Skip to main content

When hope falls for despair


                                                                               


When hope falls for despair 

TW : This piece contains mentions of su*cide, death, blood and self harm if you aren’t comfortable reading about these topics please don’t read further. If you or anyone you know is feeling su*cidal or is having thoughts about it, help is at hand, please do reach out either to someone you trust or call 9820466726. To everyone who chooses to read further i hope you are okay <3



This is a story about a person called despair who has only known ghosts and shadows. They have always loved and lost. Thus, finding it hard to fall in love. One day that changes when they meet hope, and slowly falls in love with them: hope. Hope to be better, Hope to love and Hope to feel. (adapted from the book : I fell in love with hope by  lancaii. Art by makshin) ps: doesn’t contain spoilers.  


Blood is accusative

It's speaks and stains 

There's no boundaries 

Death is a state of being

Humanise or demonise 

It still has a soul

Disease has a reason 

Time steals without any accusations

That's all life was supposed to be made of 

Till I met hope.. 


Hope says I am like the sun 

Yellow eyes that match my hair 

That I have dyed multiple times 

To feel alive, I have tried to be better 

About coping 

So the dye works for a while 


Ever since we met I have been ‘despair’

I love and loose

Makes me think I am beyond repair 

There are bandages on my skin 

It pains under my clothes 

Hope wears it on their sleeves 

Where I see regret, they see strength


I always loose 

So neither do I try to steal back nor put up a fight 

Yet they see me as their sun 

Thus, I cant see my own light 

So if they close their eyes and leaned in 

Would they burn or glow

As they touch me, we eclipse 

Softly becoming habitual 


Hope and despair 

A deadly combination 

Mostly like a broken gun 

It doesn’t fire so we don’t run 

We sit as every broken thing has a soul 

Breaking the watch on the wall

And pretend time is at a standstill 

As even I once should have been a ghost 


If we choose to love something we can’t loose 

Would we ever love at all? 

So is it okay for me to lose myself ? Who I was?

To begin again? 

I don't like my scars 

But they are essential broken parts 

Hidden for mirrors and lovers 

Hope turns out to be my lover

Don’t understand whether it is fearful or eternal 

So we hold each other till the shadows disappear 





Meet the Author

Just an average teenager running on coffee and fiction and sometimes I write about fiction and maybe sometimes I lose it due to my inability to handle criticism, I blame taylor swift for that. 

Faye


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Street Art - The Voice of Mumbai's Urbanity

“Art imitates life.”  Art is a mirror showing the beautiful and grotesque face of our world. Through time, all forms of art have been windows into social structures, lifestyles, and beliefs of civilizations. Transformative art has evolved over centuries as the voice of people of their times, inspiring change from a shift in social norms to war revolutions.  ["Humanity" at Sassoon Docks. Photo Credit: Special Arrangement, The Hindu] A tedious train ride in the mornings, the stationary traffic in the evenings, in the gray monotonous life of Mumbai, some days my eyes find the gorgeous colors on mossy walls and railway bridges, across old complexes and abandoned warehouses. The Street Art of Mumbai - present everywhere, unnoticed yet leaving its mark.   From the cultural abundance of the city we inhabit to the push for human rights and protest against climate change, from promoting harmony to lauding the unsung heroes, street art does more than beautify the concrete forest we...

We Begin…

  What does a fresh page smell like? Hope, maybe.  Anxiety too, with a dash of curiosity. Maybe, it smells like manifestation, like something quietly waiting to become real. What’s the weight of a new beginning? Heavier than it looks.  The page isn't blank; it's crinkled by the past.  Legacies. Lessons. Quiet scars. Loud dreams.  It holds the pressure of making a point, of continuing something that mattered, even if no one claps. Of daring to start again. As we step into the unknowns of tomorrow, we pause. To reflect. To remember. To ask: what does this beginning mean to us? New beginnings are overwhelming. There’s just so much I want to do, so many ways to go about chasing these dreams, and it’s like there’s too much inside me all at once. Too many ideas crashing into each other. Then there is the fear, this nagging fear that it’ll all just turn into a mush, like upma.  What if everything goes wrong? What if I try and fall flat? How do I look peo...

The Festival of Lights under a Different Light

Diwali. The festival of lights. Whether intended or not, we all have developed a connection to this festival, something we look forward to. It’s a time where everything is a little brighter, whether it’s the sweets flooding in, family coming together, that childhood album you forgot about that shows up during Diwali cleaning or at least the long-awaited vacation to finally execute all your plans. It’s celebrated across religions like Hinduism, Jainism, Sikhism, and Newar Buddhism, though associated with different stories and practices. All in all, however, this festival signifies the victory of the light over darkness; Good over evil; Knowledge over  ignorance.       (Credits: htoindia.com)   However, many interconnections, stories and even scientific and historical significances are attached to this festival that we must not overlook. For example, different people interpret Diwali as the victory of good over evil for several reasons. The popular legend talks ab...