The Cry of a Realist

There’s much of an amusement out there, but the consciousness says it’s nothing but the vice awaiting and people suffering nipping themselves in the bud“. 

We do have faintest ideas of our childhood, being the idealistic and most of the time cheerful for even nothing that we had. Things evaporated in the wider air of future life and consequently we are missing ourselves within the real world. 

Where the Gods would gift children as blessings from the heaven to the lap of the mothers, those were the bodies adding up to the population leading to poverty and inequality. 

Where we would usually stare at the streetlights, and wink and smile before them, those were out of electricity sensing a corruption in Municipalities for their failure on every part. 

Where we would cruise across the roads in a seemingly endless roads leading to our birthplaces, those are now the roads which are just the same bearing no development in decades and sighing on the crush of glass and metal and blood on them.

Where in the April evenings, we would blush with the orange of the sunset but would continue with the play till gets to the moon, now seem disappeared. Neither those evenings neither the people who would find no scarcity in sharing happiness. 
When in lieu of our comfort zones, we would rather prefer landscapes and the air and the rain. And now the landscapes that veil litter around themselves seal no deal for a visit. 
This isn’t the talk of what we percieve, it’s about what’s left to either draw our eyes to. Because there’s so much of reason trauma before anything, it’s hard not to amplify the disgust and inaction. Apart from the wishes that have came true, the prayers that have been answered but to the eyes who sees no dreams, it’s the realism that bear a big share in the blame game. 

Now that’s too much that’s happening, but without us in the real world, the cries are unheard, left for dump and ignored till the eternity answers it’s identity. Prolifically, the reply lies within. It’s once explored and lived. An idea that’s superficially and impossible. But so far, it’s the idealistic world I know, a place where nothing is weird and erraneous. 


Is it? Yes, it is!

I’m more like a coming on straight to issues that pushes us back a lot, diminishes ourselves and let’s us feel bad about ourselves in often times. 
Inspired by what I’m going to say in this pretty screenshot, it exclaims how brimmed our world is. Its full of poor, rich or mediocre people, people who nothing nothing, or people who at smart arts or people who are just living, things that exists, or is inexistent or waiting to exist, ideas that have become law, or ideas that mean nothing or the ideas that are about to come or events or emotions or values or everything that’s delightful to pay attention to, get compiled and be presented in a nicer way.  
These ages, these pages and these stages, why do anyone need them anymore? An insufficient question to diring need of the hour, or maybe the perfect question the way it has to be… 
With a whole lot of people getting engaged into stuff, and with people coming the e-motions and with the e-motions coming the changes, and so far the leading efforts of everything that’s happening with no censorship, no filters and no gatekeepers, how are we so equipped in doing in what we are doing? Where is the inspiration? How are we working on something that’s not been working out or on that that had already worked out or that’s unequivocal if it’s going to work or not? Or with still memories fading away and coming on like a seasonal change, how far are we really going to work on and still believe that’s it’s going to make an understanding? 

I think, the question is not in believing it or not. The question is not what is really going to matter or not. Or it isn’t like I’m going to get inspired with some slight change in my hormones while concerning a single idea that is motivational or it at best relates me or just it’s going to figure out what my next movement is going to be or if I shall put back my boredom, my anxiety, my enthusiasm or my Ability or anything that comes out of me and any confused blurry line of amusement or or a slight care to what I’m going to write, or what anyone is going to witness with me putting forward what I intended to do, what I’m going to do, if I concern that I’m writing about my concerns only or at last my words which are slightly trying to mould the root cause I’m trying to display. 
It ain’t about anything at last. 
Coming out of a Chaos when we reach home, we feel safe. We feel relieved because it’s how it has to be. Homes are built for sharing love, being in a family, relaxation and so on. It ain’t about a question if there should be anyone’s home or not, or what homes are about or what homes did good for you or what are you going to do with your home in any time. 
It ain’t been any question, it’s never been a commiseration for me or anybody, the only two existent sides of a life. It ain’t been anything… 
Its like nobody cares, but they do. They do because they have to, and there’s no choice whatsoever. This is how the world is built. But admires care is to what extent they have been in impact. Without this information of impact, nothing would have existed, even this blog post wouldn’t have. Or even me. 

The Lantern on the Chair

I won’t talk of those who ride their wheels like a mad sheep or those willing to share their hair with all passing by. I won’t think of those who delay life like an Indian Monsoon and neither of those who sell their defence with those of Misty wits.

There, I was a little unknown, to this little new world I came to know. Even after bearing the thrust of regrettion with every taken breath, I had glimpse of an imagery mirrored from someone like me.

She was there gleaming her eyes on something, and the next word I remember hearing from her, “What???”. This she answered as she was measly ordered to shut the door in her vicinity by the one standing next to me. All of a sudden she had me glaring like those similar gleaming eyes pointing for her necromancy on me.

It was a second’s show and I believed nothing has happened and nothing was already destined to be. For all those in my second opinion, the people have their ideas diffused with just a sight, I was desperately failing to find a place. All I was left in again was the darkness.
And so in the sleepy afternoon, I found myself braving my face against the bright tubelight trying to borrow a sleep. In the bitter darkness, I saw her elegance on the throne of my wisdom and I had nothing else to believe with my heart throbbing like a wildfire. For all those eventual dreams perpetuating out of nowhere, I had no gatekeepers and the floods had already touched the danger mark within seconds.

We had the ones that people use to do. We had those that people use to have. We shared those that people use to share. All these when they talk, walk and see in each other’s eyes. But I had nothing but a boring dream awaiting permission. It wasn’t shattering but wasn’t even raising and so I decided not to shred decency.

So, I was the same guy, with the brittling soul which is sold in easy markets for easy money. The one that those people had already sold to their lenders and me awaiting permission and admission in any of those queues.

But I still congratulate that Lantern lightening on the chair spreading hope for all those in need and inviting those worthy of her light. And still I ponder upon myself for being the most hopeful and effulgent at a time when it wasn’t needed. So, I was drawn out of darkness preceding the brilliance of a beauty underestimated by people of no virtue and eventually no life. I still regret and out of no use I find time to fill my mind with her memories!

A Story from the Storyland

For once there was no fictional land but everyone had a say. Everybody had a voice to wander in each other’s ears and believe as if they were living a life. More fiction, more plurality and more of incidents to be overlooked.

And in these circumstances breath a voice wanderer disguised as human seeking shelter like a shoot in the forests of pine trees. His motive was nothing but to survive in the shadows of life and keep on accepting and mourning over nothing.

His story was none successful, not pleasing anybody around, but he never accepted that nobody accepted him and that mistake he kept on committing. He had nobody but his shadow to share his voice and even in the eyes of beggars, he was a dirt scavenger.

Until one fine morning he denied his motive, he decided to rest and take a stroll. His decision worked magic for he was allowed to lay disguised for immortality. He was quite thereafter, quieter than silence and silent than the silence in the townhall during midnights. He was more of nothing than nothing he was before. His story of being Dumber than voiceless nothing had brought him his best silence he ever wanted and his want went nowhere farther this very time. This unsung hero in his voiceless whisper wept for being the most lonely person in the world being in the world but being notch higher in being nothing.
And what followed next was no surprise. It was misery out of everything, with his nothingness creating mist all over the place.
He was more than nothing for his life now, an adventure he thought in his mystery, for his story is untold and unsung by people of voice wanderers. Still out of the blue they prosper but never once in the blue moon they come out of where they are, hearing nothing, believing nothing and surviving for nothing.
And so the storyland goes barren…


To all my virtues, I have my word, “Fear”. And for all that’s fearsome, ask it to be friends, indeed. 

While you are taking your first slide into deep waters, or an unmentored jump over your head to the reality, Fear keeps you alive. The adrenaline rush into your body acting as a snake finding his food is nonetheless triggered by Fear. 
And I guess, you know Fear, right? Or knowing is just a little word for realising Fear! Maybe you just need a redefinition… 

An unmanned, unexpected, undefined, real and proportionally realised motional factor of existence is Fear which can be encountered by only those capable of extending their mental range at a point that contracts with possessing nothing that they ever had.” 

I realised this definition of Fear after having a silent conversation with Fear itself. It was a little short but interesting exchange of few ideas that had shooked me off my veins and certainly out of Fear I had come out to post this to my people after lots of cuts. I had my hands shaking but still hitting them against the wall gave me strength, the wobble in my legs was unignorable and my eyes saw nothing but scary wings of darkness waiting to clutch me into its hands and I had severely deemed to realise the definition of Fear and you must appreciate it! And truly admire me if I ever will be able to let your mind wander across horizons truly out of Fear of anything that anything is not anything out of blue, out of action or out of any belief. So, start admiring me now! 
Read in between the lines, and believe what I am saying is truth. Feel free to disregard your intelligence and mental wits. 

Feel the fear!