The Ugly Duckling!

I was the ugly duckling you don't know.

I built my own shelter inside my shell.
I schemed it with hopes and dreams.
But never had I knew that the shell has to be broken,
Never had I tried.

At times I heard someone knocking at my shell.
Knock knock.
But I didn't mind open.
I kept on looking at my illuminated dreams and hopes.
I feared the collapse of them with the shell opening.
I sharpened my ears and listened to the voices outside.
I heard someone laughing at me , someone sympathising, yet another sobbing.
None minded to break my shell.
I was comfortable and cozy inside , I slept tight.
But they said I lacked something.
What was it? I didn't know.

Day by day the hopes and dreams increased.
I should find space to occupy some more.
At times I bullied myself.
And made my shell more strong.
I longed to see the world outside,
But something prevented me
and the shell was still closed.
They called me ugly, coward, and many more names, my shell world was unaware of.
What if they do the same once I'm out?

I looked at the mirror like it was the first time.
Who is she? How come she is this pretty?
I ran my hands against my fragile skin.
I found it pretending to be something else.
I scanned my body and smiled.
To be one and pretending another.
The shell had to be broken,
Shattered and scattered into pieces.
No prince charming would have done it for me.
I had to broke it myself.

Once and for all I punched my shell.
There it laid shattered and scattered into pieces.
All my hopes and dreams tumbled down,
Easy enough for me to pick them.
I stepped on the new world with pride.
I spoke out and stood for myself and my dreams.
The new world is a better place,
damn the shell life.
No longer I'm an ugly duckling, I'm going to be the whizzkid.
I longed for the days and places I missed out, the people I missed to see.
I walked ahead to make it out , to feed my long lost hunger for the outside world.
Now I'm the pretty duckling who destroyed her ugly plume herself!
New world, embrace me!
Here I come , to your heart, the pretty duckling!

A.C

Comments

THE SILENT CRY

Darkness ...at its zenith Silence.. at the sound 's lowest decibel.. I wrapped myself up into the blanket tears rolled down my cheeks.. I cried.. I cried in the dark silence silently.. No voice of my cry.. I bite my hands.. I cried silent loudly.. I cried for the dreams unfulfilled I cried thinking of my unpredicted future.. I cried thinking of my unknown death.. I cried thinking of my inabilities I cried thinking of the gifts not given to me I cried thinking of my people.. And I complained God Almighty for the miseries given to me.. ... I wiped off my tears.. I smiled. Perfect... Nothing is better than this silent loud cry..!! A.C

Kaathal - The Core Breaker of 2023

Kaathal - The Core is one of the movies of 2023 that left an ache in my heart. It's the kind of movie where you just sit and stare at the wall for hours after you finish it. I keep thinking about the pain of Mathew, Omana, Thankan and Chachan and it is something that continues to haunt me. Mathew’s pain is something that has become part of him by living the prime of his life pretending to be an integral part of a heteronormative society. His calm and meek personality is like a dormant volcano that is likely to erupt anytime. When he confronts his pain with Chachan and Omana, we see him peeling off his outer layer of crust and showing us his core. The core, that has carried deep wounds of fear and shame of coming out and confronting his fears, all this while. I don’t think I have seen a more compassionate and kind woman as Omana in recent movies. Despite being in a marriage that doesn’t fulfill her needs, she stays in it for years for the sake of Mathew. And when the right ...

Little Poem

My procrastination ends here, While the urge to write chokes my throat, My hands get paralysed as in a trance, I find excuses to write a little poem, I make up a lonely man, a distressed woman, a lovers’ quarrel, an unrequited love, But they are reluctant to play the part, Maybe i should give them a raise, Or throw a party at midnight, Maybe a few drinks might work, Only if they don’t puke. I can expect a little vandalism, Some damage to the property and a mini scandal, Possibly out of rage. But at the end when I bring my weapons, Sometimes they get scared and back off, Some may never come back, Others find it funny and mock at me, And opportunists, seeing my desperation, Attacks me with manipulation. And all these while, my three panic attacks talk to me in a different language, I try to write a little poem With a racing heart and flowing eyes, I write my little poem, tortured and broken, I end my little poem, Like a mighty warrior, Who had a pyrrhic victory.

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