Through Myth and Ology

From the dawn of time, and the utterance of “Let there be light”, personification of abstract concepts of the earth, the sky, the seas, the land of afterlife, fertility, family, etc. have been devised throughout the world, through gods and goddesses. In the era of nil communication with other parts of the world that were inaccessible by land or water, there still existed one common thread that wove all of this species together without them even realising it- the connection of mythology.

Whether it be the vast Greek mythology that is unarguably the most well-known and heard of in the world, the Hindu mythology that is one of the oldest and most vibrant mythologies and is believed in by one of the biggest religious groups globally, the Egyptian mythology that is supplemented by breathtaking architecture to execute mythological rituals, the Sumerian mythology (Epic of Gilgamesh) which is believed to be the very first mythological literature, the Norse mythology that talks of nine worlds of fantastical creatures, humans and gods, and the heroes and the condemned, the Roman mythology that is often counted with the Greek mythology but exists in itself as a gigantic body of material, or a sea of others that trace their roots to the very foundations of human belief, faith in the fantastic connects them all.

But before analysing these intricately woven webs of civilisation and mythology, what really is mythology? Mythology rests on the term myth, defined as a widely held but false idea or belief, and mythology is a collection of myths, especially one belonging to a particular religious or cultural tradition. Now whether the stories and characters in these beliefs actually existed or not is as of yet unverifiable, but the wide popularity of these seemingly impossible episodes takes birth from the universal human notion of “a lie told a hundred times eventually turns into the truth”, and the generational succession of these myths foster this behavioural pattern.

Now, once the basics are clear and out of the way, it is important to bring one’s attention to the question- how is mythology helping humankind apart from their obvious faith satiation? Well, the answer lies in the very fundamentals of any mythology in the world. Actually, the details and intricacies of every mythology are distinct, as they rightfully should be to preserve the uniqueness of their respective culture and geography, however, the major building blocks of any and every mythology somehow always prove to be aligned closely, if not totally congruent. Let us take some examples.

In Greek mythology, the supreme God or God of gods is Zeus, the Olympian son of Titans Kronos and Rhea. In Hindu mythology, Indra, the God of heavens and the King of gods, is seen as his equivalent. Similarly, Jupiter is seen as their counterpart in Roman mythology as the god of sky and thunder and the King of gods, and Egyptians consider Ammon or Amun-Re, the god of the sun as their equivalent of the supreme God. Just the tip of the iceberg, these similarities are proof that us as humans have similar and coinciding ideas of hierarchies and arrangements of belief. The fundamental components of every faith are more-or-less common irrespective of demographic details.

To conclude, differences in beliefs of cultural, geographical and religious groups showcase the beauty of diversity of homo sapiens, but the thread of commonality in their foundations illustrates that no matter the variations, the basic blocks of us as a species remains the same.

You, Unexpectedly

I spent countless nights hating on love
Every waking dream was torturous
Flashes of lies, betrayals and mockery haunted me
And the prospect of love induced burning tears.
I couldn’t believe that even though I gave my all,
Even though I loved more than I thought I could
Even though I gave more than I thought I owned,
Yet I ended up unlucky in affection, yet I ended up heartbroken.
The pieces of my broken heart sang of pain
Of sleepless nights filled with rage
Of questions- was I ever enough?
Of realizations- I will never be good enough.
Swirling darkness around my head,
Gut-wrenching pain inside me,
Delusions and questions consuming me,
But suddenly, I saw light.
Walking through the abyss of gloom,
I saw an opening
I saw an escape,
I saw another chance.
Although there was a chip in my armour
And there was apprehension in my mind,
There were way too many scars to hide,
And too many memories that didn’t subside,
Yet I took that escape
And I made that walk
And I opened my heart again
And I found love.
Love, like they describe in movies
Love, like they gush about in poetry,
Love, like they describe their lovers’ gaze with
Love, that I thought I could never win.
But here it was, the same love
That I yearned for but never got
Stealing my breath in all its glory
Promising to end all my misery.
I found it when I wasn’t searching,
But I found it when I needed it the most
Because his love not only made him love me
But somehow got me to also love myself deeply.

Sun Over Your Crescent

So many feelings, bottled-up
Emotions and emotions, flooding my mind and heart, 
Every thought, every idea, every fleeting possibility,
Piercing my peace like a glass shard.

But I can not blame you, for who am I to you?
Nothing, nothing, but a passing phase,
Like a crescent moon in the night sky,
Momentary happiness, meant to fade away.

I know I can not blame you, and I know can not cry on my friends’ shoulders,
Who told me you were trouble the moment they saw you,
Who warned me that you saw me as just a crescent,
Who told me that for you, my departure was destined before my arrival.

But yet I shone for you like the moon shines for a star,
Beamed in your light while I accepted I was in the dark,
Craved you all the time, as I rose, stayed and sank,
But took to long to realize that even though I was shining, it wasn’t my light after all.

It wasn’t my beam,
It wasn’t my beauty,
It wasn’t my glow, but yours, 
No, I was too blinded by your shimmer to notice.

Too absorbed in you,
I lost myself somewhere,
Too in awe of you,
I forgot that I am not meant to be just a phase.

And now that you light-up another crescent, 
Now that your orbit changes to another sky,
How I wish, I was not merely your crescent,
How I wish, I could be your sun instead.

I wish we could have shone together and on our own,
I wish I was as dear to you as you were to me,
I wish you could’ve looked at me the way I did at you,
But I know I am better off alone shining as the sun, than being reduced to a reflector as your crescent with you.


You Were the Death of Me

From the authoress of the YA genre favorites like “One of Us is Lying”, “The Cousins”, and “Two Can Keep a Secret”, comes another murder mystery by Karen McManus, “You’ll be the Death of Me,” published by Penguin Publishers.


The story is centered around a whimsical group of three high school seniors in Carlton High and their encounter with a chilling puzzle which they are forced to solve. The book has been written in first person point of view with shuffling narratives of all the three pivotal characters, which provides the reader with an insight into the psyche and situations of all three first-hand.


The book begins with a peek into the past, where one learns that the trio knew each other from middle school, and the friendship among the three blossomed when one day they happened to skip school together and remember it by what they call it “The Greatest Day Ever”. After many years, the current story transpires when their otherwise fizzled-out camaraderie reignites when they skip school once again, but this time, they encounter a murder scene when they do so.


Mateo, a brooding and serious boy with a single mom and an orphaned cousin; Ivy, an ambitious and intelligent girl with a successful and famed couple as parents and an academically and athletically gifted younger brother; and Cal, the love-sick artist with his intellectual and professionally highly placed fathers, are the three protagonists who find themselves stuck in a riveting maze after they come across the corpse of their fellow classmate, Brian “Boney” Mahoney, the class clown who won class president election and was scheduled to give his maiden address to the school on the morning of his death. Apart from this, the other pivotal characters in the story include Ms. Lara Jaminson, the young and attractive art teacher who has a shady story of her own, and Mr. Tom Kendall, the sports teacher who is Lara’s fiance and and an important part of her story.


The book is a gripping thriller following the three teenagers’ struggles and accomplishments while trying to investigate all layers of mystery surrounding Brian “Boney’s” murder, topped with classic McManus elements of teenage speculation, outbursts, and feelings as they navigate the murder together while reviving old feelings and unearthing suppressed secrets. The story is engaging, but feels a little slow paced in the middle. Although the revelations were quite unexpected and unforeseen, yet at some points of the novel it seemed like too much was happening too soon. The plot twists were indeed gripping and kept one at the edge of their seats, but they were far too many to keep up with. What didn’t help was that the book ended on a cliff-hanger, without a satisfactory conclusion to the story, which also contained themes of rather sensitive and serious topics along with the mammoth plot of the murder mystery.


Overall, I would say that “You’ll Be the Death of Me” is definitely worth a read, however, it does not quite match the level of finesse in Karen McManus’ some other works when it comes to executing the literary angle of unravelling mysteries and connecting the dots. The book would keep you engaged, but the ending would leave you with a bittersweet feeling and a whole lot of unanswered questions and wild theories. So if you’re a fan of fantasizing endings to your favourite stories and stray away from the cannonical ending, this one’s definitely for you.

Another Lifetime

Love is the most powerful force. It harbors a whole spectrum of gentleness and passion, and of cherishing and of longing in it, all woven together intricately within us. But apart from the universally desired forms of love, one of its forms often goes underappreciated- the love of friendship. Unlike bonds of family that we are born with, unlike bonds of romance that build us up when we grow older, friendships are the connections we choose for us and the trust that we ourselves decide to put in someone else. The force of love is electric, comforting, and forever important to everyone to actually stay positive. This poem is an ode to friendship, friendship of not just two people, but of entire lifetimes and even beyond those lifetimes.

She was born on the same day as me
The daughter of my mom’s best friend
A fairy tale for them both indeed
Their daughters, in a bond like theirs destined.
And she was to me
What my mother was to hers
A pillar, a support, a sister almost
A fire that would always make her feel so free.
And their little girls were exact images of them
With our pigtails swinging back and forth in the park
Where our mommies sat together and drank tea
While we would search for roses with a thorn-less stem.
Weekends would be the best days
When all us four girls used to watch a movie together
With popcorn and burgers and candy
And memories that would keep us smiling for days.
But fast forward, and soon enough the time came
When our mothers were replaced
By our aging selves
And we became the mothers, who no force could tame!
We thought we were so wild!
Adventurous and brave
Taking all risks we ever wanted to
Together, no matter who our lives riled.
But slowly, those garden dates and movie nights
Were replaced by hospitals and old age homes
Because alas my son and her daughter
Didn’t exactly see eye to eye as we hoped.
And now, after all those years have gone by too,
I find myself holding back my tears
For you have gone somewhere beyond I can see
In a world where you have no fears.
But I miss seeing your face every chance I could,
I long for the conversations we had
I crave your presence whenever I needed you
And your bitter scoldings when I don’t do things that I should.
But I know now that this is how my mother must’ve felt
When your mother left her alone after a lifetime together
With her hand missing your mother’s
And eyes glistening as all their memories she spelt.
No, I won’t cry, for I had given you a promise
And however hard it may be, I will keep my word
And search for you in every star on every night
Hoping, that in another lifetime, I can meet you and love you again.

Is There an Answer to the Maybe?

How do you distinguish,
Between what you crave and what you desire?
How do you differentiate
Between a want and a need?
Do the primal needs,
Surpass self-constructed ones?
Or do necessities of survival,
Lag behind our own fabricated idealisms?
And if not us,
Who can make this distinction?
Will it be the preachers of truth,
Whose only merits are encounters with realities?
Will it be leaders of the world,
Who take pride in the enormity of their epiphanies?
Will it be teachers,
Who have taught us everything and thus would teach this also?
Or will it be parents,
Present or not, but still attempting to teach us all the ways of the world?
Whoever it may be,
It certainly cannot be me.
For to look at my heart and mind in a varied way,
Is not something doing myself I see.
But maybe this is how it is supposed to be
Maybe I shouldn’t know everything there is to know,
Maybe the heart, mind and body are in discord on purpose
And maybe, maybe to search for concord is not on their mind after all.

Photo by Sebastian Voortman on

Nothing As An Unsinkable Ship

Life is marked by change, both turbulent and placid, but change nonetheless. But this change may not always be associated with something that pleases the one who undergoes it, rather, it may leave behind a void of loss that can be incredibly painful to bear. However, even in the face of such change that could constitute loss and suffering, there is a silver lining. The way of the world teaches one to learn to live with this loss and ultimately grow. This poem is an attempt to encapsulate these thoughts, in rhythm.

How strange is it

That the promises meant to be kept forever

Are those that are broken most often

And all that is left are remnants of its pieces, scattered as piercing shards.

The strongest ropes tear

The unsinkable ships sink

The healthiest hearts fail 

And the brightest stars lose their lustre.

It dawns upon us that every beginning,

Has its end determined before its life

And though the inevitability of it is universally acknowledged,

Yet the preceding void leaves us crushed and distraught.

Every story may not have a prologue that gives it an epilogue,

It may just have chapter one and chapter end

It may not stretch beyond its conclusion to a happy ending,

But that ache of a fairytale ending can still be overcome.

To bear this weight is the only remedy

To accept the tearing rope and the sinking ship,

To accept the anatomical surrender and losing shine,

Is the only way to piece the piercing shards together.

Is There Anything Different?

The agony of your comfort

The restlessness of your tranquillity

The apathy of your passion

The longing of your contentment.

Why, why is your existence so oxymoronic?

Ironic isn’t it? Since you call yourself the clearest headed of all

Boast your power, which regrettably exists, oh how tragic.

Oh heart, which depth of yours do you want me to crawl?

Which slumber of mine do you want to wake me from?

Which meander of mine do you want me to navigate through?

Which ship do you want me to build to escape the storm?

And are these all the things there are to be faced or even they seem few?

In front of your might and glory, I feel foolish to even ask.

The waves you drown me in that you call feelings

Rip away the only defence i have against the world, my only mask

And leave me bare to face my truth, alone and stripped to carry-out my healing.

Take a step back heart,

Put a rest to your ways 

Let you not always a conflict start

Let you not make me lose myself in your maze.

But as I say this, the irony now hits me

As I discover that this time I am the oxymoron

For I can not deny that your maze, I want to see,

For I cannot turn away from the things, to stay away from those I had sworn.

Photo by Pixabay on

The Power of Words

Sitting idle is a powerful state of being, it can be incredibly insightful, humbling, tormenting, or simply numbing. But one thing in common in every scenario that plays in this vegetative state that one experiences, is a vivid replay of the things one did, emotions one felt, and without fail, the words that were spoken, or worse, left unspoken.
The last of them all is the most impactful to any person. It’s so fascinating how impressionable random arrangements of the same handful of letters can leave on individuals and their minds. To ponder upon the things one said in agony, hysteria, elation, frustration, hate or love; or on the flip side, remained of covert nature in an encounter- is a magnificent realisation. And as the the string of these thoughts is added to with pearls of new ‘what ifs’, regrets, paraphrases, revisits and a plethora of others, a common idea is birthed in the form of the infant christened “power of words.”
This child is immature at first, unaware of the meaning of its name or what it signifies. Its actions correspond to this state of oblivion, and for years it fails to live up to its name. Then comes the stage when it becomes a toddler, slightly aware but a troublemaker and rule breaker regardless. And finally, it comes to age when the world does not seem so colourful, vivid and harmless as before. Rather, the unpleasant contours of hate, deception, and insincerity make themselves conspicuous. These contours are a jarring change and a revolting sight, but it doesn’t take long for them to adapt to these and understand the purpose of their existence in the world that they were born in. And right from this eureka moment, until the very end, this child never forgets its name. Its name, and its significance, it never forgets.


Beautiful, she was

Oh, so beautiful!

“Like the stars bedazzling the sky in fantasized patterns?

Like the fresh roses or sweet words of a lover?

Like the little mist on the tips of the blades of meadows?

Was she as beautiful?”

No, no.

She is beauty, but not the one you find in plain sight

Not the one the mundane world can identify

Not the one the mundane person can appreciate,


She’s the kind of beautiful that poets write verses about.

The kind of beautiful artists paint as their muse

The kind of beautiful with her wild eyes ready for adventure

The one where she snorts in her laugh, in all its crooked glory

The one in which her cheeks go red and her nose scrunches in the bitter cold

The one that can cut through the glass but is as delicate as glass itself,

That’s the kind of beautiful she is.

She’s the motive and the murderer

The scythe and the ichor

The dreaded yet the adored.

But yes, she is a also constellation.

A constellation of droplets in a summer storm

Defiant, free, daring but beautiful nonetheless

Leaving the fighting ships baffled

For they are also in awe of her magnificence

Yet again in crippling fear of her power,

That’s the kind of beautiful she is.

Photo by Sean Manning on