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 timesIf 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!

Advertisements

Way I Sound

Way I sound close and near, so calm,

Way world heard and narrated, so loud.

The show want me to say hard, and speak,

Let freedom set trends big and clear.

Not easily composed the time, it went questioning,

Again and again, those limits strained.

Limitless close to fear and dared to hate,

Life went short and high in meanings.

Not was my way nor did I say it should be,

But it flowed and never paused.

I set trends, one after the another,

It was me, all in me, all unclear.

Now I stepped into the world so new,

That millions words won’t enough be.

Straight road I murmur, it will see,

An end, a winner and a reward all clear.

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- III

Dear Diary, 

Life is lonely here. Even if you will stay, the tides will rub you off. It’s like a gypsy soul is better these days. Nothing to care about, nothing to veil and nothing to look back. I broke every way I once made, never did I tried to cycle back there, but they still. They are cruel, harsh, amateur, and path bitten. Just when the phone rings, they jump and rush towards that shrill metallic sound of the call unknowing whose that is, what could it mean? After awhile, all they hear is a prank call. What is such kind of life, my dear. 

I knew nothing before I was born and taking birth am I, daily. I know nothing what’s going to happen tomorrow. Nobody tells me. I can’t interpret the language of the world. I am all in myself and that just breaks me apart. For how long can I separate the fine lines of emotions with them, their’s an indefinite soul, not mine. Not mine is the chance, this world has to got take and breath free, for I did, and now I suffer. Far beyond when I was cycling in the crawling people, they stared at me, kept their belief on me and lent me water when I had paddled enough. All they wanted was me reaching my milestone. And see, now they ride with me thinking they ride fast! Smiling, innocent faces emerging out of doors which they once feared… 

With this I feel open to tell you the definition of everything. Now, please listen to me; as I say you will believe me. “See, when you start from a zero paddle, and you reach a thousandth one, you realise that what you are doing is correct. A time when you reach at a point when you realise that it’s the time to return back home, you think you have done a little something. Now, you are coming back. You have to come back. Its half way home and a sudden blink of eye makes you realise what’s there back at home. Nothing. It’s the same point where I started. The displacement shall be zero. Nobody will get a slightest idea that I have accomplished something. Is it that important to publicize? No, but what’s the vacuum I’m feeling inside. I’m not tired at all. My bicycle is fit and fine but my mission is accomplished. I have lived my dream. People would prefer getting propelled by engines, showing off and feeling extremely comfortable. But I did nothing of sort. I ride because that’s the way it is. They will have to suffer someway later. But I know they won’t. They will die before they even suffer. Enough with the people, enough with me; what’s all this for? WHY DID I RODE? WHAT WAS CRUCIAL TO BE ACCOMPLISHED? WILL IT BE REMEMBERABLE IN COMING TIMES? Of course, not! I think it’s easy to be an artist and equally easy to be for a long time. By long time, it could be a second, a day, month, year or whole lifetime. I know nothing. Nothing at all.” Everything has an answer. This probably is the question for the answer I am looking out for. Think, my dear, if everything would have been so correct, why would anyone strive for better? “Everything is you. You are everything.”, My life answered me, my dear and I know you agree with me. 

This am I telling you because I feel you very close to me. I fear people, but I dare them to stand even anywhere close to me. They miss the guts! But how’s it provable? Is there a need? There is a dense forest of memories and past, the result of which I talk with you and feel open to converse like that. All I know that I haven’t reach back home yet, I’m still in a tussle. And when I reach, I know I’ll have a reason to think big and do big. But my dear, when will I come back home? And what if I don’t start? What if I fail to buck up? What if I don’t be consistent enough? I guess, there shall be answers then, if the time now has some answers. The answer is to be come back home and complete the pending journey. So, paddle hard, and come back home. Someone’s waiting for you. Someone wants you to reach what you dream back again and again for dreams pending to be dreamt. Atleast. 

Far way when the world seemed dying, there was hope. They say,” Losing all hope is freedom.” I say, I don’t need freedom. 

See ya next time!

To be continued