tears scattered all over my face. I crawled to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I kept it ready in my hand and hid behind the huge kitchen island. I couldn’t crawl or walk anymore and rested my head on the microwave under the gas stove. Thud. My eyes wide open when I heard this sound. Thud. It sounded like a man’s footsteps getting closer and closer. Thud. I slowly peeked over the kitchen island, as the man’s footsteps got closer to the kitchen. Except there was no man… A mannequin. Without a head. I screamed until my throat was hoarse, the sound piercing the silence of the night. I ran to my bedroom and my hands trembling to lock the door. “Please please God, lock the door!” I muttered to myself. When the door was finally locked, the lump in my throat was gone. I slid down facing the door and sat on the floor. I couldn’t take this anymore. I took a few clothes out of my closet, put them in a bag and locked the suitcase. I decided to get out of the house by the windows. I opened the windows and threw the bag down on the ground. I then got down and took my bag. The Headless Mannequin standing in front of me. I was unable to move, talk or even tilt my pupils to the right or left. I was paralyzed. The night was cold but now it became intense. For a second, I felt he was going to me stab so I flinched back, but he brought out something which was even more disturbing than a knife or a gun. My Dad’s cut-off head. He dropped it on the floor like it was a piece of cardboard. I picked up my Dad’s head and sat on the ground. He’s dead eyes shooting right back at me. I looked back at the mannequin and stared at him with my tired eyes. It’s not like he could stare back at me, but his back bent down and he was standing straight again. For now, my destiny circled back to the two headless people, first, my father’s, and second, my father’s tailor shop’s mannequin. THE END

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Cravings of Solitude and Nostalgia Allegory by Sir. Armaan Bin Awaz

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 29 Feb 2024  0    2338

‘Mis’-matched ( Adult entry for February 2024) Two mis- matched socks on a domestic help' s blistered feet were talking to each other. Spotted Green: “I miss my twin.. this feet is too rough for me.” Pink and Beige :” So do I .. but I am still thinking bout this feet I cover .. it’s blistered, it needs to rest “ Spotted Green:”I can’t wait I to be washed, the previous feet were soft and smooth, I loved the shoe .. I hate this broken slipper,yikes!” Pink and Beige :”this feet trudges and tires, you need to be kind to it, have a heart… green one.” Spotted Green:” my heart … I lost it to the shoe… I miss him” Pink and Beige :”forget him as beyond this you shall be a toy for the dog in the narrow lane here .. till you survive ! Spotted Green:” really ! No no … I need clean feet and a warm wash .” Pink and Beige : My new partner, let me be honest, this is the fact about sock life … it sucks.If you need to adjust and accommodate. We were born to cover, give warmth yet the choice of foot is not ours. I don’t know how much we shall last or be together, but as long as we are let’s smile through our holes ! These feet need us more than our previous owners. Are you game?” Spotted Green: “Yeah .. ohhk … I will try my best but tell me one thing , will this feet hurt each day ?” Pink and Beige: “ yes each day… each minute .. till some one gives’ her’ a half used tube or oil to care for the blisters.”

  • Short Stories Nivedita 27 Feb 2024  0    2148

Passionata Volume II. Seset 3.

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 24 Feb 2024  0    2061

Passionata Volume II. Sestet 2.

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 24 Feb 2024  0    2063

Passionata Volume II. Seset 1.

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 24 Feb 2024  0    2368

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