Time Machine

I built a time machine. And let me tell you – not an easy task! The dials go wonky, the hands refuse to sync with moon’s gravity and the batteries run out before you can even think 2050!

This was supposed to be a multi-directional machine. Forward and back. Left and right (Not including up and down as I don’t want to wake the Gods and the Devils). You fancy seeing your great-grandfather build the cabin by the lake or your future great-grandchildren pull it down to pieces? Hop on! Want to visit a parallel dimension to see how that meal would have tasted with an extra pinch of nutmeg or how that astronomy course might have changed your life? Got you covered!

To test it out, I had to choose the perfect moment to visit. I was seriously tempted to take a sneak peak into the future to see how the gamble D and I took with our lives would turn out. Or take a spin into the past when times were simple and safe. Or perhaps take a glimpse of an alternate reality where we stayed put in India.

That is pretty much when the time-machine ended up in the junkyard.

I now know I would have seen a future full of anxiety and second-guessing and frustration! Not to mention Canadian winters!! That itself would have been enough to firmly tie myself to the good ol’ climate of Pune. But would those stolen moments of the future done justice to the depth of my journey getting here? I am guessing no. My present tells me more about my future than the actual future; without my present, I have no future.

There is no moment I would rather be in than my present, exactly the way it is Рcrudely packaged with mistakes and lessons and bursts of brilliance. 

My curiosity refuses to go back to sleep though. It keeps wanting to know! I am smart enough to not try to interpret the predictions of Nostradamus but neither am I so sophisticated that I won’t do those cheesy prediction tests on the internet ūüėÄ Hey! If I am destined to be a travel guide in Prague then there is always hope right??

I feel like I am forever trying to strike a deal with time – Don’t tell me the answers, but give me the four options!¬†Or a teaser pack if you will. A movie trailer of my life with cool background music doesn’t sound so bad!

I play with online prediction tests while I resist the call to salvage the time-machine.


What would you do?

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Last War for Civilization

Sarkhej Roja | By Piyush Tank
Sarkhej Roja | By Piyush Tank

I write this to warn you. I write this to plead you. 

I write to you what I see.

 

I see…

Her face faintly lined with dry tears,

Playing the memory of her baby

At her breast.

She had brought him into this world,

Amidst bloodshed and bombing

Outside the broken shelter.

 

I see…¬†

Him growing up in this grimy rust,

A crumbing urban decay of life

To be rebuilt from scratch.

The moral compass of humanity shed,

Taken over by a lust for immortality

At the cost of a mutated body.

 

I see…¬†

The perseverence of the expectant mothers,

Sole cradles preserving and continuing

The pure form of life.

A grim and desperate crusade to safety,

Sheer will and determination leading

The last war for civilization.

 

I see…¬†

A mountain made of sacrifices and grit,

The rape of our Mother Earth that

Has been fiercely avenged.

The smoking lands now have tiny footfalls,

Playing with the brave new foliage

Sowing the hope of future.

 

I plead you to hold on to humanity. To warn you of the seduction of greed.

Your Future Self


I cheated here. The mutation, the greed and pregnant women being the last carriers of pure humanity was a dream I had a few weeks back (Yes, my dreams are mostly thriller/sci-fi). Grace at dVerse handed me the perfect prompt where we are writing how weird the future can be.

Let It Go…

paintings-1

A volley of words,

A spur of grimaces,

A wisecrack or two,

A stream of unshed tears.

They were her reluctant weapons,

Inclined to pierce them both.

Every other day and every other night.

No bloodshed. No mortal wounds.

Yet her life drained out.

Nursing a self-inflicted bruise,

She tried to hold on…

But he kept slipping away

Like grains of golden sand.

Like leaves in autumn winds.

It was time

To battle for trust,

To fight and not let go,

To place her faith back in him,

To put a stopper to misunderstandings,

To believe in his love than her nightmares.

No more looking back.

No more burned bridges.

No more drudging up the past.

Only to lose herself in his nook

For a glimmer of hope.

For a chance of future.

For a dream of home.

Badge: Doobster @ Mindful Digressions
Badge: Doobster @ Mindful Digressions


Looking back and bringing up the past often blinds the way to¬†the future. I have no idea how this poem happened when I saw the prompt “back”! First and possibly last poem Stream of Consciousness style.

Written¬†for this week‚Äôs Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt¬†– “back”. Come and join the fun ūüôā

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