Pravartika Wankhede

India

16-a lot on my mind

Message to Readers

I value your opinions a great deal, and I desire your words of critique, reason or approval. For an artist, each work of theirs is equally loved, y'all know. What mother loves one child more than the other? I absolutely cannot go any further without your help- and I thank you most heartily for it, beforehand. Show A LOT of love.
Yours,
P
P.S.: If you want reviews on your pieces, just attach a link in the comments. Also, a review isn't necessarily a review. Comments are equally needed. <3 I know how TIRESOME peer reviews are.

Fading Stars

July 21, 2020

Pieces-of-the-moon, My babies, My precious nephews,

In 1973, Canada and Denmark, both claimed Hans Island, as their own. They even hoisted their respective flags on the useless, barren rock-having no strategic significance. Facts as useless as Hans Island clutter my brain and flash before me: for instance, now, as I see a fight break over a piece of brilliant blue tile you find in the dump by our family home. Afternoon siesta bound, the family sleeps and I watch over you from the terrace: you are unaware. Khushu, you push Sani and his little body hits the dirt: his eyebrows scrunch, his nose crinkles, and his trembling pink lip juts out. I fear a demonstration of anger, I fear tears that could soon drip down Sani's full moon face and my heart wrenches itself terribly. I am a moment away from flying down and holding Sani's elfin body and fervently kissing his satin-soft forehead, and mediating the fight: I am a moment away. Miraculous!- Sani, you rub your arms and you get up, and I breathe again. I call over from the terrace, wagging my finger- Don't fight. A secret dimple lights up your cheeks, your stunning black eyes share mischievous dekko and bony hands entwine and you break into a run and disappear from the view-range of my eagle post. In all this hullabaloo, I notice the blue tile is left in the dump, lazily ricocheting the hazy stream of light. I feel sudden, motherly: pride.
                Pride Month- the globe is set ablaze by a prismatic flame, I see rainbows cut in crystal skies and I see rainbows in eyes: of people marching forward into independence and it is a beautiful dream. I abandon my eagle post, I run amok amongst the libertines; the freedmen, newly unfettered, release a united spirit glittering on the sparrow's wing and every grain of sand. We sway to the rhythm- so high you can't get to it, so wide you can't get around it. This brand of selfishness that won't let our feet still: will let us choose, neither shadow nor sun. We are our messengers, crossing seas glowing like an expectant mother, and we hear through our dancing feet, the cosmos swinging to the whines of cradled newborns. That is how we're supposed to be, my little darlings. When we speak of humanity, we speak of Love, and ultimately: of God. And, God resides in me: as me. God is bigger than desire or adoration, praise is useless before this entity, and gratitude might as well be whispered. And this, my babies, remember, is coming from a strict atheist. 
The world is a witness, to their hypocrisy, when they say that God can air-brush the sky in any hue and it is God's Glory, but, on human skin, shades on the lighter side of brown were crowned superior by the same artist. On the other side of the world, humanity self destructs- it rips itself into a billion shreds and laughs cruelly at the irony. In the Gulf, several hearts break; For the Gulf, our hearts break, and we try to will it into something, somehow strong enough to wield into a miracle. This sudden surge in human self-consciousness is the perfect paradox to my upbringing: denial is praised, conflict is to be avoided at all costs, societal whims are to be gratified, ignorance is to be ignored. The liberal part of our species becomes the embodiment of Alice Walker, calm like the endless seas, on a summer evening, as she says, "I will not have my life narrowed down. I will not bow down to somebody else's whim or to someone else's ignorance." I applaud. Children, such as you, such as me, are not porcelain pieces, you see- we don't break because of knowledge, we break because of naked hatred, and conscienceless cruelty. We break when we realize that homo homini lupus, that man is a wolf unto man, not when we hear the cries of "Liberté! Liberté!" Beauty is redefined, but the new definitions only speak of needs unsatisfied; Beauty is not a need, but an ecstasy. It is life unveiling its beautiful face, but we are life, and we are the veil. So I stand in amazement, capturing and remembering a revolution: for you.
For you, thousand times over. You are not my children, nor the children of your parents- you are the offspring of life's longing for itself. I wonder if my cousins understood this when they brought you forth, that we cannot seek to make you like us, for life and time do not travel backwards. Like distant stars exude light that they send forth aeons ago, I bear witness. 

Always and forever,
Your Aunt-with-beaded-hair.

 

Login or Signup to provide a comment.

4 Comments
  • purplepanache

    i also like how witty and to the point your reviews are. i would be very grateful to have your feedback on my piece 'a letter to a bosom friend', if that's not too much: https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/180340/version/361167


    4 months ago
  • purplepanache

    i'm so in love with this sensitive, heartfelt piece. i adore how you've chosen to address your nephews, how you've reflected upon the world we grow up in, and the honest, sardonic tone. the whole idea of this aunt sitting on a terrace, loving her nephews while bracing them for the harshness of the world they will one day be a part of is very touching. a very intelligent piece, here are a couple of lines that stood out (i'm sorry this is awfully long, i would have written a peer review but i don't have any constructive criticism to offer):
    -In all this hullabaloo, I notice the blue tile is left in the dump, lazily ricocheting the hazy stream of light. ( i love how this line is subtly representative of our society)
    -''God is bigger than desire or adoration, praise is useless before this entity, and gratitude might as well be whispered'' (this has more to do with how much i agree with you)
    -''In the Gulf, several hearts break; For the Gulf, our hearts break, and we try to will it into something, somehow strong enough to wield into a miracle.'' (what a painful way of expressing the truth)
    -Children, such as you, such as me, are not porcelain pieces, you see- we don't break because of knowledge, we break because of naked hatred, and conscienceless cruelty (i wish more people dealt with their children with this in mind)

    and the kite runner quote killed me upon impact, the tragic, loving note to it.
    'aunt-with-beaded-hair' is such a rad, definitive way to end.

    thank you for sharing this with us.


    4 months ago
  • outoftheblue

    hope you get the review sooon :)


    5 months ago
  • inanutshell

    love this! just submitted a review, hopefully it'll go through soon! :)


    5 months ago