Pratap

MUSIC - POETRY - MEDICINE

[pratap075]

The duality of a writer's notes app.

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[pratap075]

For me, you are my God, but for you, I’m just a temple.

[pratap075]

"The Temple You Left"

For me, you are my God,

But for you, I'm just a temple.

You knew exactly that the day you left me,

I would be abandoned, not you.

People placed you in another temple,

more beautiful than me

with pillars made of gold

and corridors carved from marble.

But me…

the one who built my whole existence around you,

had no golden pillars,

only ordinary stones

with your name engraved on them a thousand times.

My corridors were narrow,

yet the walls breathed with your portraits

every corner whispered your name,

every crack carried your scent.

And when you left,

your devotees lifted you high into the heavens,

placed you on a throne taller than my walls,

set a golden crown upon your head,

and drove a spear of iron through my heart.

They demolished me,

shattering every pillar that bore your name.

I fell to the ground, stone by stone,

raising clouds of dust that still smelled like you

and then I fell into silence, into nothingness.

But you know…

after so many years,

a small green plant has grown in the same place

where you once lived in my heart.

I have built a little wall around it from my broken stones,

because I know

this tree will die with me

the day someone tries to take it away.

I am still a wall, still a temple

but this time,

I hope that my God is not as cruel as you.

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[pratap075]

[pratap075]

"Beyond The Cover"

Soo.. There is a friend of mine who makes book covers.

She takes an existing book, removes its original cover,

and redesigns it, sketching by hand, painting it,

turning it into something visually beautiful,

and then selling it.

So Once, I asked her,

“Do people really buy customized covers

more than the original books?"

She said, “Yes, they do.

But mostly, people ask for customization

only for books that are already loved

books that are popular,

books with powerful stories that have survived time.”

She told me that sometimes

she chooses the wrong book.

And even after putting hours into the artwork,

even after making the cover as beautiful as she can,

the book just sits there.

Waiting.

Struggling to be sold.

And I realized,

this is true for humans too.

If the story inside you is weak,

if the character you carry lacks honesty or depth,

no amount of effort put into making the cover pretty

will work forever.

At some point,

people will sense the emptiness.

They’ll feel the mismatch

between what they see

and what they experience once they come closer.

We might attract attention for a while

with beauty, with charm, with that carefully curated images,

but that attention fades when the story doesn’t hold.

Yet most of us are running after aesthetic covers

our appearance, our image, our surface

how presentable our lives appear from the outside,

and most of us never working on the story we carry within.

We rarely work on our patience, kindness, and courage,

or question our values

that character we’re becoming.

And maybe that’s why

so many people look extraordinary

but feel hollow when you try to read them.

Because in the end,

a beautiful cover may invite someone in

but only a meaningful story

makes them stay.

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[pratap075]

In order for me to write poetry that isn't political, i must listen to the birds and in order to hear the birds, the war planes must be silent.

[pratap075]

The Last Flame

One day,

I asked a firefly

don’t you ever get exhausted,

lighting up the dark

as you keep wandering around?

If you love the light so much, then come,

let me take you

to that fading glow of a lamp.

You can gaze at it to your heart’s content.

Why keep running about

until you are utterly worn out?

One day, just like that, I asked a moth

why do you burn yourself to ashes

by flying into a blazing light?

If you love the light so much, then

come, let me take you

to that dimming flame of a clay lamp.

Sit in my palm and watch it fully, peacefully.

But after speaking to them for a while,

I began to understand, they wish to hold

the light somewhere within.

The firefly,

until it is completely exhausted,

wants to keep the light alive.

And the moth

would rather burn into ashes

than witness the light fading away.

For them,

more important than their own end

is keeping, the light alive.

That is why

the moth sitting in my hand

burns into ashes, in the lamp’s final flickering flame.

And the firefly,

before the electricity goes out,

sets off again somewhere into the sky

once more, to tire itself completely.

Perhaps that is why,

even in the pages of history,

women burned in flames,

and men, fighting on battlefields,

smiling even as they fell, gave their lives.

Because perhaps

for them it was easier

to end themselves

than to watch

their light

fade away.

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[pratap075]

Posting a few lines that stayed with me. You can find the whole write-up on my tumblr feed!!

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[pratap075]

Posting a few lines that stayed with me. You can find the whole write-up on my tumblr feed!!

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[pratap075]

"The Last Frame"

I once read that after dying, the brain stays alive for seven minutes, and in that time, it plays a montage of our entire life. I often think about that moment. When that montage begins, every memory I have ever lived will appear for just a few seconds, maybe even milliseconds. But you… you’ll stay longer. I know you will. Because you lived inside me deeper than any other emotion I have ever known.

The details of you are etched in me more clearly than any moment of my life, the lines of your hand, like the bark of an ancient tree, as if they had lived a thousand years before me and would live long after I’m gone. Your eyes, I remember watching how they constricted when light fell on them, and how I saw my own reflection inside them. It wasn’t like any mirror I had ever looked into. That reflection has become the longest memory of light that ever lived inside me, that version of me - lives deeper inside than even my own face does.

And when I lay on your chest, I heard, for the first time, what a heartbeat truly sounds like. That soft, steady thump, it entered my ears and created a vibration that matched the rhythm of my own heart. That heartbeat has become the longest memory of sound that ever lived inside me.

Maybe in those seven minutes, the world around me will fade, faces will blur, voices will melt into echoes, but I think your laughter will stay. That smile, the one that appeared before every word you spoke, will play again like an old film reel, slightly faded but still golden.

I’ll see us walking, talking about nothing and everything at once, the sky above, the sound of rain, the way silence felt comfortable when it was you beside me. I’ll feel that air again, the one that carried your name softly, even when no one spoke it.

And maybe, in those last few seconds, my mind will reach for you the way my hands once did, not to hold you, but to remember how it felt to. Because memories are strange; they don’t age, they just wait.

If heaven exists , I think it must look like that moment your face turning slightly toward the light, your eyes catching mine, the world pausing for just a breath. Maybe that’s what eternity really is, not endless time, but one perfect minute that refuses to die.

So when my seven minutes come, and the film of my life begins to fade to white, I know it won’t end with my last breath. It’ll end with you standing in the middle of it all, the last frame before everything turns silent.

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[pratap075]

Unfolding another fragment from my poetry & write-ups series, “Fragments of Me”

This one is called “The Last Frame”

It’s about that final moment, when memories blur, time slows, and everything begins to fade yet one face, one presence, refuses to leave the frame. ✨

[academic-vampire]

The biggest compliment ever is when someone sees your creative work and says that they’re now inspired to go out and create something, too

[pratap075]

Super excited to share the first episode of my new poetry & writups series “Fragments of Me”.

This one is called “Patience” I hope it touches your heart and gives you a little pause to reflect today. 💛

[pratap075]

"PATIENCE"

I hope I meet her again in another life. It makes me wonder how much patience we truly have when it comes to love. As humans, we are always running, always rushing, we want everything here and now, as soon as possible.

Yet, when it comes to love, everything changes so drastically. Suddenly we find ourselves saying things like, “I hope we meet in another universe,” or “If I’m reborn, I hope you’ll be there too.”

And I think that is the hidden beauty of love, it teaches us patience. It makes us wait, not just for a moment, not just for a lifetime, but even for lifetimes that haven’t yet begun.

I have seen people who don’t have the patience to wait even a few seconds for an answer,

yet when it comes to love, they are willing to wait an entire life, even carry that hope into another, without complaint.

And I remember some lines which i wrote and it goes like

मैं कविताएँ लिखूँगा तुझपे

मैं तेरी रखी तस्वीरों का एतबार करूँगा।

तू जा रहा है तो रोकूँगा नहीं,

मगर ता-उम्र तेरे लौट आने का इंतज़ार करूँगा।

मेरे दरवाज़े को खलेगी हमेशा दस्तक तेरी,

मैं तेरी गुमसुदा ख़ामोशियों से बात करूँगा।

जो रह गए हैं ख़त, उन्हें जलाऊँगा नहीं,

जो रह गई हैं यादें, उनसे इज़हार करूँगा।

वो एक मोड़ जिस पर तू मुझे छोड़ कर जा चुका है,

कोई और मुझे लेने भी अगर आएगा, तो इंकार करूँगा।

तू जा रहा है तो रोकूँगा नहीं,

मगर ता-उम्र तेरे लौट आने का इंतज़ार करूँगा।

And Maybe that’s what love really is, it bends time, it softens the restless heart, and it shows us that some things are worth waiting for, no matter how long it takes.

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[pratap075]

So excited to finally share something close to my heart. "Fragments of Me" a series that’s been in my queue for a long time.

It holds pieces of my writing I never released, along with some of my recent poetry. I hope you guys receive it with the same love you’ve always given my art.So stay tuned, see you soon. ✨

[pratap075]

I was thinking that How wonderfully tragic is that, the things that ate me alive are the only things I ever lived for and I think the only things in this world that have the power to destroy someone are the same things from which they are made, like the one who made from love got only destroyed by the love itself and I remember some lines of mine which says.

"चढ़े ख़्वाब ज्यो आँखो में रात भर

सुबहा हुई तो उसी के साथ वो सारे उतर गये

मिला पानी ज्यो रेत में तो बने कुछ आकार उस से

वहीं पानी ज्यो उनपे बरसा तो बिखर गये."

It means that the dreams we had all night become meaningless as soon as the night ends and just like that it was almost impossible to make something out of dry sand, but as soon as we add water to it, we are able to mold it in any shape as we like, and those are bind together only with that water but on contrary when the same water drops fall on it, that shape gets desolved, from the same thing it is made of.

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[pratap075]

<Through The Thin Film>

I was reading a book in which I came across this line: “जिसे आसानी से ठगा जा सकता है उसके साथ किया गया व्यवहार ही तुम्हारा असली व्यक्तित्व है।” (Translation - “The way you treat the one who can be easily deceived is your true character.”)

And it struck me. Such a simple sentence, yet it opens doors to understanding human nature.

All my life, I have noticed this one thing I judge people not by what they claim to be, but by how they treat those a step behind them. I look at how someone who calls themselves rich speaks to their homemaker. How a person considered beautiful treats someone who is not considered so. I notice how a person fluent in a language talks to someone who struggles with it. To me, these details are not small they are everything. Because they reveal the truth of a person.

Life, as I see it, is built of two sides, with a thin window of film in between. If you are flying in a plane, you look down at the cars through the window of the aircraft. From the car, you glance out of your own window at the ones riding a two-wheeler. From the two-wheeler, you catch sight of the one pedaling a bicycle through the small mirror on your handle. Step by step, the view changes, but always through some kind of window.

And then, there is the one who has nothing no vehicle, no glass to look through. The only windows they have are their eyes, through which they see the world.

Many forces, seen and unseen, work together to place us where we are today at what seems like the “better” side of the window. But if you happen to be here, it is not your victory alone; it is life’s arrangement. And with that comes responsibility: the responsibility never to mistreat someone just because they are on the other side. Your responsibility is to make them believe that while the film is different, humanity on both sides is the same.

In my eyes, the finest people are not those who flaunt which side they stand on, but those who make others forget the window even exists. The ones who, through their kindness, blur the glass until it feels like nothing separates us at all. Because at the end, dignity is not about what you have, where you sit, or what you look like. It is about how you treat the person standing across from you especially when they have nothing to give in return. ✨

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