Reflection.

Everyday when she crosses the mirror it would always be to look at herself and barge with multiple questions, leading to a major rhetorical one which is, “is she really me? or is she the considerable me of the society?” It gets even trickier when she finds out that it is definitely not her but she forces herself to be someone to get out of her house, and sometimes even to be inside. ‘Reflection is the truth!’ yes it could be because it shows the truth of she faking herself to become a lady for anyone but her.

She gets dressed herself by thinking of how “he” and “she” sees her. She makes up her face thinking on how her face would be admired. She pouts her lips not the way she wants to kiss but just for way everyone pouts it for no particular reason. She smiles the way thinking on how comparitively beautiful and awkward-less it would be if captured by a camera and not the way she really feels to smile or laugh. She adds her artificial optical visions to display her eyes visibly attractive in front of everyone and not just to see everyone clearly. She practices to be innocent and seem natural which she obviously isn’t, still she does it just to be pampered by him. She also lifts up her head to look matured and positive by hiding lots of insecurities behind the face; not even the mirror could find or show it out. She is one solid artificial image altered every single time when she freshly looks at the mirror. Is she even real?

On one moody day the sharpness of her conscience tore her heart apart and made her bleed into tears and she kept looking at herself crying till the last drop shed; without wiping a single drop away. She cried till she completed and that was the very first time she looked her true reflection and she had nothing in her mind but only the loudness of her cry. She then simply stared at her gloomy dull face, stood stiff and walked out boldly to live the day by being herself fresh and gloomy.

© Anirudh Shreenath

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Kaanthari.

This takes us back during the fading 80s. She is intensely harnessed by her thoughts, power and authority. Her subtle gestures had a powerful obedience and a strong sense of domination which made every men of different proud hierarchies, kneel in front of her. She caught hold of this power not by breaking down the legs or chopping down the heads but she had a fierce flame of lust in her eyes, her attraction with the intensity made men, warriors and even lords of various caste fall for her eyes and her sultry body. Her skin layered by fresh oil and the aura made an arousal of hormonal rush inside the men who encountered her at least by once.

Her focus was unwaveringly clear to the desires she carried along with her. She was capable to split herself into two parts at the same time, she wouldn’t regret for every single touch she received and moans roughly louded, because her desires were having pure toxicity to attain by pursuing the path on her own will, which was not implanted nor forced to be chosen by any one else. She wanted it to be this way and she conquered it by the way she desired. She knew men very well and she made them realize their vulnerability by just making love; by releasing their feeble control over masculinity with her feminine exposure. She then later rested on her conquered throne with a disrespectful look on everyone under her control and enjoyed the taste of tyranny. She was the Feudal Queen of ‘Persuasion.’ Kanthari.

© Anirudh Shreenath

Hope.

“Hope.” Is He even existing in reality? This rhetorical question is bound to be answered by living throughout the life and by trying to find out. Somewhere in between the means of searching him, I found shelters in the paths. Since multiple paths were suggested by multiple people in multiple ways, I got tired at regular intervals. Tiredness stressed me out and pressed me down to the ground, hence I took rest under the shadow of the tamarind trees. Not only to get shelter from the Sun but also to get the shelter from the heated hours of the unsatisfied working days. If ‘hope’ was my only search I would have found Him already but sadly that never was the scene, I had to look for ‘Job’, ‘Education’, also most importantly the beautiful lady; Miss ‘Money’. Without her I had no fuel to even wake up every day to search Him.

I had always gone behind beautiful ladies as my eyes would plead my legs to move so, but this lady; I’ve never had much interest in her, however I had no choice. If at all I get diverted from her and move towards Miss ‘Sleep’ or Miss ‘Dream’, then that would be counted as one of my worst days of life. It is because Master ‘Life’ had a his own scale made out of a combination of “hunger, poverty, pain, guilt and shame”; in other words it’s more like a wooden scale and would beat me up in my knuckles. At those times I found shelter under the supporting wetness of miss ‘Tears’. She’s chill; literally at the same time she always leaves me a “smile” behind and told me to use “smile” as a compass to find ‘Hope’.

By using “smile” I started finding lots of shelters, bridges and also camped in “laughter” tents with the gangs of senseless ‘Humours.’ They gave me a huge dosage of positivity and oxygen to walk forward. Finally I found shelter of rare qualities, named ‘Love’ and ‘Compassion.’ The were similar and found everywhere around but they seemed like an oasis due to the thirst, and played tricky mind games with me. I figured out a way to look through them and finally reached a realisation that my search for love was found in a very small temporary shelter but was unable to get inside, because I found the shelter of ‘Love’ not with her but admiring her by staying away from her, without touching her and within myself. I found her to be pure and unconditional. She again unknowingly gifted me a strange motivation of her strong “smile” and I could sense it to be as exact as the “smile” compass gifted to me by miss ‘Tears.’ With that in my heart I started my journey once again and am still in search of ‘Mr.Hope.’ I hope I find Him.

© Anirudh Shreenath

The fallen angel.

Of all the gasping breath of angst, rage and humiliation, the storm finally had a chance to settle down and rest. Despite the odds, there is always a sun to rise and shine. As the sun rose and it shinned his rays on her, it pleasantly touched on her skin to warm her. She soaked her mistakes, she settled her prestige with her dues, she lost her deal with the devil whom she carried along since the beginning. She missed her opportunity to look up, she denied the fate of goodness by listening to her ego and gambled the wrong deck of cards. She rejected everything she had in her way and finally turned out to be rejected by everyone, especially she got rejected by her own ego whom she trusted and chose over everyone. The moment she realised she had no complaints or blames and was left with silence, regret and a bowed down head. She closed her eyes and removed away her regrets through condensed tears and accepted the reality with a brave heart to get the worst out it by respecting it’s terms. She bowed down, like a fallen angel under the sun. She is the dignity of a woman who got betrayed by her own ego. She now waits for the day to rise her head up and look straight at the harsh reality once again.

© Anirudh Shreenath

Unclothed.

I am free. I can feel my skin saying the word, “liberated.” I feel no hesitation, no guilt, no remorse to expose the Truth. Truth of being ugly. Yes. I am ugly. Ugly as your secret fetishes. Ugly as the most dirtiest memory you have. Ugly as a sharp tongue. I am ugly as the deepest hush of darkness. I am colourless but ugly when I am naked. I am flawless but imperfect when I myself am the flaw. I am moody when I dance at midnight, but am bad when I swing with my moods. I am woken when touched but shameless when I touch. I am warm when wrapped under a ruffled up blanket and I am cold when uncovered. I am rich when decorated and am desperate when I ask for money. I am now the naked truth stripped by your ego out of sorrow. I am always at my best intentions if accepted in the way I am, but could seem to be the worst if you try to cover up. Look at me. I am none other than your own conscience. I am so true.

©Anirudh Shreenath

Dusk

He: Now when I saw her posing this image; the moment I accidentally clicked, something unusually special was felt. It was kept inside my consciousness and was bothering me for the entire day and could not concentrate on the rest of the clicks. I was very eager to go home and was curious to know what was special in the photo that got me triggered with overwhelming essence of feeling​s. Later when I came to my lab and was working on printing the hard copies, I took this special one. How could I even forget this though it was not easy to find out! Yes, I took a seat and started looking at this snap in detail. When all those silky hair strips fell right in front of her face, it actually covered the half of her face. So when I saw, I could really feel infact I could literally sense how she would have felt when those silky organs touched her pale soft skin. She must have felt ready, completely ready for everything. She must have felt complete of being a woman by oozing out the cool attitude of exposing her relaxed yet prepared figure of a character. She projected ​a structured image of being a complicated woman inside. An element of being exceptional and re-chiseling her integrity, that’s how she must have felt at that moment which is why the vibration was so strong that it struck my senses subconsciously and automatically made my finger click the snap. Not to ignore the nose pin, the jewel of elegance; a precious carving level of envisioning one’s individuality is represented and could be seen at the shines of a nose pin. For the pride of taken birth as a female human which in other words to be rephrased as a “woman” is to wear a nose pin and regardless of the mineral used, it is the stone itself that becomes a raw mineral when it is worn and paid with the price of respect. This exhilarated my egoistically dignified heart. This is not all that I could tell but there is a lot that I simply couldn’t phrase out with the vocabularies available inside my head, despite stressing myself to the core of my limits. Dusk is the title she has given to this posture. Now how could it not be conditionally pertinent? It is as exact as her emotional balances. The level she carries herself by being a lady of her generation, she excessively works on the intimacy of her feministic flavour. The way she allows her chin to be rested on her hand; My God why would you even seek for a purpose to give me another birth in form of a same incarnation when there is this solid reason available? I promise that I don’t even have the rights to glance or let out a word to describe the duskiness of her architectural eyes. The twilight of the moon is not compulsorily designed to be out in space, it could also be inside a place where no gravity could stop the ball of sphere from floating, which is nothing but her black eyeball. She is magnificent. Simply magnificent. Period.

 ©Anirudh Shreenath