What's this?

Life is always preferable to death. Living has always been the forte of the soul and it’s servitude towards the body.
Despite knowing this fact, I look for an alternative to it. It may be death. Or, it may be something else other than the life. The resolve to live and the pursuit for it’s values has long been the delicate intention of living. But the body and soul, and the person that I have preserved ever since I came to this world seem to long for something else other than life. It’s hard for me pretend like living, while most of my senses delude me. I really don’t know if the sharp edge of a blade has better purpose than the words I seek to refuse.

If you were a rose!

If you are a rose,
I would like to see you in my garden
And I would like you to lay above me,
In my grave.

Do I really want to live this life?

Do I really want to live this life? Asking such a question (to myself) is like looking at the mirror and pondering over the reflection. Most of the time I am sorry for myself being not able to grasp what’s there in the reflection: me or someone else? The same has been with the life: am I living my own life or am I trying to portray something else? It’s not worth giving a thought about being ‘originality’ of ‘Me or the reflection’…but at certain moment, I comfortably place myself for a wild ride to think about it. By and large, it offers me occasional calm in rather restless hours.
What will help me reveal the true self? Looking at the derivatives of what I do daily, frequently, it seems I am one of those fobs, always worried about how he looks! It’s like a pretentious effort to describe myself looking at the mirror. A loud lie!
So my life is all about lies and pretentions. I fake life. I fake love. I fake my own being.
Someday, I would die without knowing who am I or even so, without realizing why I lied all my life long. I think, it’s the norm here. Somehow, it seems to me, I wasn’t born with the courage to be myself.
Do I really want to live this life?
This may be one of those funny questions I hate to ask myself!

Most truths are lies.

Most truths are lies. Every day they came up to me and divulge a truth or two. I know most of these truths are fantastic lies. But we are made to believe thus, slowly and gradually increasing the level of believable factors. I was a kid then, there were no barriers to love. Now, no love without barriers. Love was true then, now it’s a lie.
Once in a while, I comfort myself to hear good lies as obvious truths.
May be these lies will help me unmask me.

She Lived!

They asked me:
“Did she ever exist?”
They asked unknowingly seeing me clasp her image.
They don’t know the silence
And obviously,
They don’t know the turbulence
So profusely blooming in my existence.

That’s a fact,
So I didn’t ponder much;
It will stay a fact.

But,
How do I explain,
The recluse that she is?
How do I maintain,
The repose that they performed?

My shivering tranquility
That carried her composer,
They see it my frailty
That buried the sinner;
Committed while observing the obligation of faith.

Not knowing her faith,
They asked its exhibition;
Yet she stands in allegiance unabridged
And I know:
She is pure!

They don’t know,
“Pure has it all”;
The acceptance of faith
And the respect of belief.

But,
They will ask me:
“Did she ever exist?”,
Everytime I breathe her name,
Everytime she becalms me.

And that’s a perpetual quandary
For “My breathe is her name and
Her being me”.

Alone!

When I was alone
Nothing did shone
Along the fields that left me unknown;
When I was lonely
Everything did fly
Along the galleys that invite me unseen.
On the whole,
As an incurable faith
I was destined to live
Live a life:
Life of inseperable destitute
Amidst unbound fortune of trust.

When I was alone
I did promised a million servitude.

But,
Once I was left bereaved,
Those promises often tease me
Saying:
“A curse,
Of being loved
And a million trust”.

But,
Nobody knows:
I was alone,
Alone,
All these while.

Now,
I am still alone
Knowing that, “Nothing did ever tempted
Other than the faith
And the promise to live”.

Here Comes The Scarecrow!

That really looked horrible!
Tried to becalm my senses
And the canvas of senses
Nothing did really entice
And it was still horribly seen.

Once,
There laid a carcass
Stock firmed and subdued
How did it grooved
And how did it gropped
It still reverberates.

Now,
This becomes the body
Body of a pious soul
Asking to redeem the lost faith
But,
It still looks like a horribly painted potrait.

Ok,
Why do you need to interpret it
Why do you need to feel it
Why do you really need to see that?

The images that we see ‘horible’
May they be a hundred questions on instinct
May they project a distinct imagery

But,
Still they all look like pirates
Waiting for a crow to squeak
And say:
Ohey…here comes the scarecrow.

Span Of A Hog!

Possibly, I was right:
The unpleasant sight
Purchased a span of hog
And create, to contrive
A clinical Coventry.
Anyway,
It negates my scheme;
Anyway,
That’s what customs demand!

Possibly,
I was empty:
The bulge
Praised the whole soft-bed
And the cunning inclusion,
To conceal what’s certain.
Anyway,
That’s fairly good-looking;
Anyway,
That makes a getaway,
Ostensibly!

Diggers dispose,
Diggers plant;
And wish for a good delivery time…
Something to keep up to!!!

You Are No More!

A tired body,
An exhausted soul
Never imitates you.

No,
It’s not a jeer
Neither a jealous trail:
“You shine
And the proud shone along.”

But,
All along
I praised the moments.
But,
I usually cry
Every single sight,
At evry single sight.

No,
I cry not for the predicament.
I cry,
When I see you.

You,
You are no more.

You Are No More!

A tired body,
An exhausted soul
Never imitates you.

No,
It’s not a jeer
Neither a jealous trail:
“You shine
And the proud shone along.”

But,
All along
I praised the moments.
But,
I usually cry
Every single sight,
At evry single sight.

No,
I cry not for the predicament.
I cry,
When I see you.

You,
You are no more.

But A Wound To Her!

I was a humiliation,
A wound to her.

She makes her humble moves
And brought starry serenity
But the night was mine,
Alone,
In the dark!

Those nights are still audible
With certain imagery,
Imagery befitting decors
On a royal boutique!
And voices exonerating her beauty,
There it proclaims my misfortune.

For I was blind,
A curse which invites a diffuse guilt
And a consumed sorrow!

This, however, is not to be complain,
Instead leave her to the Tormentors.
With an unequalled insight,
Listening how she moan
Amidst mercy-laden taunts…
There,
Warding-off outrage and shame,
Don’t ask me, How?
Yet my ambiguous sense,
A deeper sense of humiliation pervades
While her presence
Being odious to all
And I,
A defender,
A wounded defender!

Always A Question!

Dawn or dusk,
It never ceased to follow my whims.
That was the time,
You dictated my concience.

No reason,
No repentance!

But today,
It seems I am standing alone,
Waiting to be crucified.
Crucify for a reason that never exists, at all!

So poor I am now
Even the reveller didn’t aske for penitence,
Little wonder…
They called me a walking shadow,
All of a skeleton!

What else is left?
I say HELLO and GOODBYE, the echo!
I never complained nor you demanded.
But why so much confusion,
For a word to form a chape?
I,
As you have christened,
Will always be a question!

Another Relocation!

I am proud
Because I know
I have my humility.

I am proud
Because I know
I have my guts.

And I know
My arrogance has its humility
Though in defeats,
Uneasy defeats and submission!

When I met her
I flaunt her flowing tresses,
I flaunt her tempting smile.
And of course,
I flaunt her enduring faith.

Now,
My humility was long gone,
My arrogance was long deceased.
And those routs and capitulations
Rag me
When she relocates!

And the barbs and bullets
And her hair and smile
Though not the finest of mates
I was deemed lyricist
For her lost Native!

Hey babe
This is another confusion
Bound by your faith…

So don’t you worry,
If you can’t cherish my fickle image
Or even if
You can’t visit my abandoned garden!

When you leave your paradise
I too relocate my stable;
When you fight another occupation
I too die a generation,
But when you cry for another Native
I arise for the garret
With guns and bayonets,
That’s my Humility
That’s my Guts.

And faith
That was your lost freedom,
And love
That was your broken dream
So, I am still here…
Deemed a lyricist
For your lost Native!

The Funeral Motif!

Once,
We stood by a pious body
But he lay motionless
And our small hands
Trembled enough
And the Principal got his silence;
Seamless white flags Fluttered in the silence.

And mourned
An early kindergarten showcase!

The pyre
That burnt both the “innocence and
The frailty of a kid”, reflects
An atmosphere of horror and savage grief.
But the pious body
And his threatened vengeance!
Today:
A conjugal manifestation of desperation…
There were lurid flames,
There was angst of unbridled thoughts
And there were dried tears.

Here,
How do I relive
A nursery funeral march
For a friend wasted,
Wasted in false Patriotism!

This is how:
Pyres of dead are numerous,
For numerous were lives.
But the funeral motif was single,
For we cannot live.
And still the same!

That Was The Tradition!

‘My unknown song’
She calls me
With a name unknown
And I respond
With a feeling unknown.
Whilst,
We endure the tradition,
The tradition of calling by names
And the tradition of living by tradition!

One evening,
When I was home
She was alone
Waiting for me
Feeling awkward in my presence, though;
Hiding the beauty
That long endured my thirst.
There, the crack of a mirror
And the sound of a moan
Contradicts my believe.

So cruel
That was my faith.
I asked the song:
‘Had I wronged the name…
To the name … I borrowed?’
“Not really”
‘But why this proposition?’
“That was the tradition”,
The final blurt.

My Hunger And Her Trait!

She told me:
‘Thank you Man?’
I was happy
She too seems pleased!

Then,
In a chain chariot
We drove down…
Further down
Came barricades
Welcoming the shackled wheels.

She arose again
And enquired:
‘Any other way?’
I, in the midst of chivalry
And chariot on the ordeal
Confronts ‘Yes’ and ‘No’.
But I,
Bent enough and
Brought new valour:
‘That was the moment’.
But the hunger and trait
Breathe foul
So thus the moment.

The hunger:
That was her body.
And the trait:
That was the voice
That told:
‘Thank you Man!’

And the proposition:
I was only a mere human,
With tweaked casing
And a makeshift core.
That doesn’t help either
As I sold my soul
For her hunger
And the trait,
That bewildered my religion.

My Freedom!

Something is seriously wrong
Believe me
Something is seriously wrong
When I called your name,
Hack, such a feeble echo!

Bridges built on believe
And lame cross them,
With dream tenacity.
But who cares if…
The bridge last his dream
Or if…
His treaty conquers the amputation.

Something is seriously wrong
Believe me
Something is outrageously wrong,
When I pinch your butt
Unlike my fantasy,
You give my liberty a thrash.

People play mad
Though unknowingly a crowd;
When they jam
Cramp my experience
And borne another crime.

Why?

You were playing
And I was in your image
Then, we together
Without ‘You’ and ‘I’
Asked the wind:
Will the world be ours?

In some distant meadow
Those songs echoed
Often asking…
How long…how long
In the barren meadows?

I couldn’t ask;
As if…
I was bound by the tears.
Why?
And I don’t know why?

Today, once again
In her lap,
I try to play
But I couldn’t,
I don’t know…why?

Confuse,
I ask her for the trace
Instead I find
A face…she often bore
Like a heavy dark cloak
Shielding scorching summer;
In her face…
Unfulfilled queries queue;
And in her eyes…
Shattered dreams mirror.

Sometimes I wonder, but
Her crumbling chateau does invite
Into that realm of oblivion
And I don’t know…Why
I follow her dictates?

Only A Day Left!

Only a day left
Another day will past
And it follows my past.
The same laugh with the same silence
The same raze with the same blush,
Your face being the sole difference.
But,
Neither you change
Nor I…
The same you and me!

I am not deaf,
That’s what I was made sure, though
I didn’t hear anything from your mouth.
I am not blind,
Does it need a blink to prove, though
I still hide from your face?
I am not a dumb,
Every time I utter a word, though
They were my faults, you never move.
So to say,
I enjoy my days, but
You never touch my heart!

Then my story begins…
“Yesterday evening
She was with me
And I was alone!

I do knew:
‘This day will be same’
Yet she played my queen
And you all laughed at me…”

Period…

Do you know…
Who am I?

Another period…

Often did this question reveal me
It’s dark, though
Still my story goes on.

“And,
I saw her in the dark
While the wheels move
She sparkles.
I realised…
He too teases me! But
Only a blush.
May be for
Once she said:
‘It’s the colour of victory’.
How could I betray her
And I dreamed another victory!

‘I’, a little desire
‘She’, the whole world. Still
I caress all the differences
Waiting her to fondle my desire.”

Rejoinder.

Leave it!
Never wait a look from love
Stroke her,
Pinch her,
Tease her…
I should suggest?
Yes, yes
She knows how to freeze!
Thank God!
Ice do chill like any desire,
That’s why I shake
Shake my feet without any rhythm.

Does she really know:
‘How to freeze a heart’ Or,
‘If she likes me to cry?’
I would like to know!

Sortita.

“Yesterday evening
She was with me
And I was alone.
And I saw her in the dark…
Through the tinted glass
Then I wonder…
Was that reflection of the yellow?”

But only a day left!

Pain Of Life!

Poison and the Pain;
My Memory and Victory
Playing cushion and
Quail the treaty,
Treaty of a frail frame
With a furnished reason!
Avaunting the cannibal,
Feed on the stew atonement
Hiding in the regal attic
Further down the volcano..
Volcano of the Life
And yet unfinished...

Fallacy Of Patriotism!

Fallacy of Patriotism
Warm my instincts
And welcome a beast
And remind the rhyme
Once “forbidden”,
Singing tip-toe,
Without a balance
And ofcourse a tune..
But that was the rhyme.

The fallacy of rhyme
Warn my age-old education
And borne a fence
And count the boundaries
Once “demarked”
Swinging the tap
Without a ruler
And ofcourse a royalty..
But that was the boundary.

Wait: I wait; Smile: I cry.

If these broken pieces
No, no these unfinished lines
Have to meant
A thing or two; then
‘It’s only you’
Only you, if you allow.
And my imaginations,
Like your glowing eyes..
To escape this wondrous gaunt..
‘Head to toe…only me’
Air to ground…only you”
To your freedom!

But a thing or two
Names like his..
Situation like hell..
Never sprung any surprise
Though they are my grave.

If this is my fairy land,
To win you..
Surely grave that of mine;
My citadel where
Your glowing eyes reigns.
But here..
That name, that hell smother.

Push me,
I brave your smile.
Curse me
I dream your smile.
Kill me I caress your smile.
What do you need..
A smile, it’s enough, so
Glare me and bathe me in the steaming heart.
That’s what I get
When someone smiles?
Wait: I wait,
Smile: I cry!

That’s My Manipur!

You never be worry
That’s my Manipur,
Hang on ..hang on
Like an entwined victory
After many a deluge..
‘You never be worry’,
Will wrest all the glory.

That’s my Manipur
With its flocked seasons
Will permeate the essence of victory
“The high of cliffs,
And the low of blurbs’,
Yes even if you see
Streams meeting awhile in the blood!

Yesterday!

Today,
As you gain me, I
Embrace the pages,
Once you snubbed with your taunts.
I knew
How cruel those dreams were!
Every word bathes in your scent
Every page deeps in your colour, then
I caged my diary, ..
I feared: ‘The world might halt.’
Dismayed to light my darkness
I pierced my pupil with your smile
And I laughed at the mirror,
Not knowing: ‘You are my image!’

Today,
As you spell my soul, I
Echo my foible..
Once you exploited with mercy.
I knew
How vulnerable those days were!
Every morning arrives with your reflection
Every night expires into your dream, then
I censored my dreams,
I feared: ‘The world might burst.’
Devoted to adorn my life
I smashed my heart with your smile..
And I cried,
Not knowing: ‘Tears are yours!’

Road To Heaven!

Crowd is too filled.
I don’t know what with..
But it’s sure, it’s filled.
Filled with faces I feared,
Drowned with cries I feared.
I agree,
I did fared for many..
Many dreams and
I feared these are not.
It starts with your face,
I command so much..
Today you followed with such muticiplicity.
Then His face,
I charmed every moment
But his consent wasn’t there
Then it’s from them
I hated most..
With curses I shelved in my heart.
Is this the way,
If yes..
Why so much with faces I burdened..
In my path to freedom?
Does a singleton make your pride loss,
Or is it someone else’s curse?

Like One Day!

If these orbs follow you
Why don’t you complain?
Now the images permit me,
“I don’t know why”
To cross the boundaries
Once you marked…
In the bleeding flow of my silence!

Innocent you look so
‘Never dart any’
If I weren’t wrong,
Though the wind blows only downwards,
I still fly in your blows.

Like one day,
Today,
Another bitter truth!

You know…
I was brought up
In lies,
Incessant lies.
And now,
You invite me
In this barren hell
Not even a mirage here!

Never Say .. What’s In Your Eyes!

If you see
‘Eyes with flooded pictures’
Never ask..
What the pictures are really:
“You might be one
Or might be the only one.”

Night is dark and
You know, it will always be dark.
And the crowd,
Only in the dark
Though they jam,
“There will be no light.”
So I say:
Never say..
“What’s in your eyes?”

Rituals Are Mine!

I died a death of opprobrium.
That was when,
I was a small kid!

I saw images
Images crop from the crops of worry
Images snap from the span of worry
And I cherished them
Like a harboured ship in the wrecks!

Then this death
Death of countless names
Names of alliterated identities
Thus this obloquy of disgrace!

I died a death of opprobrium
That was when,
I was a small kid!

And came the funeral
Still following a million rituals.
Then,
I silently ask:
“Why rituals for death bodies?”
Again,
I shout:
“Rituals are mine
For they know
‘I am alone’!”

Innocent Beast!

That innocent beast,
My eyes saw:
‘With a coupled bosom
Heaving side by side.’

Not now
And never be!

But the whole clan,
Mouths wide open
Never touching nipples, though;
Where nectar sprinkles
And drench
That innocent beast!

It passes by
Whipping my humanity.
There arise the beast,
‘The coupled bosom.’
I touched there…
That innocent beast!

Never be now,
I know now
She wasn’t innocent!

Garden!

Garden,
That was mine
I saw giglets play.
Garden,
That was mine
I saw my heart flaunt
The ailing body
Like a chiseled statue from the museum.

Damn!

I have a broken leg,
I have a twisted arm
And I even got a pierced pair of orbs.

That’s really good.
I visualise thus,
And I put on the robe
And robbed all the colours of life.

That’s one evening
And a gale I harp often
Brought diamonds studded coal.
How heavy…
Oh! How heavy were they:
My broken leg,
My twisted arm;
How desperate were they,
And glitter that pierced my blind
And jealousy that compound my frailty?

Then there,
My mystics smile
That I learnt long ago
Temp another Mona Lisa;
Yet my vision,
Still flicker by truth and love
Seek succour.

But there,
My dreams and her beauty
All crumbled.

Your Junction And My Step!

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters;
A million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes…

Then I saw:
Pictures being wrapped
By dripping hands
With veins teasing
Outnumbered breasts.

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters
Mimic the pictures
Sucking the veins
In a destitute vengeance.

Million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes
Wears again
Numerous shrouds
Denying cold pyres
For another innocence.

The Naked Mother!

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters;
A million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes…

Then I saw:
Pictures being wrapped
By dripping hands
With veins teasing
Outnumbered breasts.

The naked mother
Shielding still daughters
Mimic the pictures
Sucking the veins
In a destitute vengeance.

Million scratches
Peeping through hollow phalanxes
Wears again
Numerous shrouds
Denying cold pyres
For another innocence.

I Swore!

I swore,
I swore.
Never to shed a tear
Seeing a crying baby
Feeling the still body of a mother.
I swore,
I swore.
Never to alarm my conscience
Seeing a rape
Rape of unknown virgin.
But today,
The day I was borne,
I can’t swear again
“The days I left behind,
To my unjust humanity”.

I Am Waiting!

A track, a river;
Both parallel to my nerves,
Both conjugate
And consummate,
In a swirling mount
Asking my long lost answers.

Then arises my mound,
To a new infinity
Asking me to touch another firmament.
Na, I said.
But one more heap,
Like my enduring hump,
Asking me to curtail another sky.

The track and the river,
With new lorries
And with new streams
Circle my web
And I stand
Waiting for my mound,
No, my hump to go straight!

What I Say More!

Oh!
All the reasons,
All the victories,
What I say more…

Nothing, nothing,
A gaunt
And a ‘no-name’
What do you say more…

Those branches I shook
May be… they know:
The name of the ‘no-name’,
Leaves holding lives, still…

Those trunks I rubbed
May be… they feel:
The warmth of this gaunt,
Ridges hiding lodges, still…

Oh!
No more,
No more:
Reasons and victories
Hiding in a gaunt,
Seeking a ‘no-name’
May be I no need more.

What I say more…

Touch-Me-Not!

My exploits in the heaven
My confusion in the hell
My elation for a second
My saga of illusion…
How all that embark on?

My Romeo,
My cupidity is you.
A million stars did shone bright
For your empty body
And the world counts her
Though, Juliet was the name.
But I wonder
Did she adorned her lips
With my name.
Once you did submit
‘You are mine!’
Do I need to say again:
‘Love potions are poison
Poison, the elixir
Doesn’t seclude you from me!’

Roses are no more Red
Thorns are no more Stern
Gardens are no more Spring…

May be these swaps
Entwined those deeds of mine
With your persistent make-ups.

Then,
I say:
Poison tastes bitter and
Poison do seclude you from me.
My Romeo,
You are still my cupidity.
But Juliet,
You never knew
‘The world is round’,
Of being Rose, the plight is!

So don’t say
‘Let Roses bloom in your heart’
I will instead
Plant a touch me not,
“Touch-Me-Not.”

Why So Late!

Steaming hot tea
And there
Nothing more than your image.
I only,
Only look that way,
Where an image not so clear
Not so dull…
That was all I saw that evening!

So I ask,
Was that really you?
Or,
That same old charm:
“Oft’ spell my soul” of yours?
But, every time I try,
Try to clear my throat
All those confusions
Clutched my throat, so firm
I only cry the confusion.
Don’t know why,
If I were to commit something
Or, I were to play them
Why they wait all these evenings?

So again.
I ask why so long,
So long for a spelled soul to repent.

If these steams
Can redeem me
Or something more than the thirst
I will,
Yes, I will definitely ask
Why so late?

“fcuk”

“fcuk”.
In the closest proximity, this few letters smell something audacious to SPELL in the right sequence. Don’t do it, in reality it sounds much obvious to think about: a brazen thought that inherits what we had actually wanted to ignore … letters or word.
“French Connection United Kingdom”, I don’t know if “fcuk” rightfully deserves to represent the previous words. But it surely arouses the buyers. And I wonder how someone could spell the right acronym for “French Connection United Kingdom”. It was strange, on my part, to try and read and then find a sense of it. I have seen it quite regularly these days. Some are so prominent; I can’t resist the enticing font and the letters, obviously! At times, I find it odd trying to rearrange letters in an order that my mind can inculcate.
There are few labels that seem noble and readily acceptable. But “fcuk” is strange. I know people buying stuffs that have a label “fcuk” in it, only for the sake of “fcuk”. Sometimes, I doubt if…Is it ONLY me who is uncomfortable seeing this label?
To shed this inhibition, I have recently bought a shirt that has a label “fcuk”. Good stuff! Then I try putting it on and see myself in the mirror. The label’s more prominent than I thought. Reading “fcuk” on my shirt, err on my body, it sounds something else. I am not that bold.
But I still have that shirt it reads “fcuk me”.
And I still remember the piece that I left at the store: “possibly…the best fcuk ever”.

It’s going hayware!

I ferry my dreams to my living world. Unluckily, most of them hardly translate into anything tangible, except speculations of getting more and more such dreams.
More often or so, I was stopped by the patrol of my own admiration of life to the excessive. Every time I try to pursue something, life’s fuzzy concepts clutter me and left bereft of the very idea to pursue ‘that something’.
Now, I gave away the thought of ferrying my dreams into reality. Instead, I am trying to portray myself as a tireless character and subvert the verisimilitude of living in a dream world.
What I do now is, doing what comes naturally to me, like assuming myself to be alone and planning for that inevitable.

Trying to be busy!

My fellow beings, I have problems living here. I hate people calling me by names and looking at me for the same response. It’s better to be a shadow than a poltergeist, who makes all sort of noises only to manifest his/her presence. People run riots and see if the sky and heaven have the same purpose of being there. People look up to sky and sigh: “He is seeing us and having a count of every misdeed.”
Last night, I was trying to be busy with myself. Something slipped into my mind and I was somewhat shy about being myself. “Look at me, I spoke to myself, how poor this person is? He breathes. He eats. He wishes… (These were few of the nonsense in my mind)… And he is so idle, very idle even to dream.” I sneered to myself…jeer myself only find that I wasn’t alone at all. By my side, there stood my shadow, in total silence. He must be thinking if what had transpired this busy soul to mutter in the dark! Did he wronged to others or somebody has just gotten to know any secret of his?
Fair enough, I complained again to myself: And forced myself to go out and walk among the trees. This is how I kept myself busy, alone.

Lately/Recently

Recently, I got to know what certain ‘words’ really mean. I still pick up words, here and there and make them my own. Some words that I got to used never really meant what I actually wanted to mean. There are words, so imprudently seem to mean another word from another circle. At times, I used certain, very particular words only for the sake of it because, I don’t have any other word other than except (that) to help me exclaim when I feel like (that). In fact, I am devoid of words, I am poor without words. Wanted to say something and they mean something else!
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Lately, I came to realize I am still alive and yearning to live.
A brief dialogue between self and shadow - whether for the confirmation of a reconciled life or the mere projection of a life preoccupied with wishes and responsibilities - bring out this transfiguration in me. More often, these dialogues proved more discordant than respectable. These dialogues ensnare me into life.

A day I wan’t part of it!

Today is just another day with a new beginning. I woke up early, in the morning. Perhaps, it may be one of those defining MOMENTS of life, to be able to wake up early in the morning. Nothing suits better, if you can jog a while, talk a while and have a cup full of tea while pondering over day to day happenings.
With such a splendid morning to beckon a day, it was almost impossible to turn back to where I was yesterday night. The previous night abandoned me to my own comfort and provided me the solitude I desperately needed. It certainly provided the shelter but the dawn was more fascinating, an impromptu precedent for the day.
So, how the day went on? By the noon, I thought I am actually blessed. I was able to identify myself more passionately with the surrounding. People around me seem to laugh. Everybody appears as if all of them are here by their wish.
The final impression of the day was, even if it wasn’t contrary to the reality, I was happy. It was not a perceived notion, but rather an alibi borne out of me being somewhere else. I was not here.