A shoddy image

A shoddy image,
The weight of isolation and some wishes.
Don’t look around,
You won’t find the shadow.

Her photograph; I scanned and it latched an overwhelming part of my present. May be it wanted back all she could have had, or may be it wanted to suggest that I can start all over again by taking a look around…may be because, it displays the life. This was a shoddy image with all the imitations on life and I (most of the time) couldn’t see what’s right in front of me. Her face!

Yesterday night, I was trying to keep a balance on myself. I measured my tummy. It’s fat. I rather gently pressed my wrist (I am recovering from weakness – a sort of illness). My pulse beats fast. It’s bad. Pretty bad! My first presumption was: I am crazy, a rather rude fellow; who knows nothing more than the self. All the deficiencies and her face, my pillow and how she would hold my hand...that was also a part of that shoddy image. Damn it. This maniac brain has to stop thinking. Or else, I will have to cover myself with all her images…pretty and beautiful, all.

Against the wall, there is a calendar. I wondered what could each day say, or rather the anniversary! I do sure understand all the markings in the diary and each memoirs have all the glimpses. But none of us prepared. Both of us risked too much for comfort and I feel a little surreal to live in this emptiness called life. I took the plunge and the mistake was all evident in the photograph. It has become a ritual.

Yesterday night, I was a specimen
And the images of gifts and limbs,
They all scattered.
But, it was dark
And each moment were long
And my mask floats in the sky.
I wanted to sleep,
But the shoddy image
Caught the glimpses shrouded in the cacophony of loneliness.

No words for me!

Tonight, something isn’t quite right. Along the passages of unknown phrases, I wished to pour in some words. But they didn’t come up good. I couldn’t understand a single line doing me favor. It’s hard time for me…nights without dreams, and words without meaning.

I was thinking if we can meet again. And look, what has come up: irrelevant self; finds myself mistaken for someone else and seem lost off my fundamental expectations. I wanted to meet someone. I know I am too weak to pretend myself being happy alone. I can’t be alone. Living alone is also a form of decadence. It leads oneself to think that we are sufficient to self. That’s not so. Life will be a scurrilous song if you can’t include a line for that someone.

Anyway, let’s see if these few words can copulate.

Let’s meet again, for all that more. I have borrowed this line from somewhere. But couldn’t use much, anywhere! Let’s meet. It’s so simple a sentence to carry the burden of the aching hearts. Let’s meet; once did she promise me thus. But it’s yet to happen.

If I were to wait for the promise to fulfill, I should have also known that promises can also be broken; either way. Better for me, she didn’t recognize the subsequent meetings as me. And how do I consider it was fulfilled for she wanted to see me as another human being, not as me, I, as used to be. But, I was me as usual.

It’s dust.

An ordinary day:
It didn’t rain; only a brief sunshine with
Lots of dusts!

I walk an ordinary road, with
Lots of dusts!

I live an ordinary life, with
Lots of dusts!

In an ordinary day,
All the dusts in the world conspire
All the dusts in my world unite…

Let’s treat courteously;
Let’s all be evident to life:
It’s dust.

If I had only dreams,
You were all I could relate to.

In my dreams,
In specks, I see you.

May be that’s how dreams we see.

It’s dust.

I need somebody like you!

It seems to me,
I need somebody like you.
It seems to me,
I need someone other than myself.

All these while,
I cared for myself
And worried:
Will it pass like ungenerous fortunes?

It seems to me,
I need somebody like you.

Not always!

You know,
I was worried about my lost faith
And blame myself for the fool that I was!

But every time I see you,
I think I need you.

It’s like touching a nip,
It’s like a drink.

Little far away,
In the stream, in the shoal
My steps match yours
And I left them to settle in the cool breeze.

It seems to me,
I need somebody like you.

Thoibi, another name I want to forget!

After a brief hiatus, here I am again, with some blurts. What have transpired in between, that’s quite disturbing to ponder upon. But, as usual, the order has been restored again, with the coming of another summer. I do wonder about seasons. I do remember the order of life…the beginning and the end and the beginning again. Though, somehow, it may not conjunct with what we have wanted to believe it to be.

Anyway, this summer will be spent remembering a name. Thoibi. And who knows: it may be a name, nobody wants to believe in?
I am a habitual serotine. I am late. I am late with everything. It took me for so long, so long, to call a name as Thoibi. This is a name sprinkled with the essence of truth and beauty. This has been always a name with profound opportunities. But with so many artificial ambiguities, I could not have conceived more than a mere word that sounds like a recursive abuse.

And the order is, I have able to save the name. Off course, I want to forget this name!

In between…

In between, a mackled strip continues to exist…I could not imagine having lost the very sight of my existence, though the acceptance of the fact is very much a daunting task for the soul. Sometimes, bereft with a sense of loss (obviously unknown) and the restrained (don’t know what), I tried to provoked myself to continue living. There are enough of malefactors, its life! There is no dearth of chances, this is also life! So, I tell myself thus: “Beware of yourself! Don’t listen to its fickle proclamation that life is not worth a pain.”

Look at the subsequent menologies:

1. Today, I am writing this piece of shit,
2. Wondering about all the possibilities of reading this piece with new morning, each day, and
3. Here are strong chances that I will yet again write another medley of words.

Then, I will try to see if its all clear in the welkin. No clouds.

Dreams!

Having survived a torrent of inconsequential rumors about me being death, today I conspire to live another day. Those rumors were ugly as myself and my life. They made feel me rather useless. But, still, I don’t think that worst is over, for I know I am still alive.
Unlike a living day, my dreams have all the clues about life. There were hardly any dream that didn’t unravel the hidden theme of life. In my dreams, I see myself as a strong person, making all the sacrifices that I can make. There, the sordid presence of my conscience alarms me and no more I am in dream. I have always wished to make some sacrifices towards life. Sometimes it seems superfluous talking about life and sacrifices, but the fact is that both broth.

The Fenced Wood (First Draft…First Installment)

Time stood standstill, yet the desire for the eternal servitude drives the lost soul for a lifetime. It was late in the night and little early for an early morning walk; she was alone seeking company in the mirage that reflects in the far away firmament, for she has never been part of it. A sudden rupture of emotional outburst compelled her to take a hiatus, a break from the daily routine of self-assessment. She did perform all sorts of self-awakening exercises, indeed, to reaffirm herself that she is still alive. That very moment, she wishes to halt a bit so that she could nourish her soul, again, so that she could count another moment as her own.

My dear, life, when it seeks unknown reasons to testify the living, many a gratitude seems minute and irrelevant to count. There, she was alone counting every single second and letting the moment pass by for the grandeur that we called life. In fact, she wanted to thank few. She wished to express her gratitude to all. But there were none. At times, it seems shadows were all she could communicate with!

And the usual glimmer that she got to see in the far away realm of fenced wood, looked like her lost companion. Though it has no definite shape yet it reflects an image that her heart yearns to see. Sometimes, the very sight seems forbidden for human senses. And it is only the heart that knows the recluse. Whenever got the chance, she tried hard to make a glimpse out of the outline so that she could conjure up her favourite image that she desperately wanted to see. But it was like imitating her lost faith. It hovered there, just a glimmer. May be that was the only glimmer of hope!

The fenced wood, that divides the gap between two lost worlds of her solitude and unbound prospect of companionship, never allowed her to settle down. It’s not that she didn’t try to make it more profound, but it never happened. Every now and then, the thirst for the unseen quest drove her inner self to becalm the senses; it was like embalming the decease and asking the body to react at every single thrust of the incisor. She was confused.

She still remembered the first meeting. She wanted and even tried to forget but the first meeting is first meeting, always. It lingers too long for a lifetime. It was indeed the flame that burnt her world. And she was still there among the debris, collecting bits and pieces of the past. And of course considering herself one amongst them! No complaints though. She knew it well that she allowed it to happened; and happen it for the worst. But deep inside her heart, the pain that culminates from the constant reminder of the separation resides heavily. It knows no sympathy and she knew no compromise. May be it played its part yet asking for more.

That day, nothing extraordinary happened. Morning was calm as usual and everything occurred to routine. May be extraordinary was waiting for its chance. While composing a note on the daily chores of being a lonely girl, she wanted to take a long walk and talk to herself.

Time was 5:00 in the evening, perfect for a lonely stroll. She did. Happy she was with herself, thinking a walk and little soliloquy will do wonders to her rather mundane life that barely produce sparks. The beauty of a burning flame and the occasional sparks that poke out randomly, that’s the sight she always wanted to see. A bonfire, she thought would be perfect for the evening and susurrus of falling leaves in the backdrop. Life, when alone, needs sparks and rhythm of heartbeat to rejuvenate it. Yes, the lull, the gap, the break, it all have their say. But what is life without occasional turbulences. This was how she consoled herself. And in her case, turbulence was, most of the time, not within her control. Now she was alone; being alone is also a form of turbulence that might engulf better part of the life. She talked to herself. Fire needs fuel. The very next moment she was collecting woods and unknowingly she was collecting fuel for a fire that she might not be able to douse in her lifetime. The moment was ripe and she was alone.

Something struck hard in her forehead. It was bleeding. It cannot be just another fortuitous accident. Blood cannot bleed by chance. Something has to disturb the flow, external or internal. Blood can ooze out, it can drain or even it can just drip. The rate may vary, but it’s for sure, the life giving fluid is leaving her at its own will.


(Will Continue…)

Now and Then!

Then,
I was a small kid,
With many a wish for playful evenings!
I had time and
Saw the Sun goes down
And the twinkling of stars;
Just before bedtime.
It all happened in a moment,
And today,
I am in the brink of another childhood
And wonder,
How long it will last?
Yesterday night;
It leant on my back,
And I did posed like a chiseled statue
In its pursuit for eternal recognition!
Much to the dismay of its own stature,
The seesaw
That saw children grow up
And withered with time,
Was leaning on me
And was crumbling by itself;
May be my childhood was tumbling again
Onto myself,
But not to sure about the changes it had brought upon,
With the changing of time:
Now,
The seesaw wants another shoulder to lean on!

Smell Of Flesh!

That was unusual:
The smell of flesh,
The sight of charred bodies,
And the numbed senses;
I hate that!
Some glorified paths
That followed whims of unknown fanatics,
And the sermons of reconciled souls;
It seems:
Everybody sees it and
Enjoyed the chagrin
To the lamentation of each day,
It seems:
Everybody repents knowing enough
The forbidden truth
That we ought not followed!
Today,
As I pray a while
All the roads lead to the temple of the Sorrow,
All the souls cry a curse for jealousy,
And in the midst,
I see chariots burnt to chars
And the God being heaved for religions.
I hate that.
My heart was pure
And body pious;
But today,
While I was praying,
Everybody cried:
“Bloodied hands,
And soaked cloak”,
And I couldn’t bow.
I shouldn’t favour the countenance,

But my heart said:
“You are still a kid
And kids don’t pray”.
But everybody swears by God!