Probability | Poetry

Two numbers,
0 and 1
and between them
lies these
probabilities,
endless as they
may seem.

0 and 1
and these probabilities.

Do you know how
heavy it can be to
hold them,
everything between
0 and 1,
feeling like eternity.

It would rather
be simple
if it were 0 or 1,
instead of the
combinations
in between.

0 and 1
and these probabilities.

But we fear these numbers
because as certain
as they may seem,
equally fragile
they are.

It does not take
long for one to
shift, and yet we’d
settle for 0 or 1
rather than the
in betweens.

0 and 1
and these probabilities.

Like The Seasons | Poetry

May be we’re like the season
I’ve never seen
spring meeting autumn,
like the day never sees the dawn
all we do in our alternate universes
is quietly burn.

Like summer and winter,
when one comes
you are bound to remember the other.

May be we really are like the seasons
fading away time and again.
Perhaps this is the sign of being human;
flawed like the cracks winter brings
to be cured only by the warm summer rays.

But we often forget
the first green of spring
and the first fall of leaves
as they turn golden.

May be just like the season
we will all be,
a little jealous of spring and summer,
autumn and winter
because they get through eternity
together.

And may be just like the season
we keep repeating our lives in circles,
in hopes of something new in every corner.

Just like the seasons
we think spring
was late this time around
and winter was colder
and we eventually forget
how it was,
once upon a summer.

And like the seasons we let go,
when spring leaves for summer
and summer opens its doors for autumn
autumn bids goodbye for winter
and then for spring to arrive again.

Like the seasons,
we learn
we can’t really overcome
and perhaps that is why we embrace,
spring for its blossom,
summer for its color,
the leaves of autumn
and the winds of winter.

May be we are
just like the seasons.


I stumbled across the line, ‘I’ve never seen spring meeting autumn.’ And my first reaction was, ‘How can they ever meet, they’re seasons!’ Exactly, they are seasons. The subtle thought that there are seasons that never see each other inspired me to scribble down this piece. 

The Art of Hiding Behind Words

When we think of hiding, camouflage and going underground would be the ideal option. You wouldn’t normally think about writing. Nah! we write to express, to communicate, to disseminate ideas. Could writing be a way of concealment then? Very unlikely, and yet very possible.

The thought struck me when I came to know about a film related to Charles Dickens. Dickens is one of the most widely read authors in the world, he is also considered to be the quintessential gentleman from 19th century England. The man who when was asked to write about the pomp and glory of the royal family denied to do so, because he wrote of the pains and joys of the everyday people. That was Dickens to me, whose stories I have read and rejoiced since a long time. But this particular film was a revelation, because it shattered his image as a family guy, uncovering his secret mistress that he had for a time period of 13 years till his death.

150 years ago, Dickens had a strong brand image, which would have gone down the drains had his secret been revealed. Thus, he tried his best to conceal his relationship, shocking many people. But I am not here to debate his life.

The faint possibility that Dickens might have written much of his later works to conceal his pain, agony and his secret affair with his mistress interests me the most; the idea that through writing, Dickens did not necessarily express but rather hid behind his craft.

Think of a line you absolutely love, from a book, a movie, a conversation. Anything.

I’ll share a snippet of a piece I wrote.

The Wordcastle Instagram 4

Now, I might have 1769 reasons behind writing this line. And it is not necessary that as the listener or reader, you will be able to interpret it exactly the same way. Unless I explicitly state the objective, you will never know it, but what you will know indeed is your objective, your understanding. It surprises me greatly, how is this expressing myself then?

What I am doing but hiding behind an array of carefully chosen words? Of course I am writing. But it is you who is expressing, to yourself. I am merely hiding, beneath these networks of words. Some might call it a barrier, but it is a beautiful barrier I must say, one that helps us hide.

This is of course a very rudimentary version of anything concrete. All I do want to say is perhaps there is a different side of writing, one that does not involving expressing but hiding in metaphors and characters.

Perhaps that is what Charles Dickens did. His mistress is believed to have had a profound effect on his greatest work, Great Expectations. The story follows the life of Pip and his beloved Estella, but they never meet, not explicitly. Dickens separated from his wife, but could never bring his love for his mistress into light because of his public image. He could have instead hid his desires and confusions inside his characters and inside a story. But does this mean all works of writing have something hiding behind them? Not necessarily. But the idea that people write to express, might just be a one-sided approach to the very complex nature of us, humans.

You don’t necessarily have to express as you write, you could hide, camouflage and divert your audience in a world so very different from where you are. It makes writing sound like a code breaking task in Sherlock or James Bond. It might be and it might not. But it sure makes it interesting to explore.