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….