How to ( A guide to become Human)

Ah! I found a manual today.
Hardbound it was kept 
On the counter of 
The measley cafe I own
Named ‘The earthly invasions’.
It is a simple building
With a blue ceiling where
The ceiling lights flicker
Off and on.
The floor, a mixture of numerous
Patches of colours green, blue 
and brown.

In this measly cafe 
Where living beings thrive
Drinking the ambrosial drop
That poured down.
Ah! On the counter the fat ugly book
Kept it’s provoking, accusing gaze
On each customer that stood
Erect on paws two with pride.
The book is a grimoire, 
A spell book of some sort,
That has spells and charms 
To make a frog into a prince 
And a queen into a couldron.

With perfect caution I turned the pages
That were rusty with abuse.
Flaxen prints of time had flourished
In the book untouched from ages.
I came to a guide
Where the ingredients 
were mentioned
With a detailed description 
For “how to become Human.”

First it said
Take a soul from the fire of hell.
For what good could you do
To the soul already pious in heaven.
The souls that have sinned
That have betrayed and broke trust
That have bullied and killed
Are more of a sensible choice
For this recipie. 
After the selection of soul
Lock it in jar
as you go searching for conscience 
In the labyrinth of crimes
Make sure to choose 
That is tainted, even if 
Only by a small mistake.
Now beware.
Do not add the conscience
To the soul in jar
Before furnishing it with
The nectar of kindness 
Which is impossible to find.
Also add a pinch of insanity
To the sane old conscience,
For what good is a mind
Without crazyness that nurtures 
A child in the elder form.
Now check again for mistakes
Before we go searching for passion
Because kindness and childlike wonder
Are hard to find.
Steal passion from autumn leaves
That have fallen on ground.
The crimson leaves burning
To pave a new path are
By strength bound.

Ah! So you found the soul
A heart full of passion.
Now move on to find
The numerous threads
That will make a human. 
So now search for longing
That you will find
In the purest form in homes
Of age old people
Watching the door for their children.
The heart needs hope,
The wrenching torment
That peeps when
No way is found.
So look for hope
Smothered with good will 
In the family of person
Breathing on his death bed.
Ah so found hope,
Cajole it in the heart
Before life tears it into pieces.

Now did you look for love
My dear dear witch or wizard.
Ah! You forgot I see,
Get along searching for 
The elixir that runs in the veins
Of life and death.
You will find it
In the intertwined hands
Of two soulmates 
That lie content breathing 
The same breath.

Did you take a teaspoon of joy?
If not then find it
In new born’s smile.
And also gather a little sorrow
For what is life without pain.
Now for flavour let’s savour
The simple threads 
That will bind the heart to the soul.
Find care for family
And intimacy for friends
Because a heart without
Warmth is a soul without heart.

Now that you have found
All the ingredients big or small.
Let us now put them together
To make the human we aspire.
The conscience with morality
Kindness and Insanity
Is fit into the soul. 
And heart filled with passion, 
Love, intimacy, care, hope 
Is bred into a charm.
And then installed with utmost
Delicacy into the soul 
Without harm.

So my Sweet pumpkins, 
My honey drops,
The witches and wizards
Welcome to My measley humble Cafe
“The Earthly Invasions”.
Where a grimoire lies
Waiting for you with
Precise instructions as to
“How to become Human”.

Akanksha Krishnatre

The Things We do for Love.

As I dip the quill
In your blood,
Swirling the thick liquid
In circles.
Writing poetries,
That exist on the undertones of flesh.
Branding the heart,
Cushioned with the proddings of my pen.
In those fearfully bright lit eyes,
Which hold the abyss
And void with reflecting light.
I sway the rose,
The lilies,
And the wolfsbane
In your crimson fuel,
Ablaze.

I swirl and sway with the rhythm,
Of your still pumping heart
Which gives the music,
That once was the reason to breathe.
Now a necessity to live.

So I encase it
In a big black box,
With locks and keys guarded.
More strongly than
The heart of Davy Jones. 
Upon your fiery lips,
I place the cool petals,
That once were adored
By your kisses.

And mirrors in your bosom,
To hold me infinitely
There somewhere.
Where once a heart lied
Now lies a hollow socket,
Reeking of affection and adoration.

So that heart cased in cage,
And those lilies stand in a vase
Dripping drop by drop,
The tales of life.
Slowly unweaving the silk threads
That once bound you and me.

So the thick petals of roses,
Dipped in the elixir of your blood
Are now curled with heat of your cheeks.
They have lost their tenderness,
Changing to the hollow human
That you now are left.
So I place them upon your picture
Relishing the metaphor.

On the slaughter counter
Lies your pious body.
No longer the chest moves
Up and down.
No longer a fire burns in eyes
And the socket has lost a heart.
But still in those loathed images
You stand beautiful.
Oh so beautiful.
I stand back and look
At the masterpiece.
My Magnum opus.
You.
On the counter with the pale face reflected
In the blue lights of ovens flame.
Ready to embrace you,
Adore you in its flames. 
To hold you down,
To lull you to sleep.
A sleep where dreams
Are afraid to enter
In the fear of being marked forever.

So you my Masterpiece,
are like a lost painting of Picasso,
That I finally completed.

(c) Akanksha Krishnatre.

Heaven and Hell, Horatio.

The mosaic of moments
Wrapped in verdant,
Dance through the eternal 
muse of life.
So, Oh! Horatio.
There is no such thing
As happiness.
It’s a fleeting illusion
Created by a little less pain.
Ah! Take my words
My friend.
Suffering too isn’t real,
It is a choice between
Surviving with dignity
Or living with pain.
Who ever proclaim’d
life is easy,
Is a fool to be wary of.
For life is nothing
If not enough twisted
Into coils of wants and longing.
What is good with people
In this world
Oft gets incinerated
and what lives long
Is deeds that no corpse
Succumbs to have committed.
So Horatio, 
Heed my words my friend 
As I tell you to run,
Save your skin
While you truly can.
Because once you get
Embroiled in these endless
Threads of life.
Coming out unscathed
With no scars to tell your tale
Stand impossible.
So be saved my lord
While safety is possible.
So don’t survive,
Live my lord
While living isn’t a dream.
Ah! Love my lord
Until love isn’t tainted.
But heed my words
Don’t search for bliss
For it can’t be found.
And remember 
That world no longer
Is what it seems.
For there are more 
Things in heaven and hell 
Horatio
Then could ever be
Dreamt in your philosophy.

Akanksha Krishnatre

I

I am a story,
Encrypted upon flaxen pages
With ink hazel and blue
Like the midnight sky.
I do not have the stars
nor the moon,
That on delight of dreams
adores the yonder blue.


I am a painting,
The uneven splash of 
Monochrome colours.
One on another,
That together form
The imperfections 
On the vivid canvas,
Just like the little flaws in me.


I am a poetry,
With rhyme scenes forgotten
Just flowing with the wind.
The words combed together
Sharp like claws
To strike a chord hard,
On the strings
Of innumerable sins.


I am the music,
The sound of sticks on drums
And the grace of blaring noise
With cadence as its origin.
The sound of metal upon metal,
The laugh of ringing resonance.
The tune of a known song
just revived once again.


I am a mosaic,
Of abandoned masterpiece
Incomplete yet admirable.
The uneven pieces,
Molded together
to form a raven
of strength, strong 
like a warrior.


I am art,
Breathing for my own sake.
From strokes of brush,
To the fold of pages
From the chords of violin,
To poetic rages.
I am beauty of the beholder
Seen in vivid forms.


Forget what I told you,
For I cannot be remembered.
Like the director in shadows
Let me just be all and none at once.
The writer of my own story
And the protagonist too
So omit me from your memory ,
For I am you yet no one at once.

A Happy birthday letter to Shakespeare

Wordsmith colony
Teenage lane
India

23 April 2016

English writers block
Gate 1616- Dramatist’s paradise
Heaven.

Respected Shakespeare Sir,

Again, I am here at your service to provide you with information regarding the, tangled mess of people, that is the society. But before I move to those not-so-pressing matters, let me ask after your health and happiness. After my last letter I hope everything regarding you has taken a turn towards the best. Now let’s discuss some matters that can’t be neglected.

So Sir before anything else let me wish you a grand, magnificent and full of grandiose birthday. May your fame succeed you in all the next generations to come. Now I remember that your unfortunate death also took place at this same day ,but considering the fact that I am a mere teenager writing a letter to you,that seems like a taboo topic to talk about. Let’s move to something more cheerful that lightens the mood and creates an aura of bliss.

I assure you respected sir , that the reason behind my being late in writing this letter today is not my forgetfulness, but my hesitancy to write. Sir I realise that it will seem like a poor excuse to you, the greatest dramatist of all time, but I assure you that to a budding poet like me , the hesitancy of writing to you was more hard to overcome than a writers block. But it doesn’t matter any longer. Here I am writing to you.

Sir, now about the homo sapiens. Human society is just moving forward slowly and steadily on the cycle of rise and fall. Nothing out of ordinary about them. As you portrayed the assaisan of Caesar by the hands of Cassius,  Brutus and other conspirators, I assure you respected sir , the same is going on with every part of society , where each and every man looks out for his or her own benefit.

Respected Shakespeare Sir,  Do not worry about the society,  even though they pave their own fall , yet do not worry about them , for they will learn with your guidance and in the end they will understand their mistakes. But that’s not what I am writing to you about.

Sir , I am writing this letter to ask about the feast that took place in heaven to celebrate your birthday. Do give me account regarding it. Here on earth we the literature feeding , bookworms,  bibliophile, bookmaniac and your epic fan teenagers, adults and older people definitely celebrated your birthday. Enjoy your ultimate day.

Respected Shakespeare Sir, through your vivid views on everything,  I hope your view about birthday’s in general is  a great one, for I love them no doubt. With cakes and candles and sweets and joy nothing more is needed.

Sir, I now see that I have said a numerous things that do not make much sense and rest assured definitely I will give the excuse of sleepy eyes and confused head at midnight. I hope you won’t mind. I will again write to you when I feel like it , Until then Adieu . Do shower your dramatic blessings on me and give my sincere respect to Sir G.B.Shaw , Sir
Ben Johnson , Sir .Samuel Beckett , Sir Arthur Miller and the whole crew.
Do write if possible,
If impossible
Write all the same.

Yours faithful young wordsmith
Akanksha Krishnatre.

P.S. Have an incandescent birthday blast.