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theobsoletepoet theobsoletepoet

263 posts   4149 followers   375 followings

Brother Nero  "I’ll fade away and classify myself as Obsolete Delete Delete Delete"

https://facebook.com/Theobsoletepoet

Anuj is one of the most genuine people I have ever met in my life. In a usual circumstance, I run away as fast as I can from people who camouflage even an iota of sweetness in their words because I feel that they usually say it just for the formailty; but in case of Anuj it is different. He always uses words that he means to say and always has something good to say about anyone he knows.

Anuj has a thing for lanterns and lamps, and he doesn't leave a single chance to click a photo of one. He leaves behind haikus on tissue papers in restaurants to let his words spread to random strangers.

Anuj is the person who introduced me to spoken word and performance poetry, and I will forever be indebted to him for that introduction helped me grow as a poet by leaps and bounds. And it's just not me, Anuj has introduced many people to the poetry circuit, encouraged them to write and perform.

On Wednesday, 30th August 2017, we lost @AnujMahadik 's mortal body to cancer (2nd relapse). It did shock me but it wasn't something that I didn't know. But even four months weren't enough a time to ready myself for this.

I know I won't get the texts of 'Bhai aaj aag laga dena' or those after performance hugs and 'Aaj tu phaad daala bhai' when I deserved them any more. But believe me Anuj isn't dead.
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"When do you think people die? When a bullet from a pistol pierces his heart? No… When he suffers from an incurable disease? No… When he consumes a deadly poisonous mushroom soup? No! A man dies when people forget him."
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- Dr. Hiluluk (One piece)
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Anuj will continue living in our memories through his words, now and forever. His words are lights which illuminate the pathways and guide us home. It would be our fault if we let his memories fade away from our heads, for only then would he be really dead. .
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#anujmahadik #poetsoftumblr #writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #creativewriting #words #art #quotes #quote

The city in my head is lying in shambles. There exists a ruin now where once the harp used to sing ballads on the busy streets and the tabla synced with a deep voice to sing ghazals by the sides of the creeks.

Back in the days when the city awaited for the sun to rise and the air forever smelled of joy and the winds of happiness were abound; I had named it 'Graveyard'. For it was the place where sadness, pain and anger couldn't breathe a single breath, chocked on to the positivity in the air and died a happy death. But every visitor who passed by found the name to be quite unorthodox, so much so that some even ran away, not being able to comprehend a name that was out of the box.

But like every other city that stood for long, pride and overconfidence stacked up to be the reason behind its downfall. And now, all that remains is just a ruin of the glorious days. And now the city looks different than the one that used to buzz with songs, for all one can hear now are the voices of the long gone. The city has been reduced to a namesake of the former one, the city where every visitor thinks that they know why it was named so. But none hungry enough to dig through the rubble and excavate the truth.

And this city in my head will be passed on as ghost tales of a city that was cursed by its name, a city that is now dead. Everything will be forgotten except for its name.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//The Namesake//
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"But you see, it's not me
It's not my family
In your head, in your head, they are fighting
With their tanks, and their bombs
And their bombs, and their guns
In your head, in your head they are crying"
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I am doing a series called #ObsoleteInterpretation . In which I will try to use the name of a book as a phrase and write my own interpretation about it.
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#writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #creativewriting #words #art #quotes #quote #poetsoftumblr

Our society is just an ugly place to live in. We have been told by society since the very beginning that the colour of the skin, the gender, the orientation a person has, the clothes, the boots a person wears is a parameter to judge their intellectual level and their capacity. Even when it knew that both, moths and butterflies, evolve from the same process of metamorphosis; we have been taught that butterflies are beautiful and moths are ugly, from the very beginning.

Earlier when society was bold in expressing itself, drunk on its judgemental superiority; we had slavery. And now with the abandonment of slavery the society has sobered down a little, only to pass on its judgements in the form of fairness creams and regular reminders of how the length of clothes is inversely proportional to the chances of getting raped.

It's time we take up whatever means we can to break the stereotypes. Let it be known to the society, that we are here to change it from its very foundation. After all, we are not the first ones to think so, many before us did. But every one of them waited for somebody else to fight their fights. After all, if we don't stand up for what we think is right, no one ever will.

It's high time we start this revolution, blow up the society that is built on principles of discrimination and rebuild itself from the ruins. Only then will we truly metamorphose into a better society, a better world. A society where the moths will be considered as beautiful as the butterflies.
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- The Obsolete Poet
// Metamorphosis//
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"Who are you to wave your finger?
So full of it.
Eyeballs deep in muddy waters.
Fuckin' hypocrite.

Liar, lawyer, mirror, show me what's the difference?
Kangaroo done hung the guilty with the innocent."
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I am doing a series called #ObsoleteInterpretation . In which I will try to use the name of a book as a phrase and write my own interpretation about it.
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Go support @breakthe_stereotypes and tell us which stereotype you would want to break. Put up a story and tag us.

#breakthestereotype

The night of 14th August marks the independence of two countries, one which is Islamic and another which claims to be secular but ironically calls itself 'land of Hinduism'. And with the birth of these countries was also born an enimity between the two. The newly drawn borders led to mass immigration from either sides and mass homicides too. And in the years that followed, the two countries waged war against each other. Wars where only hatred won.

Both sides have their own versions and both sides blame it on the other. But none can deny the fact that lakhs of people were murdered, thousands of soldiers died. There is nothing new that I speak of, but I feel there is a need to remind people that what happened back then was tragic and shouldn't have happened. We can't go back in time and undo it but we surely can make sure that the wars don't repeat them.

I still hope that one day the two countries will be at peace with each other, the fences on the borders taken down and the lands won't mourn the death of their soldiers. That day, the trains will start again, the tourists from the neighbouring countries will feel at home in what once used to be foreign lands. And I, I will catch the first train to Pakistan to explore the country, to meet the beautiful fellow souls that live there.

But until this dream comes true, I will just be on the internet and watch the music videos that temporarily fade away the borders and reignite the hope in me. Hope that one day I would catch the train to Pakistan and breathe the same air that these musicians breathe.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//Train to Pakistan//
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I am doing a series called #ObsoleteInterpretation . In which I will try to use the name of a book as a phrase and write my own interpretation about it.
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"Aur rota hai raaton mein
Pakistan kya waise
jaise Hindustan"

#writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #creativewriting #words #art #quotes #quote #words_pleasure

There is a room in my head that used to be alive once upon a time but now it's nothing but an art museum. A museum which stores every memory we shared in the form of paintings on the wall, items that we gifted each other kept safely inside glass cases. And the skeletons of all the differences we buried long ago, standing tall like a dinosaur staring at anyone who enters from the door. There is an old vinyl player which still plays your favourite happy songs, but they haunt me now. Even the photos you burnt and deleted are all safe in the room.

I built this room hoping that we would visit it together after a few years, when our memories would blur out and relive them. But the optimism never let me think that one day I would turn it into a museum of all the things that haunt me.

I seldom dare to visit the room because now only ghosts live there. I don't fear them all but there is one which frightens me the most. The ghost of my former self, happy and joyful, sailing alone around the room when even all the other ghosts go to sleep. The ghost that I can never face. Even the guests who visit me are made to stay in other rooms and I never let anyone dare roam around it for I fear they would see the ghosts too.

But on days when I miss you the most, I sneak into the room, let the ghost take over me for sometime and smile; while going on a tour of the museum and listening to all your favourite songs. But by the time I manage to exorcise myself, it's always too late. For I realise the time flew away like a hurricane and the guests I left waiting in the other room have all left. And the ghost would still be sailing alone around the room, waiting for me to miss you soon.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//Sailing alone around the room//
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I am doing a series called #ObsoleteInterpretation . In which I will try to use the name of a book as a phrase and write my own interpretation about it.
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#writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead

Hope is like a kite flying high in the sky. And if you dare to look beyond yours, you will see there are innumerable kites flying high. For everyone holds onto as many strings as they can hold in their tiny palms, tie to their legs and arms; hoping that at least one of them will come true. After all, we humans are greedy, aren't we? We always crave for more than we need.

The kites don't work like we humans think they would. We feel the higher they fly, the better are the chances of them getting fulfilled. But that's not the case, it never was. It is not a process of trying to become a better kite flier but rather it is a process of becoming a better kite runner (A person who runs behind a falling kite to catch it).
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And we forget that the higher they fly, the farther they fall and the more we have to run to catch them. And that reduces our chances by thousands.

And I am no different. I am probably the worst kite runner. I tie myself down with so many kites that whenever one of them falls, I can't even manage to take a few steps before losing sight of the falling kite. And then I spend the rest of my time, untying the other kites that hold me back and run throughout the town to find the fallen kite. Until I realise that's it's of no use and I go back to flying the other kites and let the cycle repeat itself.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//Kite Runner//
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I am doing a series called #ObsoleteInterpretation . In which I will try to use the name of a book as a phrase and write my own interpretation about it.
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"phirta rahoon dar badar
milta nahi tera nishaan
hoke judaa kab main jiya
tu hai kahaan main kahaan"
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#writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #creativewriting #words #art #quotes #quote #words_pleasure

"A man without principles and will is like a ship without compass; it changes direction with every change of wind"
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- Samuel Smiles
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This is something I have been believing all my life. I build a set of my own principles which included quite a few. But the one I am talking about now pertains to sex, mating, making love or whatever you would like to call it. I categorise myself as old school for I feel that I cannot sleep with anyone I don't have emotions attached to.

But sometimes I wish I had accepted the offer of the girl I met online for a one night stand or maybe the one I fell in love with in college who wanted me to be nothing more than her fuck buddy. The former was easier to reject but the latter, was difficult. Cause although she did fulfill the conditions but somehow it didn't feel right. I had to fight with the part of me who wanted to be with her. I had to make myself understand that if I end up having sex with her then I would have sacrificed my self respect in the process. And sacrificing my self respect for someone is never right.

I am almost 26 now, still a virgin. I do mention that because people always get surprised when I say that. As if it was a norm in society to lose it before I turned 20. I have been waiting for people to fall in love with me and everytime I fall in love with someone all I get to hear is 'You are a good person. You are a good friend'.
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And now after all these years I am tired of the constant self fighting. I am contemplating of giving up on my principles, throwing away the compass in the sea and sailing in the direction of the wind. But I still fight with myself, constantly torn between two sides. One which says that if I sleep with someone against my principles it will give me the peace from the constant self fighting in exchange for my self respect and the other which says that by not doing so I will have my self respect intact but the daily fights will never end soon. I think I am stuck in a Catch-22 situation and no matter which option I choose I am the one to be torn apart in two.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//Catch-22//

After you left me, I was devastated like a city after being hit by a storm of the highest magnitude. There was silence all around, the trees that survived didn't even move and the suffocating smell of your fragrance lingered in the air. My chest felt too heavy while breathing and I puked blood on a daily basis, maybe due to all those injuries in me but I did notice I started forgetting our memories and what we used to be; momentarily. Because your fragrance always managed to fill the void of memories in me.

I tried to run as fast as I can to avoid the trigger of your memories. But they seemed to always catch up to me, clutch on to back, dig their claws in my veins and pump all the memories in my blood. And after understanding that I had nowhere to go in a city in ruins and with no walls to hide behind; I stopped running.

I stopped running and accepted my fate. And within moments I felt a fresh gale blow through the city and it scared me. After all, I was hit by a storm I would even fear the lightest of the breeze. And after the winds stopped, breathing became easier and my chest felt lighter. For your fragrance and with it your memories too were gone; gone with the wind, to never visit me again.

So now I puke blood every now and then to throw those remnants left in me, build the city by placing bricks on bricks until another storm comes and leaves it in ruins. But this time things would be different, for even then a gale would come. And the memories and the suffocating fragrance would be gone with the wind.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//Gone with the wind//
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I am doing a series called #ObsoleteInterpretation . In which I will try to use the name of a book as a phrase and write my own interpretation about it.
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"Let the wind carry you home
Blackbird fly away
May you never be broken again"
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#writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #creativewriting #words #art #quotes #quote #words_pleasure

It was a rainy day with dark clouds in the sky and no place left for the sun to shine. I was walking on the streets when I came across a man, staring at the skies for atleast as long as I noticed him. I couldn't stop myself from questioning his fascination. But he ignored my question and instead gave me an offer that I couldn't resist. He wanted me to take his blue umbrella with the golden handle in exchange for all my anger, despair and pain. The umbrella was as beautiful as a country side Belle and who could refuse a chance to never feel sadness again.

I accepted the offer, took the umbrella from the man and suddenly the clouds cleared up and the rains stopped pouring down. I saw the clear blue sky with the orgasmic white clouds after ages; at one point I had even forgotten how it looks like. Afterall I was used to the dark skies where I couldn't tell for sure whether the black clouds covered the sky or the darkness of the sky painted the clouds.

I was happy like I was never before. People were surprised to see the change for no one ever expected me to write poems on love and happiness instead of heartbreak and pain.

But slowly, all the happiness faded away. The skies didn't grow dark, but the white clouds didn't seem the same anymore. Basking in their beauty became as mundane as eating my favourite dish three times a day, seven days a week. The poems of happiness I wrote started sounding monotonous and overall the same.

I slowly started to miss the dark clouds. I didn't wish them to follow me everywhere like they used to but maybe form a equilibrium with happiness. For just like without wrong, the right doesn't carry the same value; even without sadness, happiness doesn't feel the same anymore.

Now I roam the streets hoping to strike a deal with someone who would take my blue umbrella and give me their sadness and pain. So that I can finally start writing poems about heartbreaks instead of the mediocre, clichéd love poems that I have been writing off late.

I keep staring at the skies, just like the man I met that day. Maybe even he was waiting for the skies to turn black like I await today.

Ever since I met you, I have been trying to understand you. After all that's what I do, try to understand people I meet. Because at the end of the day, we are different even though some parts of us might look the same. And it fascinates me to understand the differences we have because it's more challenging.

And in all these years of knowing a beautiful person like you I could understand most things about you. I am proud of discovering the facts that most don't know about you. Like how you can speak about your favourite artist for hours even though you claim to not having anything to speak about. Or about how you wake up each morning only to fight the battle to keep your storms at bay; a new one each day.

And now when I look back at the time when we first met, I realise it's been such a long journey. But even now there are things like your feelings for me, involving you and me that I don't understand. Or maybe I do understand but I just don't want to accept them. I don't know for sure which part is true.

I guess I still haven't known myself completely. So how can I understand you entirely. It's been such along journey of trying to understand and I think it's never ending.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//Such a long journey//
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I am doing a series called #ObsoleteInterpretation . In which I will try to use the name of a book as a phrase and write my own interpretation about it.
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"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep"
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#poetsoftumblr #writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #creativewriting #words #art #quotes #quote

I love sleeping in the afternoon after a lunch with a stomach full of rice. Yes, I know that eating rice isn't that healthy nor is sleeping in the afternoon. I have read many articles about studies which label the habits I love as unhealthy and link them to heart diseases and obesity. But blame it on my genes, I cannot possibly even imagine about having my lunch without rice in it, it's a nightmare.

But there is something even more torturous, more nightmarish than eating bread for lunch. And it's not being able to sleep after a good lunch. And for the past few years I have been living such nightmarish afternoons almost daily.

And that reminds me how everything that I have ever dared to love has always eluded me. It's like whenever I love something, I end up polarising it with my polarity. And as we know like poles always repel each other. And the things I love, move farther away from me, just out of my reach but seldom out of my view. And I, I have to just love my nightmare of seeing things I love but never being able to brush my skin against them.

And you, you are my afternoon sleep. So near yet so out of reach.

My life, is just like this piece. It has a flow but in the end nothing makes sense.
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- The Obsolete Poet
//Being bong//
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Art : @henn_kim
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"Always in my thoughts, you are
Always in my dreams, you are
I got your voice on tape
I got your spirit in a photograph
Always out of reach, you are"
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#poetsoftumblr #writography #writer #obsolescence #ObsoleteDiaries #obsolete #poetry #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #wordporn #writing #instapoet #igpoets #instagramwriters #poetrygram #poet #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #PoetsOfInstagram #poem #poetryinmotion #drunkpoetssociety #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #creativewriting #words #art #quotes #quote #words_pleasure

The world will tell you that you don't have an original thought. But never believe them. The world has a history of looking down on thinkers and labelling them insane.

You are an amalgamation of all the books you've read, the songs you have heard, the movies, series, animes you have seen and all the emotions you have felt. They have carved and etched themselves in your subconscious, so much so that now everything you think is somehow inspired by them. And even if you come up with something that you think is not even remotely inspired by anything you have sensed, some other person might have written about it already. But that dosen't mean you aren't original. Everything needs a foundation and your inspirations build yours.

But if someday the world gets inside your head and you start wondering what's the point of thinking; remember that everyone of us perceives things with a different view. All the movies, music and shows make us think and we, we ruminate on the little philosophies and theories they put in our head. And in the process, perceive our own view towards them, maybe even create a different view.

Everyone of us, is different because of the various things that inspire us. So many permutations and combinations exist that the probability of having someone think exactly like you on every topic is just next to impossible. So that makes your thoughts unique and that should be enough of a reason for you to put out your thoughts in front of the world. You might not inspire the entire world or maybe even half of it but even if you inspire a handful, it would serve our purpose in this world.

The basic purpose of the lives of us thinkers is not to be original but rather it is to inspire, to make people think. We are the part of a reaction that started centuries ago and would one day shape this world into a peaceful and happy place. We are here to not let the works of the previous thinkers be wasted but to rather remould and recast them in the things that have changed over time and pass them on.

Keep thinking. Keep writing. You never know how many lives you might affect, how many minds you might touch and how many writers you might create.

Don't stop.

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