Accepting

I’m on the different phase of the world,

And I truly believe that I’ve made it home.

I sense the breath inside me against the world,

I’m truly abducted from outside in a place called home.

I paint a true picture while keeping my eyes closed,

Hearing the tales of failure with both my ears closed.

Jumping and wailing and letting the world truly know,

A story of mine carefully curated if I truly know.

Trusting that truth shall deliver not but broken promises,

Waiting as long before I deliver my life before it’s dead.

Today I ain’t getting the answer forged against some promises,

I won’t get it even long after this soul is dead.

Imagination

When asked to draw a picture of a farmer ploughing his field in the dawn with fresh drops of sweat making it’s presence felt, and his sickle making the sand dance, my thoughts sickened to an end before I began thinking if imagination is more important than knowledge. What if I don’t know what a sickle looks like, for instance?

So drunk in darkness are we today, if a candle of bright thoughts sneak our brains, we stare away from the intensity of newness that has entered. Nobody wishes to hear the rhythm that life brings about. Nobody wishes to dance away all the bitterness that ponds amongst the banks of negligence. We don’t wish to step, even make a positive call. Lack of imagination takes over as a protagonist of a willfully meaningless story.

When the groups are assembled to practice an ambition, is it a legitimate preposition to approve of the inaccuracy of group to attain a certain goal by being the sole doer? Why fit in when you are born stand out! Imagine the doers in the world…. Do you have any knowledge about them?

Clearly one could sense there’s a serious foulness at play, but you walk in and out as you please. Imagine the level of courtesy the group members possess that they tolerate you as one of their own!

Why need to imagine the distinction of thoughts that I have brought together in this piece of writing if it’s already there in it’s truest form. One must not shy away form stitching these thoughts as all are entitled under one idea: imagination.

Imagine some more meaningless thoughts beyond this full stop.

Everyone Loves A Gift

Talking of favourites, it differs as does the choice perpetuating out of tributaries of human thoughts. No matter what, everyone loves a gift. Yes, but does it matter?

I recall an event from the prologue of my past. It was asking for a gift of an angular pen which gets its name and point of attraction from slightly titled nib of its on the occasion of my birthday. Eventually I received the same with same surprised expression if otherwise if it would have been unknown to me. I could see my eyes glittering with happiness on the mirror adjacent to me as I held this pen closer to my heart.

Next day, I couldn’t find the pen anywhere. Nor was in the group of gifts that I’d got nor was it in the “special box” where I used to store the most precious and beautiful commodities of mine safely!

It was visceral reminder of the fact that I may also lose things even the most delighted ones to some mysterious turn of events. Anyways, pens are so that would’ve been proven worthier if I could I shown off to my friends or I would’ve received full marks out of the test!

This story is vague in the sense of providing a moral, I accept that. But to the readers, I may put a gentle reminder of accepting what’s available right now. I would’ve cried to the verge of making my parents buy me a pack of similar pens. But that wasn’t about it.

Everyone loves a gift. Only the fortunate receive what they desired for. All that matters if you make use of the gift in whatever sense you use it for. You have the freedom to attach the “gift” of today’s story with life as well!

An Evening Tryst With a Stranger

I had promised this disguised soul I won’t forget that discussion last evening. I’m here to get unapproved of me being a forgetful person, again!

I won’t much dive into the details into what made me talk to a stranger in a country where people are already in abundance but no one actually to share to, I will not be interpreting the event in any way possible. I would term that “person” as “she” for now.

So, last evening it was sun bidding adieu as it usually does, and it was certainly a time for recreation. For a deep sleeper like me, Internet is always an eye opener. So, Internet! There’s a website that offers login without identifying yourself and you could share with strangers around the world without getting known. Cool! So, my laptop was assigned to get this job done.

She was the first one to begin with a casual Hi! I replied with an ignorant Heya, while sliding my thumb along the social media on my phone on the other hand. To my utter surprise, she asked, ” Have you ever been in true love?” I decided to put an end to this convo. But something stopped me. It was to no obligation that I’ve to reply to that. But I did, in positive annotation.

I would easily make out that she was so keen to know with her number of question marks on several following questions. I answered them as adequately and carefully as possible. A evening feast of replies, better given than taken! At one or the other take she could easily make out that I was lying. Lying she declared was unnecessary. Her “maybes” and “maybe nots” were enough to make me realise she won’t open herself but make me spit my words out as easily as I was already spitting.

When asked about her age, she replied, “Anybody between 10 years and 80 years, you can put me wherever you want to be.” Pretty unconventional, for me at least! Her purpose to inquire me was uncertain and all I could I understand was she wanted to solve some problem of her and that she wanted to know what “boys of my age feel about the most divine thing in the whole world, love”.

Out of her dominance in the conversation she instructed me to love unconditionally and accusing me of pondering more than I should. A message has been delivered and took a note of it.

She had bet I won’t forget this conversation but I admit I got a dreamy sleep afterwards. It’s a waste of time. But lesson learnt. What I had I actually got to do, anyway?

My Search for Something

Till I feel a little familia to this, I refrain accepting that it’s been a hell of a ride back and forth home. Closer to this broken heart is now a world I stand against; a place where dwelling on your own is a mistake less forgiven.

Something contradicts my past. That single moment itching me as to why things happen. Catching on the laughter and joy of nostalgia is the sole thing my mind does to stay cool. While the music is off, I sing and dance like I don’t see the chaos around. It’s to make sure I be myself at all times. My heart got trenched by the breeze of the shrewd new world and so solemnly I be the leader of it following the suit.

I beat my throbs with blood of failure, if all that I know is true in it’s form. Choice is a meagre idea of living. I want too much to be acceptable. I wish beyond what I can fulfil. I question as to why I was happy from the sham that the world had offered me. Atleast I succeeded even if everything was wrong! Now, I stand where the fair is over and it’s going to rain fire.

Something is unfair. Sometimes that was supposed to bring prosperity and satisfaction is nowhere in scene. Is it my idea of escaping the world? Or not accepting the destiny I’m supposed to follow? Or my want to sleep over luxury of the story that I fantasize? What’s that something exactly? A place, a person, an event, or just an idea? My exploration is closer to my find, I cannot but feel the tunnel approaching it’s end. It shouldn’t be as wasteful as I think it could be an idea so progressive that I surpass myself as as better human. It shouldn’t fill me with anxiety and repression. It should make me talk intrapersonally like infinitely. It’s failure to reach the ends of the road and it’s need to quench the thirst of motives of the day, I shouldn’t rely on hopes.

I’m happy. The search is on. It shall close. Now or never.

You Don’t See!

Whilst staring at a young lad uttering some words in his mouth, I could make he’s in a lip sync with some sort of derogatory music. Cute he may be, little of it he may understand out of the words, but a dismal truth had hit me hard; I don’t see what I ought to see, life.

In the chaos of things, we hardly get time to introspect. Occasionally, we ask for our review from the people around. I may have read a couple of effective books, but I don’t sway away from feeling the inertia that the break of life gives. It’s hard to realise the failure after continued efforts of doing what was obvious. With the play of words, I try to relate today’s quest with every day that comes and with anyone willing to lead, experiences. The paucity of ideas shallows down my upright approach. I still drive while I see the details a little less. The danger of losing out eventually takes greater shape.

I love these moments!

When it’s the lights out time, dimming the pace of the day and seeing the breath drowning into an unknown world, I infer each and every word of mine said and listened to as a gift of knowledge. I see my grin lightening up the dingy stage of life. I even listen the littered unheard words of the people wandering across the night sky looking for listeners! I deeply regret for the wrong that I do but nevertheless, it hits the chords right.

If time would have every answer to every confusion that exists, I feel undesirably arrogant in knowing one. It hurts when trees speak when you dare seek silence in the forests. I wonder what this air have for me, does that make me an avid interrogator? I don’t think so. But I feel as to why those souls have every unrespectable answers on their tips. They see my silent but they don’t see me wobbling which I admit I do. If every awkward answer in an awkward situation needs an awkward answer for an awkward people, I’m not up for the job. The best is always left unsaid.

I surrender to the veils that people wear. I say to myself I don’t see anything. I don’t wish to

At The End of the Day!

“Before this beginning, if the pages weren’t blank, I wouldn’t have begun. Empty that that is, a world of wonders, it becomes rather relevant to compose whether it creates meaning or it doesn’t… It just better to keep it filling or it’ll just be a swamp over laziness..”

Those few seconds left to lose until the dying day, 

Few memonts to spare ourselves and listen… 

If tonight these words will hit the right chord, 

All of the world will make it’s worth come true. 

This in the morning would anyone have wondered if I would knew this night has to end with failure in hand. And every so, does this day keeps on going like an aeroplane in the sky unknown where to go. Direction is what those in the meters digitally there show, but I don’t know where to go. Still I’m in the air flying on the heights of life. At the verge of shrinking dreams, one seems losing the urge to fly. There’s so land offering sweetness and bitterness is what that follows the flow. And at the end if the day, an empty soul finds an empty mate. 

Listen to this story, as if it isn’t something new but it’s different. Near your ears, listen to the music shuffling the tones one after the another. Shift your feet a little and feel the hollowness beneath the earth. Move your eyes around and witness the slumber. 
So, this be the end of to day and impossibly another one to follow!

A Few Good Men

Enough said for the world, it’s the time to yield positivity for us! 

So, yes we aspire to be the perfect version of ourselves at all times. Not completely over our pride but on our overall looks too. The world seems to realise our importance by the way we dress and how we flaunt our biceps and triceps. Yes, we see a better future for ourselves and in the music of present we sing the song of other’s beauty and fell no short for appraising the same. Time for us is a validity to get things done. We want more of it just in the case of success, but it passes just like a blow of air in the spineless atmosphere. 

We are truly confused in our own senses as to we fail to truly understand what’s the other side of the story. It may be about the other sex, the background plot of some mischievous activity that happened to be in our work environment or to realise what could be a better aspect of doing something. It just that we cannot fully understand but can make a newer version of understanding things. This makes a plenty of misinterpreted happenings around the world a little less confusing. 

We admire trust and commitment. We put our stakes on anything that makes us feel confident about ourselves and just in case we fail, we don’t lose heart. We explore the possibility of losing at a larger scale than to lose at nothing. After all, death is also a loss of life for us. And yes, this doesn’t makes us less emotional. We feel and take people’s words just equally carefully as the other sex do. We sometimes just don’t bother to shred off our decency. 

So, yes this is who we are. What we seem to believe in is just a mystery. Like a lake water waiting to meet the sea, similarly we wait and work to keep on going towards what seems legit to us. We can’t stop, we won’t stop. And just to make sure that success comes to us, we keep consistent. And to let you know, the world isn’t a business deal for us, we are open to tear our heart out for those who deserve to hear our story. 

And yes, there are a few Good men who understand atleast themselves….

Life Is a Bazaar

This time I won’t let an idle chance of forgetting what I’m going to write. Why? You question… I can’t wait to forget for the life is a bazaar and if I pause, jam will happen! Got it? 

This I recall from an incident from yester evening when on the road, my counterparts were flying on their wheels in the midst of a circle with four exits. It seemed like with the dying day, their hopes of getting back home was also dying. So, they were extensively pushing off their accelerators which their wheels inherited. Struggle to get to the other bank of road was exhausting. I was struck as I had to wait for others to pass in order to find a way through. I tried and failed and failed until a spokesperson came in between the jiggles in my mind. A rikshawala( trolley puller) forcing his tire on the people found a reason to help me out. “Bhaiya yeh bazaar haii, yahan aise hi chalta haii. Nhii chloge toh jam padh jayega!(O Brother, This is a bazaar, it is just supposed to be like this. If won’t move ahead, jam will occur! )”.  The reason I can predict was his generosity! 

All I gave in return was a smile. And maybe with this smile he grasped how graceful his comment was, atleast for me. I took no time to relate it with life, our dearie! 

People celebrate shopping in bazaars. No other beauty other than a beautiful women can compete with the beauty of buying new. I must confess I find a lady the most beautiful while she is engaged in buying something for herself. A little apart from the topic but this in the name of beauty! 

So damn this jam in the world. It’s oversaturated with people. It’s already done with all the accomplishments. Only improvements are what we crave for. And atleast that we must all do. No matter you are struck at anything for long. It’s exhausting you, torturing you and blaming you for all you did in the past. You try to give a no no to this. Listen to your heart. Yes, you won’t have a fortune like mine that I got something who spoke of my heart when every hope seemed dimming. You have the biggest Lantern in yourself, your heart. So, pump it for the right reason, and improve with every day that you happen to live in. If you won’t, jam will happen! 

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.