I AM

Can She Drive Her Mad?

2012-02-08T08:37:00.000-08:00

I believe so.

It’s pouring now, and home is far out of sight. I remember sitting in the car, looking at the bus roll away. I was dazed, it felt good. I secretly wish to live in that daze forever, but that would be an expensive and pointless affair with my life. That relationship will never work out. And if it does, it will end; with either me or my life dead.

There is mania in this room. She cannot contain within herself this crazy demon calling her names. They’ve all started looking like the clowns who once controlled them. This fire will not be contained. She will scream until there is noise within her.

It is like a riddle put wrong, it has no true meaning or conclusion, but one keeps at it, because riddles are never meant to be easy to solve, are they? But what does one do with its impossible nature? When do we know that it is alright to give up?

Life is beginning to get tough, we can save a life, but how do we reform it?

I Hope This Finds You

2012-01-27T12:37:00.000-08:00

You sparkled when my eyes settled on you. I don’t remember where we met or how we went past that drill. I dreamt of you before I knew you, so whenever you ask me about yourself, I smile. I don’t know whether what I see in you is what I want to see or whether it is for real.

You talk as much as you should. You’re perfect like that. I like your cheeks, and the weed like beard that grows on it; where my fingers get lost. I like resting my face on your head; it covers my face so full. Your arms aren’t tender, they aren’t stiff. I don’t know how they are. They aren’t anything great. You’re fat, even though you lose it easily every month or two. Your legs are long. I can lie on them and fit between them so easily. I hear you like I heard ghosts when I was young. And you always sing to me. Now that I think of it, you don’t look at me so much.

Everybody said I’m not romantic. I started believing them. But then you came along.

You feed my thought. I like you for that. You read poems to me. You know how to cook. Sometimes days go by and I don’t hear your voice, I only hear mine. I seem to enjoy this.

We sit and stare each other for hours. We don’t talk to each other for days. You like the music I like. I love what you introduce me to 3 times out of 5. I think your friends are nice, I don’t always understand what they mean when they crack jokes about you or us, but I pretend to understand and fake a smile. I like your friend Leela the most. She has a very pleasant face and she maintains a reasonable distance with me. She lets me take my time to know her.

The first time I held your hand and dragged you close to me, I did so because I felt misplaced, plus people were pushing me, and sometime around that time I was pushing myself too . I thought where ever I go with you would be a nice place. I assumed you liked me. I never needed confirmation after that. I’m thinking about it only now. You don’t fear anything. Neither do I.

I like that I share with you what I don’t share with anyone. I like having secrets for a change. You like the very different me. You discovered this. Rather, you excavated this. A different me, that I don’t be when you're not around. I never get tired around you.

I don’t know what else to write to you in this letter. I’m bored without you. Come home soon. We’ll have fun.

'Dance Dance Dance'

This song isn’t meant to die ever

‘Nothing is lost’ so you’ll wander here forever

In The Dream

2011-11-16T06:00:00.000-08:00

In the air

There was a

Sparkling something

Shimmering, glittery like

Little, big mirrors

Reflecting the light.

Everybody was floating

In the pool

Of dutch treat fantasies

Magic red ribbons

Forming waves of

The mystical kind.

They close their

Eyes, and spin

Within them, in

A whirlpool colored

Sapphire blue

They fall free.

The purple smoke

Chokes them high,

Below they see

Tangerine crystal lie

Like painted gravel

Upon land, beautified.

The yellow light

Their faces glow

Mix so seamless

With the silver

Dust, that from

Their minds flow.

The sun in

The kaleidoscope sky

Shone, coloring a

Million kind, in

A million ways-

Colorful geometry everywhere.

You can hop

To reach the

Sky, swim to

The ocean’s bed,

Walk to the

Other side, fly

To Universe’s head.

This wind will carry

Your song, to

Your lovers in

Peace who lie.

No life, no

Death here is,

Only living and

Its unending joy.

Can’t enter or

Leave this paradise,

No permit to

Belong, no permit

To exit, this

Wonder rests in

Our souls,

We all here,

Already do exist.

Goa. 30.09.2011 - 05.10.2011

2011-10-10T11:42:00.000-07:00

DAY I

I’ve seen rivers, been through them. I have lived in the mountains, had affairs with them. I’ve flown in air and loved it. I’ve been covered in sand, lived on snow. Nature has so much to offer, why don’t they teach us the world?

I feel like calling the spirits in these unending fields of black that will glow in the morning tomorrow. Then fear sets in me, the fear of encountering the unknown, unheard, and unseen. Who are they? Where do they live? Isn’t it just us afraid of ourselves and our unbound, unfettered power?

DAY III

What are these stories that keep rewinding in my mind? He has these shifting eyes which deceive you. Though they hesitate to catch a glimpse they make this heart skip a beat. These eyes have grown tired of looking into those eyes. They hardly meet. His charming face, oh! his very charming face!

The moon is shining in the sea, they meet. Shine in me. You. Don’t leave. Shine in me. You make me a sad girl, don’t. Why don’t you just come to me? I loved you across a million people, their million faces and everlasting chatter. I fell in love with you.

DAY IV

They come with a roar and then they fumble; these waves. They give me so much beauty. I can drown in them and feel the ethereal bliss that life has to offer to me. This selfless love I make so selfish in my self-centered survival.

This is the most beautiful trip of my life as yet. The dreams that I imagined, that continued with unimportant inputs, that make more remark in these daily philosophies of life, that change at convenience, are coming to my notice now, I’m reasoning with them in this fragile state of my mind. The vulnerability of my mind amazes me, but then I believe it is this vulnerability that allows it to learn so much.

I walk on a beach which seems to come out of my fantasy, perhaps a dream making machine or a place where fairytales are made. Waves say different things every time you look at them. They come gushing at you and then they submit themselves to the shore and the little while of silence resonates far and beyond.

When I looked at them from a distance, the waves progress gracefully to the land, something that was perhaps seen in majestic old wars. The waves sacrificing their individual entity and then resuming with synchrony and furor , voluntarily being a part of this cycle. It is beautiful.

This third person experience, next to moonlit sea, with the lustful sea breeze flowing through me, gives me a chance to understand how I've formulated my behavior towards things. How I understand things, why I fall in love with faces. I think it’s because I am able to remain unaffected by these conversations that I’m apparently part of. It gives me a chance to understand how I lead my life with subjective conclusions of the incidents that take place in them. How each individual is what he lives.

DAY V

How different am I from everyone else? I sometimes feel like a big misfit. I think this botheration too would end soon. The orange sun is blaring into my eyes but it’s pleasant. I realize, I’ve always liked jokers.

DAY VI

Early morn, I haven’t slept in a long time after a long time. At the grey sand beach, yet again in awe of the wonderful sea. I love looking at budding love, where everything is a possibility yet the lovers so restrained. I’m walking down to water, with a part time lover, sharing moments of intimacy on the bare beach. The sea was vast as ever, its endlessness treasuring fables running through time.

This smile doesn’t fade, I can laugh for days.

The bathed grass feels like a balm on these uncared for feet. The cold water cleanses me. The breeze takes away all the qualms that I have with my life. The sand scrubs away all the prejudices I hold against things and people. I want to spend my life here but I have to go home, they have been waiting for some time now. I’ll come back, with stories to tell this time.

Mad Man

2011-10-07T12:46:00.000-07:00

They clashed and created music,

They clashed and made love,

They always found each other,

Even in this hurry,

His light green eyes,

Ridden with the guilt and shame,

For looking into her eyes.

But she just stared.

‘Can we come closer?

Can we know each other’s name?

In this haze, my fury settles in you

I like looking at your face.’

He is my mad man. I am just waiting to enjoy him; much more.

Destiny's Tease

2011-05-20T14:40:00.000-07:00

Have thee seen

Worried eyes,

Bright and awake,

Looking for a name?

The yearning of time?

For, the

Battles lost are

Waging a war.

The futile trust?

That thee learnt,

In vain, the trouble that now,

Not easy to cope.

In the morning, the sunlight runs into my room breaching the promise the curtains made to me. In the morning I wake up, feeling the burden of my dreams. I wish I did not dream, but I was so proud of them in the past; living without dreaming was such a wasteful existence for me, I thought.

That place in my mind that I’ve been calling out to since I could think for myself is now no more. The place where I should be is running away from me too fast. The place where I am is pushing me away to underground. I need to travel, and belong not to anyplace, have no abode, no earth under my feet to be claimed as mine; yet at the same time own the world for I have nothing to lose.

I am stuck in between the very calculated and the very careless.

I have these blackouts these days; I’m misplaced by the drift of my thought.

Noir

2011-03-23T11:19:00.000-07:00

She never saw herself. She was a mere reflection of unimpressive, weak aspirations, and aspirations such that they held nothing but an exaggerated idea of self worth.

A lot of times we purpose ourselves so rigidly that we give no space to constructive error. We forget that error is unavoidable and is bi-product of effort. So when error finds no place of its own, it eats up the effort and then there is nothing left. It’s a void.

She filled the void with excuses. She thought she found refuge in this new make-belief reality. But how could she deny the burning of her heart, the void was now feeding on her space to breathe.

She gained no strength from her desires for they were second hand dreams, she felt defeated after every unarmed battle that she fought. Such despondency was dangerous because it wasn’t derived from anything, it had no reason. She was an extension to a burnt life, a possible way out, an opportunity. She lived not a life but a duty.

The only time she experienced any form of solace was when she took the bus or the train. The frenzy in the temple gave her an odd sense of peace too. The madness around he,r balanced the madness within her. Each bus ride would shake her up from her sleeping will, but change was such a fanciful idea. The line between the two people she was living was fading and surprisingly both of them were aware.

Did she ever see herself as a victim? Was she aware that she was suffering? She was the villain and the victim, she didn't believe in heroes.

Clearing Up

2011-03-02T23:51:00.000-08:00

Am I aware of the mess I have left behind?

If you ask me this, I’d have to say, for the sake of being truthful - Shucks.

But I can assure you that it’s not too much.

Joy

2011-02-03T11:41:00.000-08:00

In the vast stretches of greenery with dangling stems of health and life, lying beneath the powers of the sky, the force of the wind and the glow of the summer time, she runs for life, making each turn her aim and each jump her destiny.

She is dressed in a cream dress that flies with every instigation of the breeze. It is not a cover to her body, but a want of her soul, to move and float effortlessly; she lets her dress fly.

There is perfume in the soil against which her feet rub. She runs. Dances to the music her heart makes and mind hears. The joy that fills her up finds no outlet to fall through, she is a force so strong, thus.

In the geometry of her living she finds the flight of her thought fascinating.

The real joy is to be left alone and to be explore by self. To invade each want, each desire, and the ultimate bliss is in conquering it.

There are many variables to joy. The only constant is self.

Fighting

2011-01-29T11:27:00.000-08:00

‘This weather reminds me of the silver grey light of your laughter,

The brightness of your eyes and sparkle in your smile,

Beats nature by a mile,

And in your mind and heart does,

True beauty lie.’

- The patient man

The toughest battles are the ones that are fought against oneself. She was waging a war against herself. She was lost. She was alone.

It was fascinating for her to watch herself lose and win at the same time. She distracted herself, she wounded herself, and then she went on to please herself.

She was the spectator that enjoyed, the witness that recorded, the one that won, and the one that lost.

Could she explain this to herself?

She had one dream, but she was alive with many aspirations.

Comma

2011-01-17T01:52:00.000-08:00

The dreams are becoming more powerful, each of them now come with a history.

There is an eerie beauty in mystery. It’s very hard to get rid off of it. How can you long for something and be afraid of it at the same time? But the scare doesn’t succeed, it is still beautiful. Little crystals of sugar, waiting inside your mouth to melt. The slow, steady sweetening of the air inside can be some kind of pleasure. She had never lived those days submerged in music; the yellow walls took much of her time.

When her brain lets loose, there is a riot inside her chest, which cannot contain itself, nothing can. The eyes pop out and notice everything; each sensation triggers a caution alarm. There is fire and burning.

The hazy sunset and her dusk skin, were miserably juxtaposed with each other, I did not know where to look.

When I awoke I understood I could no longer go on like this. They could not win, after I had already won.

Voices

2011-01-10T01:24:00.000-08:00

I see red spots, hanging in the sky without a cord,

interfering with my vision of the world.

My head hit the floor.

This, what I hear, can make do strange things.

The red spots come and go. Come and go.

Don’t try to run for I remember each movement of your body and where it leads you.

This warm sound of your breath, running away..

Did the spirits catch me?

Oh! The Flower Child

2010-12-21T21:18:00.000-08:00

She sat in her balcony, under the bright golden sun. Gazing at the album she created, with amusement, like she always did.

She was restless, and she would constantly look at her player that played her favorite music, worried that the music would stop. She forgot about her coffee, which lay desolate on the marble that lined the railing wall. Her biscuits were warm, but untouched. The greatest worry of all times was that her music will end. All the jazz of her life will go silent.

She was a flower child. And nothing could make her happier than being called one.

Her green dress touched the floor, her feet hid behind it, her arms soft and raw lay on the arm rest and her fingers moved languidly on the pictures.

She looked up to the sky and smiled, as if sharing a joke with an old friend. She saw her biscuits and her coffee, shut her album and sank into her chair now sipping the dark bitter caffeine balancing it beautifully with the biscuits that she made herself.
She is pious, sacredly untouchable, a motion. She is the energy; which when defined is rebuked, and when preserved is disturbed.

She shut her eyes and thought about her. That incredible beauty! She ran the movie in her mind, the way she looked at her, the way she walked, the way she sat, the way she observed. She bent down and tilted her head, watched the loyalty of her shadow and then took advantage of it. She made birds and boats, rain and fish, and got lost in the images.

She was over with her coffee, biscuits and album, so she went to her room and lay in her bed. The jazz was playing in her mind.
Can you imagine the chaos?

The Wild One

2010-08-01T09:26:00.000-07:00

What was left in the rain, she thought,
Away in the midst of blossoming shame,
The refuge of the weather,
Was a stale trick of the game.

Wise men, tall men, rich men, soft men,
Each in awe of her dancing vision,
Throwing light on dusty mazes,
That confuse each akin to truth.

“Look” her thrill, would waken from sleep,
Those who ‘s cowardice would keep,
Them far from their labor to reap,
For from candour and work, their hearts had taken leave.

It were the pictures she took,
And the images she saw,
And the people she heard,
That she poured into the boiling soup of her mind.

Each one, yet one
Alike like none,
With the essence of the world,
She was made.
She was power.
She was thought.
She was wild.

Guide

2010-07-22T08:40:00.000-07:00

Scroll Down.

Choose a song of your liking.

Read.

April love

2010-05-03T00:36:00.000-07:00

Shone to the brightest limit,
What love, this act was a gimmick,

Person I: “Retrace your mistaken path,
Let love alone manage this wrath,”

Person II: “Don’t promise what you promised to,
Make promises that live up to you,”

Person I: “Let this springtime, model its kind,
This springtime, is born to be snide,”

Person II: “And let summer take over excuses’ disguise,
And In this false trance, you be mine.”

Person I: “Then in this nothingness you shall yourself drape,
And let me watch my dreams take your shape.”

The “tyrant” woman bullies her love to ecstasy and the artless lover only masters to love her, love her in her every way.

Pictures

2010-03-20T02:49:00.000-07:00

As a child I travelled a lot. My parents were young and school was not a great priority. It was the best time for me to travel. To take pictures in my mind of overpowering scenery. It has added beauty to the landscape of my thought.

Pictures, when I recollect them, don’t illustrate as images, but as feelings. I can feel the comfort of the whether, feel the beauty my vision witnesses.

I remember a road, sided by soft, young grass, a road under the greyish blue sky. I remember gazing at it, giving meaning to its invention, its creation. And that is all I remember as if, it is a land that now does not exist.
And strangely I don’t want to visit that place again, I don’t want to compete with my picture, neither do I want to support it with reason.
It is my wonderland. Dedicated to me.
Thus is say, exclusivity is very personal to oneself.

2009

2010-03-12T07:34:00.001-08:00

A place where pain silently ends, with no notice, no warning.
A rush of time owing to a swift experiment of emotion, time has passed, silently.
A glow, undying. A hope, risen from banishment. A sweetness overpowering the failed attempts at satiating the incomplete wants.
This year has been beautiful, witnessing victory with surprise, my favourite kind.
This year has been a celebration, of a refreshed identity, of existence, of experiencing thought in reality.

You-
I thought it was your smile, the beautiful outlet of your honesty. Then I thought it was your determination to listen and absorb, and your choice to open to only a few. Then I gave up thinking, mulling over how you are, why you are, considering what you are.

Excursions In Z

2009-11-16T21:03:00.000-08:00

“I see colours all the time Aarushi. Rainbows sprouting everywhere. All space is my personal prism. Don’t you see everyone’s kaleidoscope eyes?.”

-Akshat Tripathi

Cradle

2009-10-14T08:22:00.000-07:00

A charm that blinds light away
A warm night's sweet dreams locked in her tangled tresses,

Her face glows of shy mystery,
Censored wishes mark the uncensored fantasy,

Carefully allowing colours to adorn her skin.
She flies away before you catch her glimpse.

Like an aged reel of youthful living I peep through the window of my memory and cherish the careless childhood I lived through.
Running in the streets, the bravery and creativity that originated in the ritualistic the tussle with my favourite sibling that mostly spelt out my childhood joys and fears, and the tender laughs that flew in the woods religiously visited every vacation, the obsession with anything flashy and golden, and the ingenious tricks that always landed my brother in solid embarrassments. I see myself juggling with my thoughts, questioning my hippy senses, claiming everything beautiful, rootless and joyful as a child. All I see is colour in my mind. All I hear is cheer. All I feel is-HAPPY.
I dreaded being an adult. I never knew I was THAT smart as a child.

Mismatched

2009-08-08T02:19:00.000-07:00

“…and it's easy to see light. Cross, with bold intentions to expose space.”

The cynical theories that take rounds in my classroom, that I abandon with fierce hope, stagnate me.

Changes are made in haste, without the liberal intimation which would rather simplify events.
I fail to judge, who the misfit is, me, or them, for they have been as they are since ever, but, so have I.

I spent 3 hours on the phone the other day, and all fruitful. Not a second wasted.

I wonder why relationships are treated to be so sacred? I wonder why they are always wanted to be kept even when they are strained. Why are they missed? Any relationship is simple trade. Give and take. Perhaps of higher order skills and refined beliefs but they all obediently cater to our survival needs.
*smiles in surprise *
I guess that answers my question.

Exaggerated Discovery

2009-07-15T07:59:00.000-07:00

“The motion it creates. Unreserved movements celebrate the easy travelling through the beautiful curves of a melody. The upbeat, jerky bouncing exemplifies the value of time. Colours spills over the birth of each split second thought. Humour nurturers the thrill so everlasting. The diktats of pleasure echo, tasting the delight of sound. The aimless trance and the web of contours of climaxes garnish the ultimate pleasure.
I am now, consumed.” – The sedated woman

It is not uncommon that I feel like this. What is rare is that I address the turmoil with this reference. A melody, a composition beautiful, brings tears to my eyes.

The Trip

2009-05-23T09:13:00.000-07:00

I strive to touch his passion with my desire. Greasing myself with love is an ambition now. Greasing myself with you. I miss you.
It’s easy for a lightening thought to strike, and cause what is hard to judge, hard to trace, easy to forget, thus. It’s like hesitance wanting the spot light, so restlessly that it yields lethargic struggle.
I have been waiting with unreasonable wants, wants that exist with reluctance, wants that are justified, though.

My mind records it. Every attempt, every sensation, each awareness, and the rising numbness. I lie half dead, with all my powers directed, focussed, concentrated to the task.

“Am I foolish?” I ask- to let go, miss out, on the rare chance I get to relish a presence indescribable; or am I wise, as I relive it day after day, moment after moment, since I know it's rare. Exquisite.
Although, lifeless I remain even when it is replayed. It consumes my all strength, half to realise and half to accept it. The trip.
I wait like a child, with the patience of an ending life. Some agitated moments do interrupt my meditation. I plan and forget. I come back and remember, promise to remember, promise to myself that I will achieve the scenery of my thoughts, each tint of my imaginary panorama matching that of my prized reality. Distance is sweet and warm, I assure myself that it is far simpler, but, my stars call me a dreamer. True. I realise now, that the habits I happily possess are dangerous. I still learn no lesson and continue to feel secure in my bubble of contentment.

Trance

2009-05-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes is wish my brain could be exposed to music, directly.
Yet again, someday!

Disjointed Flow

2009-04-01T08:29:00.000-07:00

The weather inspired me to write this. Nature is gutsy. So did an afternoon conversation that took place a few days back at home.
Talking is meaningful. Reason is a necessity. Understanding should be given a chance, it makes sense.

I've said it before, I'll repeat, avoidance is cheap. It drags trouble. It evokes pain and nurtures guilt.

I am not afraid of feelings. I wonder why people are. I choose to exhaust them.

A person once told me, " live like a spectator, not like a victim...", this leads me to think, what is more important, the intensity of an effect or just the effect itself..

Bought By Words

2009-02-06T07:19:00.000-08:00

I wish words didn’t handicap, thoughts didn’t deconstruct, understandings didn’t kill.

I wish to elope with all my fantasies into the safety of distance. Where a bare, naked heart, would be as bold as ever. Perhaps even more, with the added strength of singularity.

I like the company of the night and I like the sarcasm of the wind. I like the humour created by the sun and cloud duet.

Exclusivity is very personal to oneself

I Think

2009-01-30T04:12:00.000-08:00

Anger kills.
Sadness decays.
Happiness maddens.
Fear deactivates.
Strength evolves.

Love

2008-12-30T04:38:00.000-08:00

Illumined by the faithful daylight,

The orphan, adopted by the light, divine.

Secure in dreams, harmless in thoughts,

A change so fancy, so welcome, and so because,

A beautiful story, once housed in mind,

Now homes in the real being.

Moments race, against total elation

Victory hides in both.

A true meaning,

Achieved words to understand

The end, fell for the endless, finally…

My Brother..and AN SMS!

2008-12-05T07:34:00.000-08:00

My brother, one fine day, asked me through an SMS.."do you relate to fantasies?", well it was his pet question for that hour..I suppose. Anyway, period, I shall get back to this question later in this entry.
This, is a very special question for me, rather defining. For the first time, I felt being obviously loved by him. Yes, I affirm, he did over-express is love for me, this way. I appeal, do not be shocked!

He considered me worth a discussion with him, I was honoured.
He has always been this person, whom I silently revere, idolize. He is my eternal inspiration, my rumble, my spark. I admit, I too have been inanimate in exposing my feelings!

All-right, going back to the SMS, his question struck a chord somewhere in my half asleep brain
and led to brief Short-Messaging-Service conversation.

Here is what I said, but we both failed to crown a conclusion, though!
"There are no fantasies, just some casual prophecies made, the coming true of which completely relaxes on the potential of our belief and faith that we put in them. Relating to fantasies is frivolous. Fantasies, are achievable, higher order cognition"

Ahh, I hope, this continues...well!!

Imagine...

2008-11-16T06:08:00.000-08:00

What would it be like, to run away and soften into absolute anonymity. No answers required, no questions wasted, valuing the company of self the most. Discovering a lighter shadow, that chased self, muffled and reticently all throughout. No sorrow, no dolor; and no remarkable glee, no jubilation. Occupying a little space, in a world that self would selflessly own. Exempted by others, to take responsibility of self. Only a beating heart, a waiting stomach, a philosophising mind, a dead brain, and mechanical voluntary muscles. An arrant, absolute peace of mind.??

I sincerely wish, my life ahead, to have the aforementioned excellence. I am trying, to find the answer to my minds descriptive question. There have been profound changes in me, this want is one of them.

The Answer

2008-11-01T10:25:00.000-07:00

Forged on the pathway of sorrow,
The mighty wind,
runs dry and cold,

Among the mature trees and hills,
The human lies, hungry for more.

The reason in action,
Is scared, and tired,
But the beauty remains- the biggest odd,

Among the ugly inkling and belief,
Lies an opposing theory by law,

A lit face, a sacred enclosure and a humane soul,
Lie restless,
Beneath the untouched dust,
That settled over corpses,
Long ago,

Who is for? and Who dared rebel?
Who is right? and Who is wrong?
When the graves are left dug before,
Whose question on his death,
is weighed more?

I hope, sincerely, this answers your questions, and your staunch presumptions that did nothing but destroy a simple debate!
I hope you get rid of your delusions, and pray to god that you recover from your bad health!
I know that according to you, I am redundantly philosophical, but I still surmise that you understand this and get what exactly I tried to say all this while!
Meet you at school!

P.S: let my blog please be uncontroversial, so not hate-mail-like comments and no fowl(suppose to be foul, thanks asneel! ;))) language please.
Thankyou!

Selfhood.Accord.Credence.Amity

2008-10-29T08:19:00.000-07:00

The moments that bind a lifetime in high-quality memories are to be nurtured, for relationships end in either death or decay, except for one relationship, our relationships with ourselves. We either destroy ourselves in fulfilling our undeniable greed, or we construct a life form, fulfilling for others and thus fulfilling for self. It is only a bond with self that has to be maintained healthy, other things ought to follow.

It is not living for others, but being extremely caring for ourselves.

Deficiency of faith in ourselves. We know we can. Just let the honour alone pass through us all. Let us awake to our sleepy freedom, one day and relentlessly try to stimulate it to the bright possibility. Let us hold hands and run over the waters shallow and deep. Conquer our dreams and longings for the ultimate good of all. Us- me and my spirit.

Shuffle

2008-10-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

“Change the immodest fury of the wind, Into a direction , where false beliefs are burdened,

by activated amendments of thoughts of infancy.

Carrying forward a legacy so true to mankind, that generosity, becomes the only virtue, not for

deliverance in unaltered calm and escalation, but as an obligatory ritual, offering a help which

results in self enlargement.”

It has become significantly difficult for me to think so now. Then I wonder, whether time consumes all our powers to be good. Time strains are tricky to cope up with. Our being good ourselves, now challenges our task to be good to others. But only because our vision is narrow, and "task" based. I wish there was no time allotted to sleep. I wish my wishes were more potent.

Ahh... Let there be light!

That Night

2008-08-11T03:48:00.000-07:00

An evil light,
Of a shapeless matter,
When over shadowed,
The sober dark,

A warrior resumed,
To his faith long lost,
A survivor recovered,
Paying a ghastly cost,

Of open thoughts,
And a ventilated mind,
A serene soul,
Common to its kind,

He wore no mask,
And hid no hero,
He aimed at concealing zero,

He cured, he counselled,
And he healed,
The real misery,
Of the real grieved.

A WALK

2008-07-03T07:51:00.000-07:00

I walk on a road,

I see the end

And I walk endlessly,

And after the end,

I will be free,

To walk till eternity,

My shoulders are tied,

To the memories,

Which stand dividing you and me,

Now I have nothing to lose,

Nothing to be,

Cause’ I walk endlessly,

The crystal sky,

The golden sun,

And the silver lined clouds,

Guide me through,

Through the twisted roads,

And my darkness which follows me,

Joy is my best friend now,

All we need is love,

We share it, and are good at that,

As we walk endlessly,

I walk bare feet,

I walk bare head,

I reflect bravery,

My feet are hot, and my head is cold,

And there is nothing that I need,

I own the most precious gem,

I am, now, the priceless entity,

Cause all I do now is walk all day,

Walk all night,

And walk endlessly,

When the lights are dim,

And the eyes waiting to be shut,

I translate my breath into music,

If my efforts are dull,

I sing again,

To make sure, that I’m living,

I’m strong by now,

I have and iron heart,

It will only melt till the end is met,

So I sing along to keep me strong,

And I walk endlessly,

My thoughts are scattered in the air,

I grab each one as I see,

A good game,

I make of myself,

To help me walk,

Walk endlessly,

The dead line for the end to come,

Is neighboring, cause’ I hear it whisper,

I walk tough to make the end begin,

And I keep my best friend next to me,

I celebrate the end with ecstasy,

I celebrate the new beginning, placidly,

Of walking on another road,

Walking free and endlessly!

In the Memory Of a Broken Myth

2008-05-18T08:39:00.000-07:00

Being watched,

I have traded love,

Under an eye, with its vision so clear,

I have interrupted silence,

And fallen apart,

But come back with spirited self control,

My wishes, my hope, are safe with me,

I have altered my fate,

Quietly for the worse,

And I have no one to blame,

I have misbehaved with life,

It has misbehaved back with me,

I didn’t know I was slow,

But so, I ought to be.

I don’t care, at times,

Sometimes I pound on me,

The toughest questions I face,

Are those, asked by me,

My life is like a simile,

Each thing twisted and turned,

And my scope of improvement,

Is eclipsed by my fancy.

I am shattered from within,

But I am still going on,

The journey will never end,

And I would hate to stop,

I ceaselessly make more sense,

When with me I bond.

The nausea surrounds me,

Of losing something very dear,

It is my hope, I know for sure,

I have been medicined by my words,

And my wounds still continue to heal.

Time is something,

Now, I can’t spare,

I have been tested,

And failed at it too,

But I will go far,

Beyond my mistakes,

For the ditch has been made more clear,

The fog is still thick,

But till I live each moment,

I know it will disappear,

By far, I have won most races,

No regrets within for the ones which I lost,

Each failure only taught me,

The tricks for the missed out victory,

That I apply,

wherever next I go…

2008-04-27T22:13:00.000-07:00

Because, the first rain drop,

Chose to fall on me,

Because, I, am the chosen one,

And I choose to be,

An aura, still unfelt,

An unseen, untouched beauty,

And alien, unheard song, that lyric the sense of ambiguity,

My sense of you, is not so strong,

But I am completely in sync with me

For I know, the light awaits for me,

Awaits to free, to amalgamate with me,

Human incapabilities, don’t translate into my faults,

No matter how much you preach them to me,

I will forever prove them wrong,

My entity is changeable,

But my notions will always remain,

Guarded by my censored pride,

Honored by the experience I gain,

Freedom often, gathers the courage to tame me,

I repeat, I am a spirit born free,

Death, is just a bump on my road,

I am beyond the bodily glee,

There is never a dearth of me around me

Voices never lie dormant in me

I am not decorated by my body

For I, am the decoration

The world craves to see….

*I AM*