the faith and fury of the firefly

"Hope" is the feathered thing perched on the soul. It sings the tune without saying anything and never - ever - stops. And sweetest is heard - in the gale - I searched for the sore, which met the storm - Abashing the little feeling, the cuckoo could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - Changes that aren't for thee to rejoice with me A way of life that is second to none. What did I see except myself looking for longing? Will you join me in celebrating what I've shaped into a kind of life? I didn't have a craft or a model. Does my sass bother you? Does it exude a sense of doom? Just like the moons and suns, With the predictability of tides, As if hopes were bursting at the seams, Still, I'll rise to the collosal joy of thou. Does my arrogance bother you? Don't you find it difficult? You can shoot me with your words, cut me with your eyes, and kill me with your hatred, but I'll still rise and like And I smile as I've discovered gold mines in my own backyard of memories Something which is mine and am proud of… I'm a black ocean, wide and leaping in the tide, welling and swelling. I've heard it in the coldest land, where there is peace. It never asked for a crumb from me in the end. In a gleeful ray of hope, I propose that we celebrate not meeting. A glimpse was obtained via an interstice. I sat quietly in a corner, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The rushing rays of sunlight are not mine. Nonetheless, I fixed my gaze on thee in the midst of the crowd. I dance like a firefly staring at the burning stove on a cold winter night, perplexed at the burning stove, I meet the light In my rage, I realise the rage is due to fate and a stronger faith. Knowing full well that I will share in your joy far beyond me and us

Content ??

Theirs isn't anyone who does not have this aspiration and for most of us it starts creeping in during fag end of the year or the beginning on the new one. Yeah right am not trying to be different and I won't say that I don’t look forward to it if I do then would be senile. But but the desperation the anxiety the angst has settled like pearl in its shell deep in the ocean. Like a serendipity, well not deeming the rest and the other but one do feel some sense of belongingness and gradually some pride and a part of it . It was a few days back while walking in to a village- Titmoh, Deoghar District of Jharkhand on a day which is celebrated with full of vigour, passion and spirit. While walking in the village to collect some paper to get the errands of the account correct. I saw ladies dressed up with the kids all draped in new attire looking dapper. A lady was walking towards with me carrying a poly bag it was full of "Chura" and was handed over to me with a sense whether I would like it or not I would accept it or not. I was overwhelmed with this gesture and yet perplexed as the lady was a widow with very less fortune yet with a big heart. Completely taken aback with it I was thinking " she has a very big heart" and I thanked her gracefully as I could have done. While walking away I was feeling a sense of contentment. Another instance in the same village happened when a group of villagers were helped in their enterprising thoughts and deeds and they have excelled in this so far. And believe me they do not possess any of these acumen - enterprise, skill, business, stock and many more. Yet they believed in a thought, a vision and they worked around. Seeing their success was one thing to feel elated. But they had put the last nail in as well, they insisted to treat my entire colleagues over a dinner and count my words it was sumptuous for an urban sit in dinner. The confidence and pride with which they called for this dinner was equally matched with humbleness and gratitude which again was unmatched and while looking in to their eyes one could easily make out - its just a beginning. And this is where I felt deep within " aur kya chhiye tha"…..

Death Vs dearth of acceptance and mere acknowledgement of equity

Just for family/domestic aid, religious sentiments/supplements, words in public/deeds (miss) in private, guess where are we?? what are we have been seeing a lot in the recent days. Not that I wasn’t hurt but above all I felt insecure if I were to be a female in this society shall I not carry pepper spray or a chiily spray where men hover around ogle with Xray eyes and disgustful words/ touches, and may under some dark corner of the house/village/city/metro/ capital I am an easy prey to seen and unseen faces. My attire is to be blamed of my character yet I don’t see the same instincts in animals. Human beings are evolved animals where and why we not return and go back again to be the same and one. The so called feminist/ sensitive/ gender vocals who have been largely speaking for the gender equity/equality/empowerment and so on….. I don’t question them but I scream at those deaf ears. Wake up from within not to incidents that would spark and ignite and then it won’t even last a small fire. Let it burn than vouch for killing thy seek to kill the insight and clear the malice and start respecting. Somewhere down the line I don’t like the feeling of or supporting the death demand as I strongly feel its mere an upsurge to the current incident, uproar, disgust, hurt, resemblance, and an act which is incomparably heinous to its core.Yet some where I do not correlate myself with the idea of capital punishment while I recall the famous line of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem “WHERE the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls Where words come out from the depth of truth Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit Where the mind is led forward by thee Into ever-widening thought and action Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake. “ The malice isn’t unfair is all that I want to express, yet somewhere deep within I feel where is the genesis of such outrageous act of insanity I fail to realise the truth of immediate flow of adrenaline that instigates act of masculinity, insanity, nymphomaniac, etc… how and why is I question such a feeling and act and so are we acting to it merely getting in to the flow of it not really getting down to basic of why and from where? I don’t oppose the capital punishment yet I don’t affirm it as well unless we – we all start to give respect that has been demanded explained, talked about, shared, and which is a congenital right. I strongly believe that we along with the protest shall also start and induce a sense of respect the way we address them the way we ogle at them, the way we think they are mere some object of use and abuse. Domestic lives that we all are part of (not hitting all with a single stick) is far beyond equity and equlity and may this is what allows one to step up and build a sense and belief that you can play, use, abuse, rape, hit and kill. A sense of portest that I feel shall also go down the line that prophses a beter life first than a better place to live and roam around. Give them what due just a respect may be adding to old few words but wasn’t able to hole on longer to the daily sops and prints and social media. Why? May be it yet tough to be the change than ask for one! Late but yet begin folks and friends

Off late in the recent turmoil that the nation is witnessing I was perplexed I thought, I dwell in a nation which has abundance of spirit that rise and shine on the days when we see others seems like we are yet a mob not a bonhomie that we are within the boundaries of the state. Are we mere perpetuators of the only essence that is see in us “Barbarism” which has its own tone some sweet, some sour, some blood shedding and some for mere survival? Under the sky that we used to sing anthems of nationality where a man was termed Iron (ferocious) and were those made of some ductile metals or they simply didn’t had any conscience of their own that they agreed upon a mirage “India” and gave up all that they have. How mature I fell us are today when I see all of us pelting stones on the leaders from all the spheres of lives how insanely how casually we live with them in our every discussion over tea or too intensely over booze. Where am I within all this a mayhem that is driven of national hatred that trespasses across mind, humanity, religion, class, creed and state? I wonder the school that used to teach us nothing on this and it the society the family the domain that we breed this greed and hatred. All more that I often see its more within the intellectual minds the scholars, accomplishers, laureates, academicians and the prophets of public mind those who rule the rust. And where is my beloved “Beautiful mind” that was just what it saw and through heart, unbiased to congenital dissent, a resolute that it used to be of a race of an apple eater I wished was better than today I wonder what word shall I coin for it. Within a span of time that I feel and if steal

To be or not to be

In a stupor where the words stabber and loose meaning, Yet thoughts keep wandering, all in the quest of cardinal existence Lucidness just overwhelms you, draining you between the two ends of being and not Questioning what the already drained hollowness Where to collect, what to lose, and what to take – hold something The existence, belief or is it simply a way of life, keep you on hold yet moves on On the sides by your side yet not yours, does it not bear existence? Is this state of civilized conditioning, where your just don’t score on wise words. Yet I do or choose to do all that a normal being or animal does, Sleeping oddly, I wake up with a sound in my heart my ears remain distantly close but feel colossal noise In this celestial periphery, I dig for the most familiar sludge under my foot Reminding thou and myself of a cuckoo, but the spring choose cold juggling on a firm pes and the indispensable carnal world of desires Abstain, restrain, and denial have all merged into one – me Opiniated reverberating above the boulevard of debauchery Amidst all of this, I ask, "Where and how do I put the right foot?" How should I tell my story without fear? Will the desire wrapped in the warmth of hope meet the angst and practical How do I get there? Where do I go to find answers to my desires, questions, and hopes? Like the dust under the rug, pages unfurred I feel I am not to be touched, not sooner, not later, nor anymore. And the flare withing yell - live and live for a glimpse? Ashes fray between the two shades, and all I do is duck in between Expression, emotions fraying all across trying to find their way, The stream knows, they will be met numbness, where I wait, where I wait

How far we are from the reality of the verve

Temporal and remotely disassociated with global gadgets like mobile networks, kits and kilns, face book status and jokes on sardar’s and some regular and unwanted mail or spam. I was swinging again in the lap of nature that nurtures the human life for another spell. A complete new location, a novel gentry , a managed to get a new adobe temporarily to avoid courting the stars which were radiating much brighter than anywhere else in the country but a village. Bouncing and bumping on the road which none of us would remotely associate with the context defined in our heads I zoomed over it to reach the destination. While hoping in the village in the first evening itself I was offered a dinner bash from a certain and strict looking character. Ate the first bite of the night with him yapped a lot about the life under the darkness and the sunlight the desires and the constraints. While my was back to host family I saw some lads looking and laughing and I smiled back thinking I shall be laughing with you very soon. The family head was faging biddi while another one was asking him to light the other one suddenly the song started playing in y mind “Biddi jalaei le Jigar se piya” the play and pause button was pressed simultaneously when I came to know about a mishap in the family and ritual kick starts from tomorrow. I told the family that I shall relocate as I would be another liability on them during the coming days. The idea was sternly and firmly rejected and I was asked to cooperate until the ritual ends and I had to live with them only it was a forced reluctance from me to nod in affirmation. Bided good night to the family who was keenly drooling at me what the hell is he going to do over here in the village a mix of anticipation, anxiety and sympathy is all what I was able to gather from corners of those intruding eyes. The next morning woke much earlier then I had expected the last self in me to have allowed me to saw the sun rising which the radiant rays not after a long period but it just the ambience that made the difference. A stroll came in to my mind wondered a few paces was thwarted with nature call, with the tranquillity I saw a few lads rushing towards a drain I followed them showing no hurry taking small strides with tremors inside. Finally the community drill was done with copied accumenship. A breath of relief I reached back the home walking through the farms some tilled some watered some left azar as it’s asking “mera number ka ayega”. The youngest one of the family who was studying in the city asked for a cup of tea to which I denied and then moved in to the village sat with different age groups of the family. Some were very old and the swirl of their head to look at me was so mesmerising as if I was witnessing a slow motion movie. While at the other places I had to smell the pungent smell of Biddi and then listen about the farms preparation and the problem of the village. Where the lads sat dressed casually on their bike of the tractor or on the temple steps pulling each other’s leg but on my arrivals it seemed to me mine was the longest that everyone could pull. Just an impression and I assumed how alike we all are in some respect. Suddenly one came with a new mobile and the crowd started to get acquainted with the technology and others also started the music in their mobiles. then I saw the family going to a farm I accompanied them for the ritual everyone was shaved and cleaned and a small patch of hair was left again I recalled how we used to be irritated with the small bush of hair left on head. They took shower at the well after the family members, relatives and friends took bath was called in for a lunch as a part of ritual I got familiar with a few more people and sat alongside testing the new kadi of “besan” and furry with which people were eating it I was surprised at my own small bites but I had lost the race already. The people asked my purpose the family torch bearers of the village surrounded me and I walked a few steps and chanting my purpose of visit. Suddenly a flurry of demands started coming roads, check dams, land levelling etc. I smiled and noted it all on my mind while thinking on my own constraints. The group had immense poise and the discussion led to some useful information and in the evening I hunted for laughing gang to get myself a few smiles as well. Shared a few moments of laughter with them it remineds me of how much I miss these carless laughs. The next few days were usual stroll with people to their farms lands found some spots late in the evening as the power was gone for days unknown. Under such gloomy darkness the people used to sit at a small general store which had solar light and used to be bright even without the light to the village. Sitting there for a few night chit chat I figured the shop was more of a “pan Biddi dukan” the piles of bidde packets used to vanish in a day or two to give space to the fresh ones. Also it was fascinating to see that all the families in the village used to take any small or big things in exchange of crop yield (soybean or Maize), a system in a shop that must be some scheme which I later on learnt it was promoted as the shop keeper also had some interest and was well connected with the nearest Mandi. Small kids carrying kg or 2 for some kitchen item and then he ogles and harps on the chocolate, sev and pingals I cherished a few pingles myself and used to share it with the children coming to the shop and got famous as a new pingle and chocolate guy. The stratification in the village was clearly missed in the common arena except the due weight age given to the Brahmins. The kaccha houses were illuminated on the night of ‘eegaraus’ resembling deepawali. The crackers a few went off but was pleasant to see the diyas glowing and the evening was lightened even without the help of wires hanging above. A few invitation of dinner and lunches were It seemed I was the guest of honour and once when I was offered pingle by a kid was so touching in the short span of my stay that I forgot to miss the touch of my laptop keypads, my ringtone buzzing on my mobile and my mailbox stating you 10 unread mails. The smokes of biddies were better than the old vehicle’s smoke which clearly shows that the future is black and the poor guy is pulled off the road as we don’t like to be warned. From the nature and nurture back to the world which having called a life of my own confused and was not able reflect was I alien there or am in an amusement park now. Suddenly my mobile rings and I smile and pick it up seems the day is rolling and inhale the fresh smoke of fuel my sense didn’t refuse it rather they were busy socialising as me over the call. Yeah it is a call though in waiting for all of us... till then keep talking or walking as JHONY WALKER say

Shades, fades & faces!!

Hums and whisper...

As we see our eyes have been reduced by illusion and so has the ears unconsciously deaf and also as the breath determines the hear beats. Swinging over the high deluge of lives all we settle down to is some hums and whispers. Origin of which never have a genesis while other kept being persuasive that they had any remotely existence. I wonder where the balnce among them is. Which one we choose to ignore which one we feel to embrace in the absence of silence. I also at times find my self associating to such unrealistic or the invalid rhetoric but not all not all. The reason has always been the proximity to the rhetoric whereas the silent whisper dies its own subtle death. Similar to the high pitched chatter of an aviary at the break down, reducing the distant mumble of a mountain stream. Asserting the fact rhetoric didn’t felt any compunction to place the silent whispers in its own mortuary.

Swaying down to the remnants of the past from where the words had originated did they made or are making some sense, completely unfamiliar, disgusted with despair. Is it the confluence of confusion that I witness? or was it that I wonder I cannot grab it by my wits. The truth, the propaganda, the joke all of whose shadows just made it all black, while the others remain outlandishly white.

It is not that the disparity of colours matter the most but when abbreviated on account of not being part of the hue one feels seclusion. Losing the track or staring at the darkened track of small yet long path where the traveler crawls or kneels down with a hope of hope.

Suddenly one realizes the abrupt taste of words have a fury in them as alive as the feeling when it dissolved may be that needed to be drained and thus the silence it self surmounts to be in an exile of its own. Now for once and all the feeling ahs been a part of it and the cause and effect shared here but premise is missing. I feel that the spectrum of such clouds would keep on roving over and over and I shall let it go till the thunder strikes and it rains and can see the clear sky the blue the true sky speaking none for it not now or later.

Unrest

In the most inert way that I have existed and I have functioned till date I am finding my self away from all the good and correct doings.
Reason I don’t know, ways that seem unseen to me, pattern old as new drools all faint like the doodle stick.

May be I am too rudimentary and I have a vacuity within my self to absorb and assimilate things and that make me feel I am not exposed in terms of expression. The more I look and reflect at it i realise no matter how good or bad just talk it out no matter how much at length or if short to a nail.

May be am suffering procrastination from and falling short to match up the priority as and when required and also to the fact that I see how it has haunted me in the past.

Amidst all this I feel a fear of how does it matter and what extent it’s going to cost me hence forth from here. Now when I feel this I feel I am not sure it’s a fear or an anxiety from where it is coming from. Had never thought on these lines as I thought it used to come naturally from within me but where I am no where over here and why is it so? Why? Above all this I feel cramped in what ever little shackles I have along my side on me within me and above me I feel that I seize to make an affect or even the effect fades and I …………

Being clueless to my core to extent that I don’t feel or know what and how to do it? Where and when to react? Just loosing the track of all of it.. for a while I feel I would and I must that is all i feel till I can and would do it with a hope……………….

Elite Grey

A few days a few months, a few years a few decades is all we call life and the enormous moments we live tends to evade the memory all the while when we tend to grow old and wise as people say. The wiser we tend to get the more selfishly placed I see I tend to become though it might be a learning and initial stage of getting wise post the moments that I have lived for and yet I tend not disclose most of the life in those moments. Recently the rage and age aren’t going together and the force of the pulse is suffering from inertia stuck within and deeply rooted. Some acknowledgments and some suggested rationale of the existence of me in for the rest gave me a perspective in to grey and white of life. The pragmatic me like I see myself was not the same a couples of year back a bit more of a fool on account of being a honest emotional jerk who used to induces beliefs in the people around, unwinding their acts, dispersing their words, saluting their deeds and above all a sense of respect if not for all but yes for a lot.
Again the tranquillity of this honesty dung dip in to me depleted me from the self of the other the wedging veracity of the words. Imagine the wonders that words can do like “pyaar ki jhappi” and also like the “samurai Sword” they are always there but it’s the intention that matters some lone and some dwelled moments. The habitats sank on the context of reason of just self and yet we leave none of the stone unturned having experienced it seems how weak I was lost in the tremors of rends. Ushered in to a deep sea plunge from cloud nine isn’t enough of thrush of trust I lost but the journey was a long and unwinding one yet profound and the truth of the verve that it is how it is and what it was never it was. I gather this courage to say I have changed and yet more to change no matter how far we stretch ourselves apart like the rubber the one end is always intact as this how I see it under the shades of grey.
Eloquent words deprived of emotions and meaning are like the most beautiful flora without any enchanting smell attracting the bees it just reveals the ugly deceptive contours of the petals and the vulgar dance with the gale that it displays once the shade of grey come alive for the bee. I wonder what and how it would take me to become a bee or stay like a flora alas vice versa as well. I smile while I haven’t walked most of the mile I shall have ran instead. Miracles happen and also the days that are dark and nights which sparkle under the moonlight.
While feeling the angst I pity on all wise yet misers of the world once and for all under the highest and proclaimed academic opulence, yet forgetting the simplicity of life which was never regressive as it was always perfect from its very existence of bonhomie, mutual respect, warmth, love, trust, dignity hung on the shoulder of the shouted shot man’s shoulder.
In turn when I turn now what I saw all along the grey turn I listen to few grey words and the worst is yet I believed them all and all they were told as they call the Grey eyes revealing a thin silver line under those eyeballs of the wonderful city of illusion that sometimes we tend to find our domain to dwell in. yet the longest and beautiful gale ends with a new possibility of the abrupt castle unlike Rome’s architect build in a few moments of harmony. Hustling over the waves as they rise they rise and chucks out the pebbles to the shore dancing in each other’s arms. Lurching under the scorching heat and reeling under momentary splash of the tides the pebble wonder why it was not the fall of the rise and seen unseen just as I felt the grey the pebble felt the black days under the shining moonlights.
The new domain and the grey show a spectacle of the rainbow losing its graded colour under the shades of the hue. And they turn all white it’s a change which under the grey I shall say I like making the rest all white so that the stains do not lose its spot ever and evident as a mark of congeniality it was it shall dim to grim alike. Smiling as I write carving some of the spots myself I lost precious pebbles even though I didn’t danced to the tunes of audacious waves just an act alike was all in the colour grey.
Now under the grey heyday whether to wedge more of spots, more of shades, more of wise tide gales, more of unfinished romance, more of locked words, more chanting of chants of self squalid, more of doing away with the domains of civilisation more of the not being a deviant out but in the mind and soul. The name itself didn’t had anything or was never to offer and the name for first feared the most of the grey that was their forever and ever.
Climbing the roof of grey I turned in to a gale which brought many and many of albatross in the whole story of the colours changing under the modern apartheid coined by the liberalised educated elites of grey. I failed even though of the learnt episode I forgot to see the colours painted on the castle of audacity and I hope the audacity remains stuck to the colour so that they don’t fade or drop in the dell glittering for the shine they shine under those whines that turns loud once just for once to deafen the drums.
Grey again and ever again over the spots of the white I choose to hover over the shadow unlike an albatross but like a spread to avoid any shade of grey to come to castles sight shall not. As and then I remain the spot of the white to the grey both a shredded strange acquaintances in admiration.

Listen

Songs I listen to songs I tune in to, tones me in and out
Not for the moment but in the moments,
I live while I am in to it for one I dance to the tunes
I sip I sleep and I booze while I cut loose,

Effortless and as the crow flies is the fall of words
I climb to reach and feel the company of words there and where
I wonder with the fodder of these words getting in my soul
I choose that I won’t lose over and listen as it fasten

When I drive when I fly when I sleep when I walk
When I shudder when I wake when I fall when talk
Someone and no one as the but I listen all
In the words that frames the days and nights

For the beats that still beats for the moves I still fumble
For the inertia I still desire to chase
For the chase I wish to cling to myself
Most and moist and loud under the music

I groove in for the out and dive in the depths
Sooths and flushes blood in to the adrenaline
So much so that I forget the daily clean
Once I reach I freeze the moment is mum I fume….

Audacity of an acquaintance

How blissfully disregarded I am to the whole essence for all the part left that is left or was not there at all, in the deepest self of darkness from where I shall always say I am was not being me for the rest of the doom till the day I learnt am being useless acquaintance from the beginning till the mid way and the blissful end of the road.

Moreover now getting used the useful different words on different occasion holding different meaning marks the worth of me in the whole state of affair. Irrespective of the rest where shall I be me? And for the rest who wants to bring in something for me I converse, I interlude, I collide and I just get down on my knees. Just feel if I could really be ever able to explain the unsaid the way I wished it to be, i trust it the way it is as when it was, I see too much of I but if someone ever gives an ear to it would soon realise it its beyond the horizon all I seek is nothing but just one thing and yes I want to be selfish over here for the enchanting smile.

The smile, the whole lot of the cause and effect, is shutting the door only for the fall and the tender flesh beneath it. To make it look like a smile. To which I had always shown some respect, the glue and the stick none in the loss all staying apart

Such a seen truth of the smile, the longed one to be seen with a eyelashes dancing over each other. I had seen the glory of it while being in the depths of the coldness of warmth of the last winter, where I was melting to the coldness of scorching heat.
I rest I rest and again I rest seems frozen to the core of my inner self and not much beyond which I shall say it’s not in my capacity to be what I am not one become someone to allure just out of context to think then why do we even face such encounter where one is skulled to its own pieces of skeletal existence.
Recalling what it is for the said and done I might have been more than acquaintances and a bit more of mere a familiarity with the daily chords of encounters. But largely it beyond what words can print over that sand line under the tides but they just tend to disappears and washed. Percolates in the written unseen but to where when its not engraved in the beauty of the existence sometime too close sometimes far and other in exile.
But I do realise whatever you do the life would be as it is and would leave just a bleak scope of insignificant but I felt it to be done somewhere to those nobody else would. If I ever am would be seen god I feel you, the smile lost in the smile itself and yet wishing the smile ti smile.

On the eve of mortuary

A mortuary of thought that I had lived with redefines my resilience as what I see in myself now after a couple of years it’s an aghast. Celebrating the dead virtues of the static stages, I would go deaf in such a silence of prophecy why didn’t I see it.
Amazing to see how I have inculcated the pragmatic bundle of the emotional grind “walk in and walk out” and here all inside it evolves the new origin, without any sensation but it’s like a barrage. The solitude rests in its own solace and the disparity had termed me in to an accused all through,
Though I don’t deny doing myself being blunt and to blunders that I have done. Me being myself I look back and then turn around and being a futurist I suffer then I disappear, the act is amusing me and leaves me lurching. For more is that I have become malicious or I have shown myself a path of what the fuck it is my selfish ego coming up and it’s so strong.
Not that I was a saint before but I had always given precedence to other without a second subsist of thought. But such thoughts have deserted I can see it, now as if there is an albatross flying over as I feel it had always flawed over the last half decades. The source of the acquaintance of the two poles I have felt and realised were always apart when I reflect back. And now I see myself graduated in to a pragmatic selfish guy driven by the intellectual, affluent, progressive and modern cult as they say and speak.
I would hate myself for this but would love to make a few mummies; as such aliens of people who are like me shall sleep under the pyramids of selfishness. May be such an act would curb this epidemic to spread as they show some disgust to the basic essence of the life and its virtues. Wondering is culling the only aspect left, or am just being too barbaric in my own thought but I won’t deny all of this in a literal way such things cannot be done away with.
At times while in a course of interaction with you and myself I used to have I in me and you in you. But it seems as if the crowd is getting thinner and I feel heavier under each breath I take. Loss is my entire personal one and the so intact within me. Yet the devastating curve makes me feel obscure and the intent is dyeing deep within to rely on to myself when to express to others it’s going to be huge task.
The wind has again become cold and dry as those words once heard over, I proclaim and assorted minutely in different contours for the whole but not me. Seems the blood has frozen inside to all those words of and for claimed as they were just cold and had nothing larger. Mere a few jumbling of the letter where they were arranged in a self asylum of arrays but hardly meant something apart from there collinear distance of the dots at the ends.
Like those deities whose face fair and of those that does not I have seen not behind the faces but people tend to and it’s my mistake. I shall be living with and learning. Dancing under the chants and lights when people grove around for inert belief of some existence and émigré. Else it’s no less than a mortuary of hope, belief and humanity. Disappearing is all that I have a sum of few faces already fading and the rest in the line to follow. Seems I have evolved in the process of the self excellence or rather the manner in which it improves in the whole advent of life thereafter. But tonight I would like to wish myself and other on the day of self mortuary. Just a amen to the grove of words their intent and the manner of bringing about the unsaid when it was always said.. Always just a possessive thought I lived with just second before. Thanks…..

swirling rest

The self and the rest of the best that swirls around my world at times and on other they just ties up. Rarely in the very next moment I tend to see how much affinity i used to have in a longer run for some acquaintance or for none? In the most inner self of my ruckus till date that have left me unsettled till now is not for one or the some to blame for the nor the devil neither the deity. But yet once you take a closer rule in to the reflection of the whole spectrum what you see and realise is leave for left is some part of yourself.
In the exile of the thought where you might once forget some of the most memorable moments but you simply won’t forget the one the very one when shared something so close as touching skin. Where the skin perspired together living in the winds died there own death as no gale came for them. What I have realised that such a moments of close proximity leaves you in a lurch. People die fast young and old but moments are awake till the blood rushes in to your head.
Being for the first flower you saw blooming, the smell of wet soil, and the cuckoo of the birds, the first train journey, and the drop of coin as pocket money, the first bike ride, and the first time you kissed someone and the first time you lived in the confidence of the else. Like as boyzone sings “it’s only words and words are all I have “a promise unkempt is like a many such moments brazenly alive. We don’t mind where its mind in to it only, the rest is questioned too and thrown in the mud to settles down under the scorching heat for some more layers. As they remain unturned they form their own history of existence and death.
It mere human nature like the dogs tale like the swinging branch like the rising tides like the snowfall, like the money swirling from trees to trees like the waves dancing over each other next to none but the self or other self of the one
Complex isn’t it this is how I perceive it may be just a brood. Next for the lost innocence in the exile from those acquaintances as the world calls may be too less to be talked about or even mere for profusion. I seek a staring in the eyes to seek the truth that how I have turned is not what I feel I shall have liked to. Mostly the breeding disconnect with the connected and less is dying apart for less or more I am like an alien over the greenery where some flowers bloom but only to be washed by the pouring rain drops. Much more the affinity that was visible is getting blurred with a few more connected in the longest short distance I have travelled over the sparkles on the eve of lights on a couple of years. Yet the stand reaffirms the fall over proximity of just being alike a loss again, a triumph I guess I shall breath under the castle for the overgrown gust. To be penned yet further….

Not unfelt

When I think, I think I shall not because it takes too much of effort and breaths to make nonsense sensible or vice versa. Profusion aren’t merely a reflection of what I am in to and going all through in the middle of the day sometimes I roll from the hill and find the wind pushing me uphill. Tussling amongst the push and the pull the fear of the fall or the ball is not there rather I feel obscure of the fall.
At moments I feel ashamed of the inert panic on account what and who ever it shall not have an induction effect on some of the most proud gems I have on the paths of pebbles. The sparkle of which had made the path glowed
The choice which I make is not a choice I had meant but more than that. Giving away something does not mean I didn’t wished own but yes the preoccupation is something that I shall have not been entangled so much so that it could have been stagnant as it is being shown over here.

I feel I shall tell this straight, all along I was leading you on me, using you, keeping you waiting for something that wasn’t there in full not any time juggling between the now and the then, letting you get your hopes up for me as long as I wished I would be there but guess was still crawling and in the short span of time just brought grief and none. Figuring out the rest in all of the best just for the short term guest I felt and yet am feeling unrest.
During the small strides I have leaped across the roads and all the places inside out for but may be I feel at times yes I too feeble to make a choice for myself once and all, running away isnt what I have always done but even moving along with it is like running on sand the faster you want to turn it off the more you sunk in to it.
Seems a long way to go from here as well but all in one go I don’t feel to induct numbness nor do it do which I don’t but to hang it on over the cliff I would choose the full swing once again and oscillate till I till I …

“I love you. It's not a weight you must carry around. I love you. It's not a box that holds you in. I love you. It's not a standard you have to bear. I love you. It's not a sacrifice I make. I love you. It's not a pedestal you are frozen upon. I love you. It's not an expectation of perfection. I love you. It's not my life's whole purpose (or your's). I love you. It's not to make you change. I love you. It's not even to make you love me. I love you. It's as pure and simple as that.” Not mine but read something like somewhere just came in to mind like many other things …. Till now…

Some ice, dusk and dawn

The limits of the unlimited vagueness in the empty vessels of time that i feel make me numb. Looks like they all are more than a few facts which we tend to reckon on for the fib and feast of life. The more which i tend to figure out of the less I have lived in and the more I have desired out of it
Running away from I in me, I feel am I looking in for something new, or it’s just the old me in I that is coming up again posting a masquerade. Mesmerizing at how far I have come for the rest of the things was merely a moment of transition. How deeply I was engrossed in the overwhelmed moments and where was i lost under the profusion of the due.

Largely I quest for the depth of shallowness of the moments that graved the once lived and left. It meant a lot all through, as meant as worlds façades. How many times I have played the snake and ladder the moment I felt assured am just rolled down to the gushing water for a splash of verve.

But yet the zeal inside doesn’t allow me to settle down under the marine along with the mermaids of the shallowness. Else would like to drove my wings along with the ducks dancing on the waves, no matter how many times I shall be doused. But yet today I feel I don’t care anymore for something deep inside me have enslaved to exist and don’t know what is it..

Till then however the winds wish to fly me off to various horizons of life and show me some ice, grass, rainbow, some down pours dusk and dawn .. I shall be the I

Dark Calmness

Closed my eyes as they were rove ring around
Clasping the lids together to shun it under the calm darkness

The radiance under those lashes were still flowing
As if the droll was not thwarted with the lids..

Flamboyant, Allured, stagnant, stuck, shocked
A mere transfusion of transparency those fling in them

A reflect of the affect over the dearth of the presence
Was it merely an unseen veracity of the absent presence

A reason to cheer for a season to dance to, a day to celebrate
Today why under the sun and moon no rays fall on me..

It is not afar the closed lids unseen, yet there
Understanding the void, living the unlived, believed the belief

No matter how many times they speak from away.
Unseen was me yet judged and affirmed to the task at hay

Seemed all right for the flight to the kinder land..
With non ambiguous flows of words forming a stream

Yet I lost the boost down the stream was rowing till now..
Seems the clutches were not strong the new stream allured enough

Pushed ajar, flourishing in the possessed possessiveness
To the day I say and dance as its still closed in the dark calmness..

Short Acquaintance

Naissance naive obscure acquaintance short yet deep as in the depths,
Frilled with small moments, closed knitted with less slow encounters,
Fudged with sweet fights, drilled with long conversation,
Care and passion bridged, fall and rise of desire.
Anomalies of ambiguity, sublime talks over and on...
Blunt and blatant drift, shut and closed calculation of preposition.
Lost meaning of words, sheer cuts left of denial of drift
Grooming differences over naive prepositions....
Losing the flying kite, for the new flight.
knowness to no ness as mere acquaintance.
A thought less thought a fall unseen a reason not sought.
An option not explored mere a loss.
Better to fly far then swing back better be lost then swirling the rope,
With a hope to be clinched but castrated
As the castle turned in to hay, left was a mortuary of words.
Where once i lived by then late on i died by them..

जब मैं छोटा था, शायद शामे बहुत लम्बी हुआ करती थी.
मैं हाथ में पतंग की डोर पकडे, घंटो उडा करता था, वो लम्बी"साइकिल रेस",
वो बचपन के खेल, वो हर शाम थक के चूर हो जाना,
अब शाम नहीं होती, दिन ढलता है और सीधे रात हो जाती है.शायद वक्त सिमट रहा है..

जब मैं छोटा था, शायद दोस्ती बहुत गहरी हुआ करती थी,दिन भर वो हुज़ोम बनाकर खेलना, वो दोस्तों के घर का खाना, वोलड़कियों कीबातें, वो साथ रोना, अब भी मेरे कई दोस्त हैं,पर दोस्ती जाने कहाँ है, जब भी "ट्रेफिक सिग्नल" पे मिलते हैं"हाई" करतेहैं, और अपने अपने रास्ते चल देते हैं,होली, दिवाली, जन्मदिन , नए साल पर बस SMS आ जाते हैं शायद अब रिश्ते बदल रहें हैं..

जब मैं छोटा था, तब खेल भी अजीब हुआ करते थे,छुपन छुपाई, लंगडी टांग, पोषम पा, कट थे केक, टिप्पी टीपी टापअब इन्टरनेट, ऑफिस, हिल्म्स, से फुर्सत ही नहीं मिलती..

शायद ज़िन्दगी बदल रही है.जिंदगी का सबसे बड़ा सच यही है.. जो अक्सर कबरिस्तान के बाहरबोर्ड परलिखा होता है."मंजिल तो यही थी, बस जिंदगी गुज़र गयी मेरी यहाँ आते आते" जिंदगी का लम्हा बहुत छोटा सा है.कल की कोई बुनियाद नहीं हैऔर आने वाला कल सिर्फ सपने मैं ही हैं.अब बच गए इस पल मैं..तमन्नाओ से भरे इस जिंदगी मैं हम सिर्फ भाग रहे हैं..

इस जिंदगी को जियो न की काटो

A dream

I wonder, while I profound within and out in the domains of the thought I live and think. I have always had this quest from deep within which provokes that attitude matters a lot. Even though an individual differ from each other and the degree isn’t merely associated with the zenith of attained success in ones life. Appearances build are mere physical anatomy that preserves the outer differences which even some psychologist agree to.

Contrary to this I feel is that the traits shown in personality or character are a reflection of how we carry ourselves. And these are largely influenced by the experiences and the domain in which strive. Further more its basically how we build ourselves and break down to those moments which are inevitable or overwhelming. Believing in disbeliefs are quite obnoxious but this primarily deviant in nature which induces dream. A dream, within all of us, for which we all live.

Wondering whether an establishment in life is mere an indication of the personality. I doubt and refute to believe there are occasions where factors other than our belief academics. Culture, religion, region and other stratification have there own major roles to play, but these to minuscule though cannot be negated. The transfusion from communal to secular, anarchy to democracy, feudal to neo feudal the state as whole is adopting and transforming. But when we trickle down and look at the people we are stagnant and doen not move which is quite evident. Qualms on grounds of regions, religion, homogeneity, caste creed are deeply rooted within even the academically excellent people who term them selves progressive are rotting with such a feel. In a cocoon of self we have restricted ourselves too opulent with selfish thought to be permeable to any extent. I feel yet today we strive in the primitive era of the humanity where bonhomie is a mirage and an essence of sharing is a trance. I is important but we shall never do away with the fact as for every I we have a you and that’s the basic premise of the life. I am short of this flowing fluid to but this stagnation of alienating attitude isn’t what I desire for but yet I drop this running fluid here with a stop of feel to see the vary…