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.

The Breakdown of the Presence

On the very first day of this year, I saw myself losing to spilling milk on the shelf by the virtue of excessive ignition on the stove. I went ignorant for a second to witness the new blueness of the year on the sky. I was wrong. I should have been careful…
As the world have shifted places, numerous words being put into our head, with newer views bracing our eyes and all those days and months we have spent in exploring the unexplored, I seem to believe more in maturity that is skipping out sight every awhile. With crook words and unforgivable incidents shaping our today’s self, I’m getting paranoid as to where are we heading to, and before I sleep, I want to make sure, as I write, that I get to what I wanted to, not what the world wishes me to or where they find me mingling up with them. Basically, in easy description, it could be like ‘ Finding out the real you’. I find that really cliche to write..
So, breaking soon the presence is what put to strike everyone’s right chord. It’s like correcting the basic grammar of the lyrics of life. It could be baseless, of course, pointing the poetry at it’s authenticity to prove what’s it trying to depict. See, no one likes playing goofs with time. It asks for clarity, but I’m sorry I can’t be clear enough.
I am the present you see, and I’m struck at nothing. I see a wide horizon through the window of my room shaping up my today. Even, a blatant kick at my back does the same job with greater efficiency. I walk through the roads that ferries me to my place daily. My car gets the job done for me with a push of my feet, even faster. I often ask people of my adequacy with them. The answer approximately comes positive. Few discussions with my notebook bring me same reply and even with more “true that” factor.
The memories that I have with me today is worthless if it doesn’t corrects me to what I do to fix my today. I fail my purpose if I don’t suggest my surrounding to be better. Silence could be fatal if I choose it to be my guest at all times.¬†If such words of mine are out in public, it shall be an outage as to what it really means. It shall be failure again if it fails to be understood. All in all, its a failed situation I’m into. Standing on the tip of the mountain I see and feel nothing but my breath getting high as there’s no one around. By the way it’s not the mountain I was supposed to be on. The Stars, they say, don’t light up the nights here!
I witness too much of “I’ness”, that’s once lost. Hesitance in acceptance of the truth of missing. That’s fine with me if I don’t skip a beat to the miraculous that’s bound to happen. Failure doesn’t surprises me anymore. I accumulate lots of winning attires on my body as just another thing shaping me my today. Fancy, it’s just another night and blow of emotion pushing me to admit what’s easy on life. Pity if it’s place in seclusion wherein I pledge to confuse life with a fairy tale; the sun doesn’t teach us the lesson of being consistent or we have finally found the concrete reason of as to who made this world and for what purpose!
Here it goes, a random talk on life!


Well, it’s not about me and you and maybe it’s also not about the world either. This shifting place from my feet and flashing lights on my skin from the nearby window wants an answer as to why you aren’t here where you should have been? You fear places, do you? 

An account of your beauty if you would have watched beyond silly innocence of yours, I should have walked across the earth barefeet only if you would have your bright eyes on me like sun in the mornings and stars in the night! Well, you seem arrogant, so let’s just see distances but without you! 

All those who wait for me fear I shall write beyond my wits if I don’t shy away and yet they won’t scream as you would listen. Mind that all world’s flowers doesn’t smell like your scent, and I don’t kill pleasure with pleasure either. So, will you spend a while on what’s going up in my mind or you’ll just make me go lull without your voice in my soul this night? Of course, you will… 

As I go blank that the ruptures in my bleeding heart is no more a surprise, you have lost the money that you got to spend when happiness asks for barter and in the wee hours of midnight, I won’t come less than a scarecrow to let you scream and jump on me like a bubble in the sky. You see, you won’t be able to touch me either! 

Shall I pause for you or what? Coz’ I’ve some books pending to be composed and some few prizes yet to be nameplated for me. And as I suffer a little for the vacancy that I feel now, atleast I got a cure against the current of you. Well, only if that’s permanent! I wish…

So, I know you won’t ask what’s this is about? A prank on me or just to show how much hurt it is on my side which I want to show or is it another legitimate preposition to approve of my creativity or my last effort to pick things up again, and I know you answer this is not going to work either! The glasses that you’ve on your face are smarter than me, innocent than me, and clearer than me, you piece of dirt! As a matter of fact it’s irrespective of the fact that I won’t ask for another favor which you believe to be the only reason I do anything for the atrocities that you go through. And to every irreparable point, I will say no! Enough free I am to extinguish ūüĒ• when the room is full of nothing. A moron I am to expect while everything you have given to me is a gift. And I focus on you a little more, I surely say it’s the love I’m talking about which I vehemently admitted to and see, how the smog have stopped hurting my eyes anymore! A mere masterpiece of nature I’m you see, a dirt! 

So, whoosh the lantern on the chair, spreading fire as I bit my lips in surprise, as simply it’s the daylight and it’s consuming unnecessary fuel, as opposed to the darkness that you whooshed away like magic, once. You don’t see the lights that have begun to adore and your eyes are nothing more than another tunnel to feel breathlessness. You see, how easy it was to consume poison uptil now and in the tumbling stand of yours in today’s world, you sleep as if nothing happened and the next morning similar tune sings on your mouth. I’m sorry but I made you my uninvited guests for nothing tonight that you move back and forth and it shivers every nerve in me with the falling scene of life. I’m sorry but I made you the context of this story and I used you for my words that never were inspired from you. That who inspire atleast have a presence on the larger scale. And as I weep as I compose, you seem to be turning off the lights of yours that were once, yes once, indeed once, were heaps of hope perpuating wiseness and gentleness and goodness and truthfulness and breathfulness and every beautifulness…

Such a beautiful you/Me!

Little Unfair

Long long time ago, in the winning world, a dreamer stepped out of the pond filled with happiness spilling the lores on the floor just like that. He had one thing to come out of, and to make the people believe that ‘it’ really exists! 

Smilingly‚Äč he kept on going, the ashes made his feet burn, the sun kept tearing his head down and his heart sinking in the dust. Still he went on, to fill the list of his own; to find another happiness in town. His model of action had no failure, unknowingly he remained stiff against the world. Not doing out of someone’s saying or someone’s order but to fulfil his own self and to never question why did he actually stepped out…
One may say he’s the man, he may find something one day. One may say he’s hard man to get, he’s out of reach.
One may even affront to his mediocrity. 

At least one should have stood in the front on his, asking what’s he upto? One must have been surprised to realise what makes such a commitment go further than life, isn’t it? 

Lots of words in play, and his journey now stands still on the pavement of a known. He doesn’t hesitates to relate affinity in souls. He doesn’t fail to openly confess. Now what he begs on to know the other side of the story, to know what stands behind the door; what makes up curiosity take the breath out. It seems like it may set him free if he realizes. Chemically, the other world shall be answering. 

In the darker walks of life, when he shouts for where he came from, what journey he is on, and now where he paused to. Of the people who play, the lives of themselves as well as the others, what shall put an end to these everlasting strong moron beings? They have adequately learnt to adapt to the situation. 

He leaves a mark on the dying sun in an unfairer dusk playing games to end towards an everlasting tunnel of darkness. It shall be suffocating it seems, he thinks but no wonder if anyone won’t ever ask where did he went. 

What was his story

Seems a little unfair!