Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Sheer Joy of Belongingness

Connections are amazing. They bring a touch of piquantness in our lives. We  have connections of varying nature, with so many people, places and things around us. Sitting in my room I look a little left and I see the wind chime hanging there, making mellisonant sounds, gliding along with the wind and I remember the day when I was hanging it there, with my friends and I couldn't stop myself from smiling and I kept smiling for a long time.. As you can't separate a breeze from a wind same way people and things are connected with you in some intricate ways and you can't part with them without losing a part of yourself.  
Joy is the best makeup- I read that somewhere. May be that's right because when I gaze in to those lovely-ugly faces of people I give a damn about I hardly see any blemishes. Their flaws never bother me, instead that's make them irritatingly more adorable or special ...all these lifeless objects that are lying around me sending a constant signal that you ain't dead and drained.. just keep up. Keep up with the pace with which world around is moving..

Randomness is grinning
and I smile back..
how it connects me
with all of you out there

I never asked for you
you never did that for me
still, here we are
soldering, sharing all the worries
and woes of this flyspeck life

I look back at the days passed by
and the things that are hanging around
jeans that I wear or shoes in which I crawl
sheets on my bed or color of my wall
people with whom I painted it all

these nibbles and shots of flashbacks
fun memoirs that are stored in my memory
and my bagpack
when I'm standing on the edge
or lying at the lowest of my ebb
they keep me from falling
drag me out of that clumsy web

boastful joy and the love showers
I have, I enjoy more
then more I crave
I think the best way to shove off all your worries is that remeber the Good Times and keep going on and on. People that really belong to you will always there to push you up and all you need to do is to extend your hands instead of holding it back.

The most important thing is to enjoy your life—to be happy—it's all that matters

― Audrey Hepburn

Sunday, April 14, 2013


I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries-Shakespeare

Few days back an old friend of mine called me up. We lost connection long back but somehow she got my number. We talked a couple of minutes and decided to meet-up. There's a thing about old friends you can just dump all your F^*k n S*%t and feel light. Damn she was in bad state and the moment I saw her I knew that something was wrong, Long story short, she was living a life of an outcast in her own house and that made me think ............ that   

Do we need to be on an uninhabited island or in some scary jungle or jail to feel like an outcast ??
Nah, rather you can get that feeling sitting in your own room and I guess that feeling is more awful than the previous ones. Damned in your own heaven, among  your own people... who says you need to die to go to Hell... Hell is right here and you are burning right there in that corner and there's nothing you can do about it.
It's like people around you talking in some ancient language. Like they all share a past, a past with no mark of you. For them you are something of a queer type and all that comes out of your mouth is nothing but fiddle-faddle of your own making. There's no way you can convince them and no way they see what you see. Bounded by the chains of colored judgments their minds are clouded and blocked and you are pinned down, secluded in your mind you are there but not around. But, you hope for things to change and smetimes they do
Picture Credit:http//tinyurl.com/d4mkobh

Mortals around her wonder
how can she ever feel like
some burning wood
in a middle of a room
others feeling warm
but she's aflamed, feeling
not worth a darn

pent up emotions
looking for a leak
to breathe some air
not to cease and appease
people talking, walking
snooping all around in
slow-motion and silent sounds

Clock ticks in her room
she peers back at it
move fast you prick, she raves
little bird in her wanna go out
she hopes to imbibe the talents
people outside have, she flew
but her clipped wings gave out

She's waiting for a morning
when sun will rise like never before
in bits n pieces she is garnering
gallant and galore
she's too tough for that clipped bird
in her heart, she's recuperating
every minute, every hour

Did you ever felt like an outcast ??
I did, many times... 
I am the outcast come home to roost and the eggs of tomorrow are incubating in my fame. You hate me, you love me, you made me, and now I am in you. I am like that disease brewing in your loins and I think you like it…” 
 Nikki Sixx

Thursday, April 11, 2013

A Tree Grows in Me

There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic~ Anais Nin
Image credit:http://img3.etsystatic.com/004/0/6562782/il_fullxfull.393322875_1s61.jpg

As far as I'm concerned I certainly belong to latter. Tree of my life is growing up slowly or rather I would say too slowly, cell by cell, leaves by leaves. Most of the times each leaf costs too much efforts, practice or melodrama. Sometimes it's my mum and dad and whole bunch of "Others" giving me pearls of knowledge, which makes me feel like crap at times,  or sometimes it's just everyday insults and humiliations that completes the scene, or sometimes it's those small things that makes up a day  :P 

With each such hiccup and achievement I learn something. I guess my tree grow by an inch more or less. Though at that moment I don't feel like growing at all, but realization is a stage in life that often comes late :D  

With every page I turn
and every phrase I highlight
with every dialogue that impresses me
I grow inside..

With every book on my shelf
and every friend I make
with every fight that tires me
I grow inside..

With every twist on my way
and every turn that I take
with every crossroad I cross
I grow inside..

With every picture that I see
and every sound I hear
with all those colors and vibrations around
I grow inside..

With every flip of the page
I find something to smile or cry
with that every lil curve and tear out of my eyes
I grow inside..

How far I'll go ?
How far I can go ?
maybe, this time I don't wanna know
I wish if  someone can hide.
With every passing day
and every passing night
I just wanna grow inside :)

At the end just think, just give it a thought

"If there was only one tree like that in the world, you would think it was beautiful. But because there are so many, you just can't see how beautiful it really is.”
 Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Forget Me, Forget Me Not

"I don't wanna remember this crappy thing, not even for a single day". I've lost track of the number of times I repeated that sentence in my  life. Tried to console myself that from today onwards this chapter is closed... for eternity. But, do you really able to forget ? Then there are times when you want to freeze and say-" Let's not forget this" But, do you always able to recollect ? Answer is... at least in my case a big NO

How do you lose a word? Does it vanish into your memory, like an old toy in a cupboard, and lie hidden in the cobwebs and dust, waiting to be cleaned out or rediscovered?
~Amitav Ghosh

Some say that there's this thing called sub-consciousness and that's the place where all mysteries of memory that are beyond our understanding lies. I say- " Who Cares" when time comes this foxy memoir of yours play its card and all you do is deal with the consequences irrespective of good or bad.
Image Credit: http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2011/067/0/c/lines_hold_the_memories_by_agnes_cecile-d38y67i.jpg

walking down the alley
plugged-in, listening songs
I saw a boy with a bunch of boys
red-tee wrapped around his waist
he looked like some hooligan, a total waste
bemired clothes and colly hands
holding a puppy, he made a puppy face

back in time
saw myself  in that same alley
with similar dirty dress and sounds
I was with my dog, rallying around
damn he's dead now and damn I hate that boy
I miss my dog, my spanking toy

People say so many things
so many people come and go
you process them all
some faded, some jaded
imprinted on your wall
you repaint or scratch
spot's never vacant again
and there isn't a train of thought
my friend
you won't be catching again :)

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Curious Thing

We all have tendency to get accustomed to things happening around very easily. Routine, job, moods, environment and what not. Somehow we are able to cope with oddities of everyday life and get on. So many people come and go in our life, each one adding a layer of different color and size. There are few who become much closer as compared to others. They succeed in breaching the walls of the fortress of strong personality we project to the outside world. With them we are nothing but ourselves, vulnerable but happy. We share our world with them and somewhere deep down unknowingly expect that we are an important part of their world too. But, the curious thing is despite all this friendliness and comfort 
we never actually get accustomed to being less important to those people than they are to us.
Image Credit: http://www.hoviscreations.com/Paintings/Painting82.jpg

Hysteria was clogging up my mind
curious thing, I wasn't supposed
to be feeling like this
still, strands of my hair were flying 
like stale threads of a ripped jeans
I tried and remain calm, wasn't easy 
by all means..

stinging with my own agony 
I gave a second thought to 
what she just said, sighed 
I closed my ablated eyes , although 
she did what she thought was right 
but, why I'm not feeling alright ?

I waited for long 
hoped she'll ping me back 
say something and I'll respond
that never happened and
le problème, at last I said 
life's a never ending parade 

of same notions
I gotta buck up 
and shed such emotions 
no one's obliged to give me 
exact replica of  what I want 
people are  just amis amants 

Now I remember what Lupe Fiasco sings 
Alright, already, the show goes on
All night 'til the morning, we dream so long
Anybody ever wonder when they would see the sun go
Just remember when you come up, the show goes on


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...