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

Outcastes

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

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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

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

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 :)

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