Who Designed It?

“What kind of idea are you? Are you the kind that compromises, does deals, accomodates itself to society, aims to find a niche, to survive; or are you the cussed, bloody-minded, ramrod-backed type of damnfool notion that would rather break than sway with the breeze? – The kind that will almost certainly, ninety-nine times out of hundred, be smashed to bits; but, the hundredth time, will change the world.”
― Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses

Does really,
really this world conspires
against all your gut
against all that you hold dear

may be
sometimes

who designed it ?
where it came from ?
was it designed that way ?
or it became over the time
to coerce all in to
patterns and standards
from where it came?
all the diktats
all the rules and rates

can we really forget
what is dear to us
follow another being's path?
or we make a niche.
 
 

Life Evolves, Memories Not

The past beats inside me like a second heart.

― John Banville, The Sea

Good times, when they are gone

Leave a sweet taste behind

Alive still, still in my heart

Like a story in rewind

Collapsed bridge long back

Gone days never come back

Little of me still attached

Those voices and sounds

Little of me still cares

If things are still around

Fossilized memories

Unwashed imprints

They remain, always

A good kind of pain

World is in flux

Always changing

Life evolves

Memories not.

Swapping Places

“It's the questions we can't answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he'll look for his own answers.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

Me questions ?

Why I'm not like them ?

Why I'm not like you ?

If I was you 

So easily amused 

What's stopping me to?

Only if fate 

Ohh if it was

so easy to catch 

switched or rematched

I'd swap places 

and faces with you. 

But, soon I realize

It's all in my head 

Just a fantasy 

a mere pretend. 

“There are only two worlds - your world, which is the real world, and other worlds, the fantasy. Worlds like this are worlds of the human imagination: their reality, or lack of reality, is not important. What is important is that they are there. these worlds provide an alternative. Provide an escape. Provide a threat. Provide a dream, and power; provide refuge, and pain. They give your world meaning. They do not exist; and thus they are all that matters. ”
― Neil Gaiman, The Books of Magic 

  

Open For Discussion

Everywhere you go, some sort of discussion will follow. It's like an inseparable phenomenon these days. People just can't resist it . Wherever some bunch of people manage to find a place to stand and breathe together, they buckle up and wage a war... with their verbal torpedoes.

Everybody have a opinion. Each and everything is open for discussion, new rule in the book of human survival. Everybody knows something about someone and he/she can't afford to stomach it much longer and have to blurt  it out over someone or at someplace. Desperate times, desperate actions.. Are we lost so badly in our attic of minds that there's no sense of solace in there. Is it only filled with all sorts of grunge and grudge ?

You talk much when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

We cannot survive a day without texting or talking or stalking(on social media) about other people. There's have to have a discussion whether verbal or cerebral. We are impotent to shut it off. If a girl next door got a new haircut it's just out of our wits to not to comment on it. Our heads are full of dilettantish and shoddy commentary and all it seeks is a reek of a crack in time where we can just fork out our own little piece of apprise.

on my way, I

wanted to be alone

from the chatters

that were going on

didn't wanna be a part

daily rituals of unneeded plots

that they set

of baiting others

upsetting whole nine yards

with their own upset

people who know me

they know a lot, all

recourses and resorts

rises and falls

I'm gauged, for every footprint

that I make, not for mine

but for other's sake, they

might not know or favor an ignore

heavy toll that it makes

as my unsteady castle shakes

why do you have to say it, annotate it

why do you have to print it out loud

this and that, more and more, why to make

a memoriam of every single chore

why, where, how and what

why white is white

and how dark is dark

why he's fat, how can he

drive such a fancy car

how can that lady have so much power ?

I sat for a while, tried to think - why's that we are so worried about what's happening to others. Why this discussion feel so burdensome and why it bothers so much. Why is this constant inner struggle for fighting someone else's demons...
I listen to Keane...

Oh simple thing where have you gone?

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

As you are now so once were we

We are all surrounded by a particular bunch of people who care about us more than anyone possibly can . Family, relatives, teachers, oldsters and several nameless faces. One thing that they  constantly  try is to relate and connect to you and your alleged naïve life. They constantly feed you with their own specialized and exclusive opinions. As they are physically and intellectually beyond you sometimes things may go little awry. They cite examples, narratives, stories and target you with rich and varied armada of  experience they have gathered in time gone by. There's nothing wrong in it... I think it's the best thing that can happen to a person. But this road of mutual sharing and understanding  is very tricky in nature and  full of twists, turns and bumps and pits.. There are times when we find ourselves in opposite camps.

"Family's incessant love and likeness has often a deep sadness in it. Nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web of our brains; blends yearning and repulsion; and ties us by our heart-strings to the beings that jar us at every movement."

~George Eliot

You speak and listen

about everything, everyday

incessant loops of rebukes

approvals, we try and connect

in all possible ways

we never say or talk about

the slight diversion

in your version and mine

that palpable variance

which breathes along semantics

and deductions we apply

adduce evidences we witness

but compensate for in due time

like those barely visible

overlapped layers of rainbows

your persuasion runs over mine

leavings its imprints

somewhere along the fringes

but transmuting in to mine

times may arise

when we stand across

I might do something you oppose

methods might differ

so are some choices I may make

you schooled me well

made me a cultured youth

there are nibbles of you

in every step I take

You ain't wrong, neither am I

issues we jiggle and pry

you say,

you are now once were we                                                  

I say, just for a change

don't think much and don't worry.

Guilty Conscience Grows

Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
  ~William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Conscience, we all think we have one and yes in some twisted sense we do. It's the personalized compass we all suppose to be having while inflicting our opinions on others. 

Real conflict starts here only. This compass is flawed and biased. It gives different readings for different subjects. It's constantly exposed and rusted  with the everyday input we get from our surroundings. Encased in different capsules conscience is no longer snow-white its somewhere in between black and white. 

Religion, society, polity, community, gender, cliques and classes, peers, senior, junior  and what not.. the circles of enigma can go on. All of this makes us dive deep in to false pride and prejudices.Problem is there's no diving out... Just floating forever.

Even the small decisions of our life are not fully independent of this drama in background. It just goes on and on and influences even minutest details of our lives . We end up being oblivious pawns who are standing right on the edge of precipice fighting battles of others in the guise of our own. 

We say we have conscience.. But, do we really have or its just a notion carefully crafted by everyone around us ?

Life's odd enough
to look like a mess
everyone says it's
much similar 
to a complex

game of chess. 

Really, because

there's no queen
or a force of sepoys.
But, mean bunch of
too grown up
girls and boys. 

Who turn all stones
and flip all pages.
They try all keys
to pick the locks 

of layers of cages.

Cages
personally forged for each
alive soul. 
Concentric and overlapping
it succumbs us all.

We cut n cross each other
sometimes literally
like pawns of a game.

Everyone says they have 

magic pill of freewill

they are not some pawns 

who are tamed.

Really, is it the case ?

I highly doubt it..

because

conscience seems not 

developed or cultured

but forced and tamed.