Belief by Saptarshi Bhowmick

Life works weirdly. The concatenation of living decides randomly how people would react to life and its ways. Sometimes a human being fails to recognize it, and sometimes it goes beyond the limit of mortal recognition. The circle of life is thus turbulent; from birth to death, it never succumbs to stability. People, though stable by the continuous daily routine they maintain, burn out even before they reach their prime. With somber thoughts, they exhaust half of their lives, and the other half goes over contemplating it. In the end, nothing comes out but the reluctance and convulsions of self-pity. Even their passions and dreams perish when they start to compromise for stability. One person, well-settled in life, spends his remaining days gambling with chances. The balance he sustains is like the Japanese Musubi thread, too thick to even pull him out of his own mess. Although he lives thinking that it is all balanced, in reality, he is just tangled up between the proximity of living and its dangers. The danger only concludes when he ultimately realizes his situation. As time plays the role of a wizard, it brings out its wand to dictate a spell, and all of a sudden, every self-doubt and lamentation existing in his soul jumps out of his mundane heart. Only the void remains, duly created by the monotonous endeavors of his life’s struggle.  

Sitting on a bench, when I hear the echo of their empty shells, it speaks to me directly. Their pangs and pains vivify the meaning of my existence. These vociferations oblige me to come to them. But it is not in my hand to do so. 

I, Belief, a word with six letters and two syllables, appear occasionally to a human mind when someone dares to oppose normality. But most of the time, it fails to mark its allegiance. It fails when religions collide, it fails when superstitions divulge, and it fails when people expect too much from each other. But today, I am not here to discuss those failures; they are common, and it is too hard for a commoner to take them in. I am a commoner and I notice uncommon things easily. Though it takes a while to realize them, I cannot swear if there is any premonition about it. A person lives and dies with me in their mind, many even shun the idea of my existence. But I never left them. All it takes is a little detour for them to find me. And I wait as the horizon waits with open hands to welcome them in. Between my hands where peace nullifies the infamous weird ways of Life itself.  Some have already found me, some are struggling to have a glimpse of me, and some are still neglecting me even after doing all the hard work to find me.

I exist before you,  

I exist behind you;  

I may stay by you  

I may forgive you.  

But it is all you  

Not me                   E       L      I      E     F  

That would seek,  

As For you I shall live  

And for you I give!  

Everything.. 

 

Curating the solid imageries taken from real-life experiences, Saptarshi Bhowmick makes his sanctuary of sublime poems. Each of them toils to tell you a different story, but only a few try actually to comprehend it. The little praise he collects fuels him further to write one. Aside from being famous for his bilingual poems, Saptarshi got published in many International Magazines, including The Rainbow Poems, Tofu Ink Art Press, The Antonym, Wingless Dreamers, Sparked Literary Magazine, MOIDA, The Compass Magazine, SeaGlass Lit, Aster Lit, Firefly_Archives, The Graveyard Zine, The Dried Review, Meadow Mouse.

(He also has featured two flash fictions in Overtly Lit, which he’s really proud of)