Tomic Riter

Tag: writer

  • A personal inquiry into reading.

    A million books out there to read, but when you want to decide to pick one of them and read, it becomes a herculean task. Browsed a hundred books but not a single is found appealing, even remotely interesting. They all are talking about social issues or environmental issues or some historical event of one or another kind, and if not that then self help books are always there to fuel one’s illusions of what is what. Everyday, so much crap is being published. Lines and lines of bullshit written under the influence of some emotional or psychological delusion. Truth is unbreakable but look at how frail, blood-devoid it sounds when read in the lines of these books. It is a sad demise of something that should never die. Of course nothing is immortal, even long-lasting but for as long as a man lives and breathes and is capable of being aware, a few good and simple lines must be there, waiting for him to discover them.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020 . All rights reserved.

  • Further, up and down.

    Another mile was covered. And then another. Not a quarter in my pocket but I had to ride on. A week’s journey and I hadn’t reached anywhere. The wild landscape was playing tricks on me. I had become weak and I was falling but I kept on as the land rose and fell and as the sun came up and went down. Now and then, a tree or two appeared and that was all. No days had been as drier as those and even for a drop of water, you had to pray really, really hard. But prayed as hard as I might have, no god ever showed its face or washed my head clean with some of its divine light. I was all alone. People said beasts had made a home there. Even they seemed to have moved on. Not as much as a claw was seen in any grain of sand or mud. I was weak and all grown down but my black steed looked as strong and bright as any ray of sunlight. He was made for such journeys. A creature like that, you cannot lock it up for long. Someday it has got to be set free and when that day comes, let its hooves not stop until it wants to stop or until it leaps off this damned horizon.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020. All rights reserved.

  • In eternal slumber.

    How to work with a man who cannot handle anything. That’s the puzzle. How to make him realize that future is not the place to live in, that it is never coming. He thinks that there is no problem with him. He wants to be in a different situation that in what he is right now.That is true in any moment. Is that even possible,? Being in a different situation right now? And if yes, then why doesn’t he make it happen.His ego is that o a king but his spirit is that of a timid thief. He is living with this conflict inside his head.How will peace come to him. As days pass, he is morphing into a nagging crab. A stupid, senseless, good-for-nothing piece of life. It is a matter of concern but he does not know that. He will live another 10 years or so, but I doubt anything is ever going to change him from within for good.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020. All rights reserved.

  • Travelling West.

    Cattle-ranching was a thing of those days along with four or five more elements, and the topography was such that it pushed any man to the edge. He had to be as strong as he could be and if that did not happen then he was soon eliminated by fate or by the bullet of some devil’s gun or whip and which was it, it didn’t matter much. From my own experience, not much is known to me. I am travelling to a certain land, that simmers in the same harsh conditions, through a path that I am yet to find out. And I am alone in my travel, and hence, quite curious. As alcohol begins to rot my lungs, I am slowly getting transported there. There I am, riding on something tall, a black steed and the moon is full and hot and raining on everything. To my left is one tree and and to my right are none and as to how far they really are from me, I cannot tell. I am not to travel in that direction. Sitting under a tree won’t do my soul any good. This is no time to rest. I thought the land would be a lot smoother, but as I look ahead I can see it rising and falling quite often. Good for my horse. If I crash into the mud, it will take some time to get me up. And while I am trying to get me up, what will my horse do is quite a mystery to me.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020. All rights reserved.

  • Morning noise.

    The rain stopped some time between morning and night. The collected water is drying here and there all by itself. An hour ago, somebody knocked at my door. Nobody was there when I looked out the peephole. A neighboring kid does that sometimes but I do not suspect it was him today. His knock is quite playful and you can, most times, hear him giggling outside. Today it wasn’t so. Today, the knock was a precise two knocks of equal intensity, like an adult did that. But nobody lives here except me. All the doors have locks except mine. Mine remains locked only from inside. Outside, the sun is up but I haven’t seen it yet. How the weather is today is yet to be known. As of now, I can barely handle my head. A fearful mind cannot ever make a decision, and moreover, stick to it. A clear sky is what I desire today but whatever comes, comes and my eyes have got to watch it.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020. All rights reserved.

  • Something when you aren’t there.

    the sun had to set

    if clouds have to gather tonight, my wishing otherwise has already gone in vain

    is avoiding food an aversion to living?

    what am I to do now sitting cross-legged, in pain on this bleeding base

    I could switch off these lights again but I cannot for at least as long as the typing

    is going on

    going on

    what am I to do now sitting here, it is undesirable to even step outside

    the ocean has drifted from its usual place of flowing and now it is breaking down all over my head

    I avoid looking at my home while it makes an attempt to fill itself with rainwater

    before tomorrow morning, nothing much is possible in any world.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020. All right reserved.

  • Disentanglement.

    Whenever I act, is there a conscious decision made behind acting in the manner in which I act? For example, if I feel like picking up a book to read, before I extend my hand towards that book to pick it up, have I actually, consciously decided on picking it up? Or am I doing it without being aware of it? Am I doing it just because that book is lying next to me? Am I doing it because there is some hideous thought in my head that is killing me and I want to keep that thought away? The same applies to anything and everything that I do.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020. All rights reserved.

  • One drinkless evening.

    How could somebody lack the inspiration to write. The thought baffles me. Really, there’s so much to observe. So much keeps going on all around us. You will fall dead way before you are able to grasp everything. People are so busy inside their heads, fighting unnecessary wars that they miss out on a lot of life happening around them. There’s writing in everything. For me, writing and living go in tandem. As long as I am alive, my writing cannot stop. In fact, my writing will remain unfinished. A lot of things will go unrecorded, unavailable to anybody but then, who am I, and how significant are my sentences once they are formed. Each man has its own way of exploration, carries his own thirst. I am thirsty for everything and before my poor lord stamps me in my grave, I better quench my thirst.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter 2020. All rights reserved.

  • Aimless.

    Connection weakens. Sleep breaks due to some discomfort. I turn to the other side, knowing that it isn’t the cure. A word, a line can make you miserable. I long for an adventure, for something boundless. A physical road fails to take me far enough. Travelling infinite distance is not possible. Any star is untouchable. Joy begins to leave as humidity rises. The water tank fills up for another day’s consumption. A woman sweeps all the three floors of this building to kill her morning time. There is a form of dirt that doesn’t simply wash away. Sometimes it stays for days. It flies to a corner and even if you are looking around with your both eyes open, you cannot notice it. An hour and a half more before the misery resumes.

    Copuright © Tomic Riter 2020. All rights reserved.

  • Slip.

    The ache began around 11 in the morning. A result of my negligence. I do not regret living with this ache, although I agree that avoiding it wouldn’t have been a tough task. I often let myself slip in the hard arms of misery. I often do that. As I sit now and feel the ache breaking me into two, I hear the cooing of an innocent bird, the cooing having no impact on me. It is as noisy as the noises these boys are making while they play their silly game. Perhaps, it’s the noises of these boys that’s making the melodious hum of the bird sound bitter. Perhaps, their noises aren’t actually noises, but to me, they appear so. Perhaps, I am struck by lightning or I am getting dragged across a swamp with pointy swords sticking out of it. I am waiting for the night so that I can truly become invisible for a while.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.