Recent Favourites.

I don't know why, and I don't even understand a few words in this song, but it strangely feels very close to me. And, so does the video.

A particular permutation of words that touch a cord-

"Phir jee mein hai ke dar pe

Kisi ke pade rahein..."

This one is another recent favourite. The lyrics of the entire song are beautiful.

Midnight Dreams in Insomnia.

Take me further down, deeper into the steady stream of your hidden tears.

For, the white orb of the moon reflected in your welling eyes has never been more complete.

Let me travel this night with you in the dreamy swoon,

The very dreams that make your life a fantasy.

Let me, for once, after all these sleepless nights,

Feel the only thing that has ever made you smile,

that has ever made you cry,

that has ever managed to change the course of your life.

Take me deeper down the memory lanes,

And never let me know it is all just an illusion.

P.S. I do mean the words I use.

Of Preferences.

Contrary to what they say or mean, when I say, "Leave me alone," I actually DO mean that.

No company, not any type or sort, is welcomed.

(For, the only few companies that would be welcomed, as I know, would never show up).

I truly DO NOT like to cry in public. I hate to shed my tears in front of anyone. Be it the closest member of my family or friend circle. And that time (when I cry), is one of those "Leave me alone" moments. I don't like people asking "What's wrong?", "What happened?", "Why are you crying?".

For heaven's sake, can't they understand that if I did want to share it, I wouldn't have chosen to cry there all alone?

Nor do I like sharing my problems with people. For, as far as I have seen, no one ever understands the exceptions. I mean, sure, many would have the same issues as I do, but not many are upset about exactly the SAME nuances about the issue.

And when I do share my problems, it is never direct. It is always vague. Abstract.

I prefer talking Philosophy when I feel low, and highly appreciate it when the other person realizes that, and responds in a similar manner.

That's it. Too much information has been put out for one post. =/

The Last Dance.

Silent tears,
Stifled muffles.

Eternal longings.
Insomnia.

Purple pouches under the eyes.
Sore voice.

And once again, the heart beats.
And once again, within itself, it keeps.

Not love, at least not the romance.
It's the companionship, the platonic love, the last dance.

Caring words, or no words at all.
Just a feeling, a connection beyond earthy materials.

Wavelengths converging.
Reciting poetry in the late afternoon sun by the porch.

Warm mugs of black coffee.
Looking at the setting sun.

Arguing over the new moon and full moon.
Modifying rhyming lines.

Holding hands in the moonlight in the midst of long grasses.
Looking out together at that lone torch of light flickering in the distance.

Those are the dreams. Words are romance.
It's the companionship, the platonic love, the last dance.

pH Scale Reading: 14.999

The morning of November 3, 2011. This was the day.

Flashback:

A few days before the 3rd of November, I suppose, the 31st of October and the days that followed.

31st October:

Afternoon.

14:15 hrs. There was a screening of the film, The Exorcist. I'd always wanted to watch it, but never really got a chance. I'd read the novel, too.

I did watch it. And I liked it. Just as I'd liked the novel.

Note: I did not find it scary. I found it depressing. The same as in the case of the novel.

Later that night.


I finally read The Memory Maker by Cecelia Ahern. Just 40 pages.

I'd always known the title was appealing. So was the story.

Note: Made me cry. But, more than that, evoked memories, certain memories.

The following days:

Everything was the usual. Except, me. I wasn't talking to my mom. I wasn't willing to. I wasn't going out. I wasn't willing to. I wasn't reading anything. I wasn't willing to.

Note: This wasn't solely because of those two instances. But, they did trigger it.

2nd November, 2011:


Mom couldn't take it anymore.

"What happened? Why aren't you talking? Did The Exorcist hurt you that much?"

I just nodded my head.

Note: Sometimes, just sometimes, Pretension is better than cure.

3rd November, 2011:


I finally opened up. Not completely, but at least, quite much. To her.

And she heard me. She advised me. She enlightened me.

Yes, it is true that I'd always known it, deep down. I just needed someone (even me), to remind me of it.

My friends asked me that day, "How are you?"

And I replied, "Phenomenal!" (Actually meaning it).

"What led to this?"

"A realization that I was capable of creating phenomena." :)

"Your answers are always vague."

Note:  Never judge a person by his past.



"Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
     Is our destined end or way;
 But to act, that each to-morrow
     Find us farther than to-day."

P.S. Found yet more scraps of memories. Others' memories.

A strip of negative film on the roadside. I picked it up. There were pictures of a child's birthday party.

A dried up rose (on the roadside, yet again. :) ). Picked it up, too.

Now that's Sadism. (Completely intended, of course).

Their families were in dispute
Love among enemy lines?
And they couldn't take any more
Especially, her.

One new moon night
Riding on a horse
He came wandering
For her.

And there she lay
Cold and still
A dark-glassed bottle
Lying beside her.

He couldn't take it
He decided, too
Grabbing the bottle,
Wanting to be with her.

And she awoke
A wild happiness in her eyes
"I exchanged the bottle!
I exchanged the bottle!"

Outside and Inside

The late evening sun
casts its rays through those iron bars
The marble of the window pane
Lights up in portions.

The occasional crunch
of the dry leaves
Under weary feet
startles the pensive cat.

Shimmers of gold
Light up the bare white ceiling
A reflection from the spilled water
On the mosaic-tiled floor.

Kids run out to play
while parents return home
everything is the usual
except, it's cold.

Gingered tea in the white porcelain cup
the windows are still wide open
the crescent of a moon
manifesting along with the setting sun.

A light, sudden breeze
flyaway leaves, gold
everything is the usual
except, it's cold.

The Lost Wing (A Ballad)

It was as if it was meant solely for me
To find that beautiful vestige of a beautiful creation
For, I am sure it had been there for a while
Waiting for salvation.

A clipped wing of a butterfly
Whole, yet incomplete
A sign of violent sadism
Or perhaps, just a disaster from destiny.

It marked sorrow and death, true
But the colours hadn't yet faded
I considered myself lucky
For I had found something priceless, something that couldn't be graded.

And so, like a fascinated kid
I handled it with care
And took it with me
Away from its past nightmares.

I truly believed it was no coincidence
And somehow, for me, a clipped wing gave hope
Perhaps, the universe wanted to lend a wing
To protect, to hold.

I considered pasting it to my diary
But, I shunned away the thought
For, although I wanted to preserve it
I didn't want my decisions to become a bondage.

Thus, I preserved it, the last page of my diary its home
I still felt so proud, so lucky
But, today, when I wanted a glimpse of hope
It turned out I was to face an empty page.

Lost was that wing, the hope from nature
Not even its print on the page
But, what is bittersweet, is
It finally was free, hopefully now, flying in solace.

The Lost wing.
The Lost hope.

The Free wing.
The Free hope.

Understanding Art.

"Would you like to take a pain killer?"

"Ahh. You do not understand. For, it is another pain that ails me much more, presently."

"Another pain?"

"Yes. A pain deep down in the recesses of the mind. Manifested only in supposed art."

"Then why don't you manifest it now?"

"Don't you see? My speech in itself is art."