What makes man a human ? Not the avarice, not the vices. I fancy if it’s the Pious Gene Nicest, that come from nerves As a lonely cloud I gallivant In the darkest phase of livin’ The soul hinged with the fork. In my breath, I inhale the nice The seed of plight I sow on The bays of my dreadful heart. Glee in the waves of wind Wavin’ along the city of images, I sight the placard of misery Marked with the name of me. A sound cracked, behind the soul Swayed my mettle; asked me, “You wanna go home?” Fiercely Woke up in fears, eyes of tears Relied on my Gallivant attitude Things I couldn’t understand clear That sound strikes my continuation Traits, What makes man a human ?
Mixbah Zaffar, from Jammu and Kashmir, India, is a class XII student who loves to write. Instagram Handle – @mixbah_13
The mysterious sounds, the horror scene, the sweating of whole body. I felt he was the angel of death, who had come to depart my soul. Red eyes, black, white face, small bearded patches, wide open mouth. Ahh! I couldn’t figure out if he was smiling or making me feel worse. Don’t know who he was! But the image of innocence; of horror that reflected simultaneously from his face was quite surprising. I could feel the distance that fell short with each second. I gazed at him, as he tried to make an eye contact for a long time. His appearance dragged me to some different dimension of my past. He reminded me of my mistakes, sins; my pious deeds too. He made me calculate my perfection. I was like, what is my overall gain? What I’m gonna be in my future? Do I serve the motive of my life or I’m just living superfluous? What if this is an angel of death; come to take me over? What he gonna do with me? Make me feel the reality or fly with my soul? The whole body sweating, forelimbs trembling with fear, heart sunk, heartbeat increased, eyes blurred; tears started to flow. I felt like my breath fell short with time. Head flew above the marks, my soul was just pointed with a giant fork; itching me. I gathered up my courage, helped myself to stand up on my own. As I stood up, I took few steps ahead and approached him. Sunk heart, thousands of questions in my mind, trembling hand, I forwarded it with all my strength; touched his mysterious face. All I could feel, see, say was, “Oh! It’s a Laughing Clown!”
Mixbah Zaffar, from Jammu and Kashmir, India, is a class XI student who loves to write.