Hope

A thought. A feeling. A want. A wish. A desire. A need. An emotion that can be emoted.

Just cross your fingers and close your eyes.

Just a letter

There are times when we humans get angry and start emailing our dissatisfaction like randomness of a stallion on plains of Savannah. We hardly realize how much pain and agony we are costing to others, most of the time we are selfish and most of the time we are just humans. But we are what we are - nevertheless. I guess that is what makes us so vulnerable to tears and so vulnerable that we are not phoenix. We hardly understand why we cannot rise from the ashes and be re-born again. And I guess we can never understand. The beauty of angry and the charisma of reconciliation is worth the feeling. We can never forget and hence we can never forgive. We try too hard to forget and we try much harder to forgive. We cant. There is molecule within us, which is selfish, ego-centric and which somewhere defines the persona within our personality. That is the molecule we all want to discover and sometimes - invent.

Mute

There are times when you are mute - unable to talk or voice your opinion - sometimes its good and sometimes its not - rest of the time its just wise not to say anything and have a silent opinion, because there would be time and space when you shall have your last say !

Moon.

everyone wants the moon but its a cold hard airless arid place.

Worries-Xmas-Y-ZZzzz

There are times when you get bugged for the shower not working, silly toothpaste getting twisted from middle, your favorite shirt in the laundry, your shoes unclean, the missing cufflink or like a lost tie.

Oh how I wish I would be more bothered about wars, global recession, warming or cooling or emerging economics ... Hmm. Maybe I should just be bothered about my job right now or lack of it.

Wishing you all Merry X'mas and a fabulous year ahead.

Much Love

There are times when you think is it all worth at the end. But then there are so many things which are not worth of and obviously not worth for ! So why do we try and by trying I mean - why do we hope, dream, sweat, analyse and ofcourse over analyse every simple and single situation or world-event at large ?

Are we being unrealistic dreamers - dreamers of beautiful life; or are we just humans who hope for a dream - a dream for a beautiful life ?

Winter

I was busy being single - until winter came along

Penny

Have you ever thrown a penny in something so divine that it grants your wish and says that you shall get all what you desire for? If yes, then you need to go to Verona and keep your hand on Juliet's heart and wish for eternal love. Maybe, it might come true. And if that happens and you are unhappy with it, go to Fontana di Trevi in Rome and toss three coins in the water for they mean your desire for a divorce.

I wish life was that convienent- a penny here and a penny there. A wish here and an un-wish there.

hmm.err

And why have I stopped writing .. no clue at all !!

4:18 am

It is 4:18 am here in this remote little Italian town. I wonder why am I awake ?

Sometimes you are just awake - just for the sake of being awake - I wonder why do we do that ?

Hmm

What would happen if I just disappeared one day ? !

- a thought extracted from one of the pages in my diary in 1999. Weird year that was, now as I think about it.

Acceptance - Robert Frost

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.

Reluctance - Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last long aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

Eyes

Some drops from the rooftop. Seamlessly they fall down on my hand. The goosebumps collectively accumulate them locking them in some kind of beaver's dam. I watch the drops grow, from a molecule to a bucketful of chasteness. The afternoon sun mixed with pseudo-twilight remembrance. Mumbai. It looks so beautiful in rains. Like grotesque yet beautiful orgy of wine and cheese. Like arms of solitude together creating something beautiful. Facelessness. I watched it all. Sipping very drop of my memories. I observed it with glimmer-less eyes. They have sunken deep into the craftiness of my mind.

Green. Brown. Translucence. Mischievous. Discreet. Maybe these were the few words which transformed into adjectives of forlorn trajectory of insane motions and emotions. The drops incessantly glimmered in his eyes. I could see the evolving pattern of colors those which reflected from the raindrops and refracted inside his eyes. I could see myself within those confinements. I could see myself getting trapped. I could see myself struggling. I could see myself drowning into ocean of green algae impregnated with unfathomable waters.

A dream with a dream - Edgar Allen Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep - while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

I am not Yours by Sarah Teasdale

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love - put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Quote

" You are nice guy. But I cannot date you. "

Mice are Nice. Try Rat henceforth !

Rabbit

I had two choices : Either kiss Alice or fall down the rabbit hole. I just flipped a coin. And I fell down the rabbit hole, well the ground beneath was not merciful at all.

Just some thoughts

The world inside me moved slowly; like saline drips of harvested rain water; like seeds of a forbidden fruit; like cotton shreds of torn pillow; like water from sky which never transformed into pious white snow. The world inside me moved slowly, yet steadily.

I sat wondering about commas and semi-colons, I placed them within my whims and fancies; they called them illogical and I said it was my world and I would stop, pause or even take a breath at my own leisure space of time. I wouldn't care less about grammar and I was definitely forbidden to care about alien things of Latin derivation.

The world inside me churned slowly; like placid lake in wake of storm; like sheets of bed unturned from causal caresses of wilderness; like sprouts in soiled earth; like moths on my bedside lamp which never transformed into beautiful alluring butterflies.

I slept on it. I slept over my thoughts, I placed them within thin frames and subjected them to judicious awakenings. I wouldn't care less about the righteous or vices of the origin of my generation and I was definitely forbidden by my own self to judge the species to which I belong.

Are these just thoughts or is it a case of upset stomach ?

I wonder and I guess I am hungry all over again... or maybe, not.

Vows

The naive seed of strawberry drips slowly as it falls down from the floor above, like a dew drop from heaven; the sweet smell of nectar and like an obsession of an angel. And I hear the sirens of the road and a chasing ambulance, while your car tows behind it.

I hugged your blood which left a reminiscence of you on my white shirt. I caressed it and held it tight. The lights from the needed grace of yours spoke to me and as you sleep in peace, I felt the pain inside me. The torn dreams of ours, chased by these vehicles of insanity. Wish this would have never happened. Hoped that door should have been never closed.

The wooden planks busted apart and the street lights went amok. I could hear the first siren and I could hear the last honking of your car; the silence followed in my heart after the last breath. The song played as I ran on the street; I ran and ran, till I found the last piece of metal on the lane.

Let's play it all over again and I promise it would never be the same. The doors would not have been shut and the siren would have never chased your car. If I would lied, this would have never happened, I would have never shown the angelic doors. All I want and all I ask, to hear your voice. The blurred words of yours drowned in the mist of this night. I heard a faint sound from the church, which seemed so distant. And I heard my vows. I was still running and I couldn't feel my legs and I wrenched my heart and cursed God.

I do not know what happened next; for I would never know - what happened next.

I see myself sitting on the wheelchair and I could barely feel my limbs. It is the heart which I talk to and its my mind that hears to it. It is lonely inside. It is lonely to be alone. All I could see is the green meadow that surrounds this place.

It is green and somewhere I think ... I hear our vows and I want to hear them again ... and again.

3 hours more

Few Final hours.

21:00

Milan

(500)

I love her smile. I love her hair. I love her knees. I love how she licks her lips before she talks. I love her heart-shaped birthmark on her neck. I love it when she sleeps.

I hate her crooked teeth. I hate her 1960s haircut. I hate her knobby knees. I hate her cockroach-shaped splotch on her neck. I hate the way she smacks her lips before she talks. I hate the way she sounds when she laughs.

(500)days of summer

SNC

“When you're young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun. Then, you grow up and learn to be cautious. You could break a bone or a heart. You look before you leap and sometimes you don't leap at all because there's not always someone there to catch you. And in life, there's no safety net. When did it stop being fun and start being scary?”

Carrie Bradshaw : Sex and the City

Walk

Blisters. Small. Rage. Violent. Cellular debris inside. Composed. Unresolved. Hustling in fury. Singular. Multiple. Layers of skin. Membrane. Soft. Supple. Discourteous.

He had walked for miles. And he didn't come across his road. It was a long walk. From dawn to dusk and from twilight to orange bright lights. He walked for miles. From south glaciers to northern peaks, from white sands to ebonite glory of land of dry grasses, from glorious brookes to unresolved oceans. He had been walking for miles. And more miles he intended. Simple journeys. Precarious pleasures. He wanted to see all these. He had visited lot of districts and saw small towns all across - far and wide, he made love to many and broke their hearts when he left. He wanted more. He wanted to be their god. He chased worship, he excelled in workmanship. Simple logic. Veracious game.

The discourteous supple membrane broke and hustled in fury, invading him with cellular debris; raging. He was infected and he continued to walk. And he intended to walk more miles..

The Saturday Morning

The deep shades of the blossom
The longing road to innocence
The alluring sight of autumn
The frosty chilly windy winter
The cloud cluster
The fog and the mist luster
The brown jacket
The wet hair
The torn denims
The bare within.

I was walking alone
On this Saturday morning …

Re-posted :23th December 2006