Post its on my wall

 

Hits can be derailing

And it takes time to get back.

As we end up trailing

Our paths seem to go black.

It feels like we are failing,

And that we have been giving slack.

Everything becomes overwhelming

That we start wishing if we could go back.

But…

Life isn’t streamlined

But a curve of ups and downs.

That timeline which we predefined

Never covers all the towns.

We never trail,

Neither do we actually fail

But gain lessons which weren’t expected.

So be proud of yourself and stop feeling dejected.

Old strings new tunes

In the deepest corner of my room

6 old strings stood from distant past.

It wasn’t an accident that I discovered

Something which was already there since the start.

Many fond memories ran like a reel

Inside the projector of my heart

And then suddenly I started to feel

As if a sin had been committed on my part.

Old tunes stopped and strings never reverberated

Because I gave up on them,

Fallacy got me distracted.

I gave up on them.

Music was lost after a while

And I had to fill that void with noise.

We never love something which is not our style

6 old strings were my choice.

But now I am back and they are still there

Waiting to be played.

With old strings and new tunes I today declare

Resumption of my parade.

Even in the loudest nights now,

My tunes shall not fade.

We always return to the place we belong. We always find the things which are meant for us. Even though we walk away from them, life gets us back to them and it is at that moment when we realise that it was all meant to be.

Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

Walk/Run

Stellar it is to be sanguine,

In times of drought.

To speak amicably 

At the face of defeat.

Most fail at this

Not because they are oblivious of it

But because they run out,

Run out of patience, of hope.

To them and to myself, I say

Stop running. 

 

 

We work ourselves up so much that we start consuming our patience and our energy in the pursuit of our goals/dreams. Stop running and learn walking.

-The Poet and the Pen

 

I was Me

Every time the dusk got delayed,

Or the morning sun felt harsh,

Sound of life seemed disarrayed,

Or water disappeared in the marsh,

Loved ones took a separate turn,

Old enemies met at the crossroads,

Water started to burn,

And decrypted were all my codes,

I came to this place I now call home.

 

There is always a place for me,

Here I am always allowed to be,

The person you see every now and then.

I cannot tell you how but,

The Poet and the Pen (my blog) saved me.

I was always Me.

 

Blogging has this beautiful thing in it. It makes you feel so special, so connected to yourself. Sometimes I find out so much about so many things when I sit behind this blog and dive into the World of Words.

Blogging is a good addiction and I am addicted.

Finding

Few years back I had set out to find

Something.

I found it but

It didn’t change anything.

Why would it?

I just wanted to find it

And never meant to understand

The purpose and the use.

Tomorrow I am setting out to find

Something.

I hope this time…

250: Thank You

250th post. Each Post (on The Poet and the Pen) is done with the sole purpose of spreading a message. Message of Care, Fun, Love, Laughter, Happiness and Emotions.

I grow each and every day through this blog and many of you out there who just like me are on a quest to make the world a better place, I want to say Thank You.

We blog not for likes, comments, shares or anything. We blog so that someone who reads this irrespective of his country, location, colour, language and situation gets to know that we are here, we are with you and if we can do it so can you.

Lots of Love.

 

 

For every tear that you dropped in silence,

For every goodbye that scathed your heart,

For every smile that you projected despite inner violence,

For every day you played your part,

For every friend you lost and let go,

For every enemy you won by letting go,

For every step you took for a better tomorrow,

For every brave moment you faced your inner sorrow,

For every harsh truth you accepted,

For proving that you cannot be defeated,

For not treating the world as you were treated,

For spreading the good message that your misery created,

Thank You.

Subtle Stories: The Teacher

Hi, my name is not important. What’s important is where I am today, where did I come from and who made all that possible. A journey of 10 years is what I am going to tell you now. Sit back, put your reading glasses on and if it suits you, keep a mild Piano music in the background (soothing). *Just a suggestion :P*

Far away from all the spotlight and development is a small town whose name is as per your liking (decided a name?, great). It lacks proper facilities, infrastructure, development and most importantly education. I come from that town, my hometown.

Year was 2005 and I was in junior high where I was only bothered with how to evade homework and pass time in merriment. It was natural for I was just 10 years old. I used to attend school regularly but I wasn’t going anywhere for I was being taught how to learn and memorize, not understand. Later in my life I will find out that the same is happening to the developed cities of the country as well but for now let’s stick to the boundaries of my hometown.

Despite being told by my school teachers as one of the smart kids of the class, I always felt indifferent for I knew this is not the best version of me. I was learning but only to jump standards (class) and not improve my standard of education. Fortunately, fate had something else in mind.

So there he was a boy who used to attend an English Medium school and was barely able to frame a correct sentence in English far from speaking it playing around the house as usual when he met this Man who had agreed to teach his sister Grammar and Literature.

He accidently entered the study room and grabbed his toys for an afternoon full of conquests and fun when he was called by this voice…

Come here, sweet kid!, What is your name?

(Not important)

Which standard are you in?

5th

Oh my! A big boy you are. I am your sister’s teacher and I teach Grammar and Literature at this Town’s oldest college. Do you know me?

No Sir.

Alright, my name is Shoumiran Mahanta. Tell me boy, can you help me a bit and write a few lines for me?

Of course Sir, I am very smart. I will do that but after that can I go and play?

Hahaha, okay you may.

The teacher asked him to write the basics of grammar and a few elementary statements which even a boy in 2nd standard should be able to. But due to the learnings he was getting he wrote incorrect English. On seeing his words the teacher who had been teaching for the past 35 years saw a potential, a flair.

My god!, Son, your English is very good but you can become even better. Maybe a writer one day. Do you wish to become a writer one day?

Certainly, said the innocent young boy.

Good, I shall teach you as well from tomorrow.

On hearing these words, he felt pain as of all his toys were taken away from him. But as agreed, he and the Teacher did start the very next day. For the next 5 years, the boy learned the meaning of learning. He was taught to understand the words and the meaning they concealed within themselves. He was taught to visualize while reading. He was taught the ways of this beautiful language called English. The teachers’ assessment was right, the boy did have potential and he helped him realise the same. 

5 years went by quickly, the 10 year old was now 16. He basically grew up in front of his teacher, a true teacher. To pursue higher studies he moved to developed cities but he never forgot the values his teacher had taught him.

High School, College and later on Professional life all came to him and guess what, the kid made a name for himself in all those places because of his command over the English language.

Today he works at one of the leading companies of the country, a small town boy who struggled to introduce himself once today is a part of a team which requires him to speak on a public forum on a daily basis. However, even today he still considers himself as a student of that Teacher who not only taught him literature and Grammar but also the values of life.

Yes, he learned not only to understand the words but the meaning of life, visualize not only stories but the world that surrounds.

“My god!, Son, your English is very good but you can become even better. Maybe a writer one day.”

These words spoken by the old teacher came true as well. That boy became a Poet, The Poet and the Pen. Even till this day I thank my lucky stars for giving me the opportunity to learn from a Teacher, a true Teacher, The Teacher.

Sir, Thank You so much for everything. I will always be grateful to you.

Yours Sincerely,

Sweet Kid.

Moral: A good teacher is like guide, A true teacher is like a guardian angel. A true teacher can make a student become the best version of himself. A true teacher always shows the tough path for he knows the destination is worth it and most importantly, a True teacher silently leaves when his work is done but it is the duty of the student to keep the teacher with him forever by always following what he had been taught. 

A Teacher-Student relation is greater than anything in the world.