Thursday, May 17, 2012
Something...
Music and alcohol together does something to you... It intoxicated you and adds a sense of surreal sensation everything slows down and transcends into a mirage... I am myself an illusion and I am as elusive as can be...
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Fan-ta-sea
It's called fantasy for a reason... Fanning the sea of possibility with one need - yours.
You imagine that it is within reach because all you think of is how it has happened and it continues to happen in your head. That's where it disconnects from reality...
And then you lose the grasp on reality and end up insane or you live on normally and give up the one most beautiful fantasy you wanted to come true.
You imagine that it is within reach because all you think of is how it has happened and it continues to happen in your head. That's where it disconnects from reality...
And then you lose the grasp on reality and end up insane or you live on normally and give up the one most beautiful fantasy you wanted to come true.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Just...
This should have stayed the fun blog that it was meant to be at the outset. The last few posts have been depressing and seem jaded. I have to confess that I have not been writing as often as I would have liked to and I’ve allowed the thought juices to rust for a while now.
There are so many things that are changing around me, it’s hard to catch my breath and sit down to document these happenings. There is so much to share but something seems to hold me back. All the drama is doing its theatrical best to amuse me but I have suddenly lost the fountain of enthusiasm for it. Maybe this is what is called growing older, not wiser, just older...
There are so many things that are changing around me, it’s hard to catch my breath and sit down to document these happenings. There is so much to share but something seems to hold me back. All the drama is doing its theatrical best to amuse me but I have suddenly lost the fountain of enthusiasm for it. Maybe this is what is called growing older, not wiser, just older...
Friday, July 8, 2011
Recycled
Is it new? Is it yours? Is it original? The thought? Was it a figment that sparked off your brain and is it yours alone? I wondered and toyed around with the idea of recycling, of mind, heart, head, brain, combinations, whatever!
Thoughts are like the clouds, fleeting and full of air or gas or water, they are never still, cannot be bottled and are a mixture of recycled water and air, the water we drink and the air we breathe are in the clouds and the water in the clouds is in us, just like our thoughts, recycled and flitting past the mind’s sky.
Thoughts are like the clouds, fleeting and full of air or gas or water, they are never still, cannot be bottled and are a mixture of recycled water and air, the water we drink and the air we breathe are in the clouds and the water in the clouds is in us, just like our thoughts, recycled and flitting past the mind’s sky.
What dies early?
Youth: It just slips past the fingers like grains of sand dust, swept away in the breeze…
Love: It grows and gushes and gnaws at such an erratic speed when it begins, the end is just inconceivable and it dies out in a rush of blank spaces before you know you have been hit and then run over brutally.
Romance: After all, romance is a fictional, whimsical representation of love…
Money: When it comes, it comes smelly and dirty and messes up your hands, when it goes it leaves behind the bitter, rancid stench of its trail, alive and etched in your memory, unwilling to fade.
Innocence: This one is a killer, even before you have the full pleasure of being in the blissful state of innocence, its brutally snatched away and replaced with the reality of understanding the truth, the obvious vicious world that is waiting to strike and kill the unarmed, unwilling innocence, dragging it into a bloody fight and not giving it a full chance.
Truth: It fades out in a flicker of reality as it succumbs to the eternal fire of lies and conceit, blended n with the deceitful charming ways of untruths.
Its honour, courage, virtue and principle that lasts. They stay on and if adopted and adapted grow on to strengthen the otherwise weak bonds of life, stitching in purpose and will.
Love: It grows and gushes and gnaws at such an erratic speed when it begins, the end is just inconceivable and it dies out in a rush of blank spaces before you know you have been hit and then run over brutally.
Romance: After all, romance is a fictional, whimsical representation of love…
Money: When it comes, it comes smelly and dirty and messes up your hands, when it goes it leaves behind the bitter, rancid stench of its trail, alive and etched in your memory, unwilling to fade.
Innocence: This one is a killer, even before you have the full pleasure of being in the blissful state of innocence, its brutally snatched away and replaced with the reality of understanding the truth, the obvious vicious world that is waiting to strike and kill the unarmed, unwilling innocence, dragging it into a bloody fight and not giving it a full chance.
Truth: It fades out in a flicker of reality as it succumbs to the eternal fire of lies and conceit, blended n with the deceitful charming ways of untruths.
Its honour, courage, virtue and principle that lasts. They stay on and if adopted and adapted grow on to strengthen the otherwise weak bonds of life, stitching in purpose and will.
Summer Saffron
It’s the colour of summer that’s like saffron, maybe even the smell. Or is it the other way around? I wonder if the monsoons are as inspiring now as they used to be.
I don’t know if I feel the same way though about rain, it has changed, the mad rush that drove me into the arms of any rain is now a more subdued, and I’ll stand and watch and cry along sort of feeling.
The depth and intensity have changed colour from summery saffron to a bleak indelible blotch of dull colour.
I don’t know if I feel the same way though about rain, it has changed, the mad rush that drove me into the arms of any rain is now a more subdued, and I’ll stand and watch and cry along sort of feeling.
The depth and intensity have changed colour from summery saffron to a bleak indelible blotch of dull colour.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Take away!
Real secrets are the ones hardest to keep.
The body yields to keep the heart, spirit and soul intact.
The body once broken, heals over months, the mind once broken, heals over decades.
Real agony lies not in pain, not in fear; it lies in the womb of agony.
Darkness is welcome to the dark soul and light is dreaded by the evil.
Life can laugh at twisted fate as hard as you can weep at it.
There is no great literature for true hate, it has no words.
A broken spirit is sensitive to the plight of its associates.
Tears quell when the music cries in unison with your sorrow.
The body yields to keep the heart, spirit and soul intact.
The body once broken, heals over months, the mind once broken, heals over decades.
Real agony lies not in pain, not in fear; it lies in the womb of agony.
Darkness is welcome to the dark soul and light is dreaded by the evil.
Life can laugh at twisted fate as hard as you can weep at it.
There is no great literature for true hate, it has no words.
A broken spirit is sensitive to the plight of its associates.
Tears quell when the music cries in unison with your sorrow.
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