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!

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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)-II

“Two days off the shore and the world forgets you are the sailor!”. 

Mysticism never ends neither did his stamina. His paddling seemed consistent as the falling evening. His was much of a lad when it comes to imagination and through the wide array of grey clouds, he could leave his eyes wondering for a better bright tomorrow. People had enough of walks, he thought, while he could see them sweating a brow leaving towards their homes in ample distances. But he was creating his own distance, his own story, his own journey and enjoying every speck of moment. 

“There’s nothing better than stroking your mind while you stutter to break the bones. Because you don’t need to!”, his mighty thought knew no bound. All of his days has he spent in exploring the unknown, leading to places he’s never been to and living a dream of his native city. 

The streetlight struck yellow shadow on the purlieu wall. It was time to get back home. 

People seemed overwhelmed with the chaos in the evening. Smiling, sweating faces were abuntant and people from all walks of life shared their presence at the coincidental townhall. His being was one of them and he had a sanguine disposition for reaching home before the supper. It was a festival of some sort tomorrow but the celebration were already evidential terming it only as a silence before the storm. The thunderstorm is to come tomorrow. 

The only lead was to ride the wheels on the alternate route. It was thin and shanty, smelly and rocky. But he was ready for it. So, he glanced towards his right, waiting for the chain of vehicles to tumble and space out like a hypersonic shuttle. 

While the ultimate night had lend him an ultimate cycling, he couldn’t just but smile and thank for everything he had thought and came true. Little dreams,he talks about, are meant to be lived and admired. Bigger dreams are a fable, which fictional characters seems to live, and those who don’t believe, don’t realise the story behind everything. To the unconscious and ignoring minds, his heart could only wish farewell from his life but he was worried if all leave, what will he do? What will he have to offer to the squeezing emotional connection with squeezing morale of life? Nothing but true affection…

While he was wailing on such thoughts, he saw a spooky rock in the midst of the street. He couldn’t brake. The next moment he saw himself lying on the ample rocks on the street with his bicycle chain sounding an awkward rib. What he had done? How could this happen? Did that little rock had so much of strength to put him off his track? Why didn’t the rock got disposed but his belief did? 

He had fallen towards his left. The handle of the bicycle seemed a little worn out. He had a bit of injury on his arm. He got up shrinking the dust on his clothes to none. He started paddling waiting to get back home this time at the earliest. 

All of the ride he was forced to revisit in his mind. He was fine all the time imagining people, admiring their beauty, escaping the challenges, blaming the chaotic diaspora during the festivities, and cycling all the way by himself in a rather recreational mind setup. All did this happened, when he lamented what did he had, and or what he was about to get, he thought. 

And with the chaos of thoughts, he got back home. And no one cared. 

To be continued…

Cyclewala ( The Cyclist ) – I

What’s up for me?” 

 This brings the biggest confusion in ones life. And with the onus of leading this conversation, he decided to paddle and talk throughout the corners of the city he once embraced.

It wasn’t much of a dusk when the sun seemed weighing down and all he conversed with himself was nothing. He probably found the city exploration much tempting than having a boring exchange of blames with himself. He grasped a sight of girls shimmering with emeralds on their neck, kneeling on the temples doors praying to God for everything they had, escapingly shuttering their eyes to excuse themselves for a while and expectably getting themselves showered with more love, more beauty and more happiness.  

” Go home, you! “, he grasped to himself sensing greed in the hearts of those ladies. And then he sought himself a question which made him think his sight even once. ” What’s up for me? If these Yankees have immense greed, what’s up with me? I too have greed and maybe that’s how life is. Many people would long for having a bicycle like mine’s or maybe good health. It is not bad at all! “. 

He had immense observative capability and more of it, he had the chance to interpret his observance in the course of life. Many a times he would just explore the city he thrived in, coming back home being the same man he was when he first paddled. Cycling was an exercise, not a psychological therapy, he coined. But this time he giggled as he was challenged by life to interpret her meaning. 

“Many a times we wander searching for things that don’t exist. We paddle because we want to reach somewhere. That somewhere is sometimes nowhere. But that is not a problem. The problem is when a dive into nothing, feel depressed and in the quest of accumulating nothingness, we lose everything we had. The trust is broken, the chain is broken and the lust of reaching somewhere breaks just as the bicycle goes straight into a gutter. In the course of finding a new life and openly declaring war with ourselves, we lead to dead end…”, an excessively loud horn intrupped his paddling and he banked to the favourable side of the road. 

” Phew, that was close!”, he had the glance of a large 18-tier truck chasing the bicycle’s carrier as he was riding right in the middle of road. 

The wobble in his mind was teasinlgy uncommon to him. He never much cared if he was to lose something or to hope for better, or to feel disgraced or expect from nothing he seemed to have. He was far away from his time for people of his age were on their early professions. He was but searching for something else..

To be continued…

Fear

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!

She Came. She Saw. She Conquered.

 

She was in a tussle what to choose and what to loose. With loosened heart and frightening breath, she started walking towards the brightly lit stage. Her hair a bit curly, and lessened moisture on her lips, she glared the pavilion around her, blushed with humans all similar to her, all sheltered with a grey sky.

She skipped her hand on the microphone, binning away the lust of time and discovering the reason of being her. All her efforts have to answer now, with the the whole world leaving her not even a chunk of choice. She administered her soul and with misty voice she spoke,” Hello!”.

 

This she heard never from herself. She knew, the world welcome salutations. Now, she have to reply to herself, her modesty trembling again. ” I speak of nothing but truth, and forever shall the truth bestow the lives of everybody and now after being speech impaired for the whole of my life, I can admit… If I can have a voice, you can too! Give your voice a reason. The world listens to those who are strong enough to prove their point. Many gets a voice with destiny; give your destiny a return gift!”

 

She could hear the applause. This wasn’t for the voice she had, but the struggle and the aim she had for herself carefully crafted in her story. Her story, her little world of being the impossible and letting the world believe that wonders happen every time, this time again.

 

She, Ms. Anjana Noor, Creative Head at Gandhi Institute for Deaf and Dumb, who was speech impaired for 22 years of her life unknown to the fact that she could one day speak, ‘voiced’ her story at a gathering in New Delhi, India.

 

 

 

Being Foolish

For all people searching the meaning of life…

Who do we say is foolish?

 

I see the foolishness all around.

That’s my foolishness for bearing all the foolishness that this world have.

Now, I be the foolish; to not label myself foolish or my family members or my peers .

My belief that I rub everything above and never let the world know what really a foolish is; is foolish.

Or my posture or my behavior or my intention or only myself being just,foolish.

 

At any point of time, some sort of alien intelligence is surely due to over ride your abilities. Before a strong competitor, you surely going to lose. And at the end, nothing is going to matter.

What’s this ‘alien intelligence’, who’s this ‘strong competitor’ and what’s exactly the’ end’?

The answer no one knows the answer to, the lust that no one can ever fulfill and the future that any other distinction cannot hold, is the answer. We are hesitant to recognize, realize and prove, failing to acknowledge, but curious to know. We hold our hands together, trace our faces, and walk by our sides, but still…

 

Still we find our destinations and still we prefer going back. We label ourselves travelers, who finds his destinations and is equally determined to get back where he started, maybe to just let the world know, where he started. And where he started is where the world can start. Not just follow the footsteps but just prefer finding a little new way, a sweet other fruit to taste.

 

Label me foolish for letting you stroll where no one else does.

 

James Clear says,” Motivation is overvalued. Environment often matters more.”

I believe he’s right. Sorry for being foolish, believing in what others has to say. Or not others but somebody. Or somebody with something special.

 

Foolish is being identified. Being known.Being yourself.

The answer that I somehow, came to know.

And felt to foolish to spread…