UnderstandingYou-

You explored and rummaged,
Piles and mounds, of dirt and rubble.
Of lies and deception, and of truth and tales.

Where did you lose that perspicacity?
When was it that all your grey cells evaporated?
Wasn't it enough wading recurrently through the swamp?

But the island of spring in all that mist seemed enticing.
The mere notion of a blissful swim and subsequent repose.
A chance de novo, a shot, hope and a prayer.

And you jumped into the realm of pretense.
Airy and dense, thrilling and mesmerizing.
Just smiled and died a thousand deaths.

You stared them into a quiver and a tumult.
The Pinkdom was all at merry unease and inquietude.
Till the very same old grey seeped in, sure standstill.

A seism, alarm bells, and trepidation.
The island of spring now seems vicious and malevolent.
Mercenaries, pirates, pillagers, narrow characters.

You disintegrate and weepingly lament the carnage.
Unvarying conduct and overlooking of premonitions.
For them divinity intervenes in perpetuum.

Tolerance is not a trait you're endowed with.
Untrammeled are the actions of this self.
Attempt at comprehending your desires.

Observe and cognize, till the skies are pink again.
Applaud the TLC and the regard before it pales.
Shrug it all off just now and later dissolve in the rain.


The dwarfy and precarious, stand tall and resolute.

SlippingBack-

It is a disorder, this conviviality of yours.
True is the notion, "present mirth hath present laughter".

And you must cash in on the 'opportunities',
Else the bell will toll, and long it will toll,
Till you to your previous delitescence return.

You abhor the actions taken by them.
But your ballgame too, is carried out unorthodoxly.
Loss. And caustic are their shows of farce.

Encircled one, struck off another.
Ignored the mediocre and the unseemly.
A profusion of options and a cataclysm.

Bereft of life is the bird since the sunny days.
The bright beady eyes and the capable wings.
You're almost pushing daisies now.

So try and fly, with all your might.
Smile and seduce, rock and run.
You are meant for fretting and impairing.

Gain and collect. Solace and security,
Their veneration and yearning.
The painstaking efforts taken to confess.

And like a name on a list, selected.
Only to endure for a short pink while.

Reviling the flippancy.

Ennui-

It is a deathless cycle, forever in nature.
You can't displace the beliefs that govern your very being.

A new face, a new high.
A new start, a new experience.

A new low.
A new end.

The transition is now faster than ever.
But you try to tighten your grip.

And you try to feel.
You try to rise above it all.

No schemes, just serendipity?
Monotony and misery?

"We'll see", time will resolve all constraints.
They make you unsure of what you want.

"Maybe", time will determine the course of action.
But you are not one to relinquish.


Not even time can be given that kind of power.

Prescience-

The moonlight nimbly cascaded into the room.
It gently caressed the silent figure that stood there.
The silhouette that faced the portrait of a rose.
In a reverie, it was falling and languishing.

A gust of wind, and the windows blew open.
Fresh air gushed in, but brought with it no respite.
Droplets fell on the marble pane,
and a stream flowed down the wall.

Wintry cool breeze sent shivers down the self.
Feet planted, eyes fixed and arms hung at either side.
The aching bosom heaved and the figure shook with a sigh.
Forever, the rose would retain its beauty.

But what would become of you?
A resolute and firm countenance depicts fortitude.
So too does a determined and stern one.
Can you let the elements determine your happenstance?

Break and fall away from the portrait.
The being strived to stay above the surface.
Brighter was the moonlight now and it exposed the figure.
Darkness fled and the bare form stood unmasked.

The rose looked down at the simple self.
As the flame wavered and the candle blew out,
the clouds thundered and sent forth sentiments of malaise.
Foreboding was the witching hour.

Shadows danced around the figure, ridiculing it.
But it stayed fixated upon the flower's evermore contentedness.
Even the winds of change cannot undo the done.

And the self knew.

BeingTorpid-

This is taking you far away,
away where you don't even laugh or cry.

Deafening silence.

Still are all the broken shards.
Shards covered in the injuries they have caused.
Motionless fragments of beautiful glass,
that were caught in a whirlwind of tragedy.

Awakened slumber.

Begin again, start anew, rewind it all, you yearn uselessly.
Regrets will just bereave you of tomorrow.

Vanish into nothingness sorrows of yesteryear.

Accumulated emotions take flight into the vastness.

Blinding reality.

Yet again you find yourself in shambles.

So you invoke the wrath of God upon them.

The latent fiend is quick to resurface.

It brings with it seas of irascible grievances.

Loud echoes.

Shut them out. Refresh the chapter. Feign complacency.

Exuberance, gaiety, fireworks and rainbows.

Pink for now.

Sunbright-

A profusion of thoughts and a flurry of ideas,
But you've run out of ink to pen them down.
Just when the precipitancy of your wishes is infinite too.

You start to misrecollect.
What. Think. Think again.
Come back.
Vanished?

You engage in excogitation, anticipating an ephiphany.
Cri de coeur!
Voices in agony; Please let us not forget.
We have come this far.

Alas, you have come out too far.
But the stars are brighter here, the moon bigger, the colors better.
And you could be happier.
Do you take it all and justify thoughtlessness?

Let the corporeality of your soul not be an impediment.
"You're going to catch a cold, from the ice inside your soul".

They will stab you, cut you, open you, then examine you.
Only to understand that minute yellow speck in the core.

And they won't.

Won'tBeTheLastOfYou-

So you won't take a bow.
You feel that the winds will change direction.

A smile.
And walls made of cobwebs are deconstructed.
It's been a while now since you plunged.
The darkness is astounding.
It hides them all.

So you envelope yourself in the assortment.
Shrouded in the richness of grime.

Disembarrass yourself.
Effulgent will be your demeanour, promise.

A nod.
And the glaciers of incongruity melt.
It's been some time since you looked. 
There is no vision for miles.
Reassuring is the sound of your thoughts.

After all, you're just as enterprising.
And you just won't let it get over.

AboutYourself-

It's funny.

You can write about him, her, and them too.
But when it comes to writing about yourself, you can find no words.

How is it that you know yourself best and yet you know nothing about yourself?
Do you need a mirror in front of you while you write?
Or perhaps a song playing in the background?

After all, you do tend to relate to most songs. They depict your very life.

Do you realise how odd it is talking to space?
More odd is talking to strangers about yourself.

They say you tend to talk to strangers about yourself when you feel estranged.
No one cares. You don't either. You're selfish. You don't want to listen but you want to be heard.

It's funny.
You can talk about him, her and them too.
But when it comes to talking about yourself, you can find no voice.

And it's scary.
You have so much to say.
But you're running out of time.

Don'tYouForgetAboutMe-

Will you walk on by like they don't exist?

Their faces form an aide memoire, yet you won't recall.

You want their love and their hate, be their raison d'etre?

Tis but an easy task, being pensive in front of the scornful.

And the commoners are not fooled by your astute ways.

Pretty pink things, fancy sweet talk, zeal and excitement.

Everything is to be spoken of with great vehemence.

See, they must believe you.

So you become a mere 'brick in the wall' in this pinked up world.

Yes, sweet remembrance for you always. And forever.

But it is a matter of time and not enough of it. Fait accompli and you can go back no more.

Let your self not pass you by?

There is only so much you can do to quell another and then avoid being trampled on in return.

Atleast you were thought about.

C'est la vie

01-01-11

You're irresolute. And enveloped in depravity.

There is no end to your lies.

You lie to your mirror. The thought of being relinquished sends shudders down your spine.

After all, you've never been alone. Who can even survive alone?

Now that kinda existence is just absurd.

The sand pours down as you try to think about the right answer. Is there even a right answer?

Slow it down.

It has changed. There can be no answer.

That's just ludicrous.

There's always an answer.

But you're a liar. And it makes your soul gray. Your reflection wavers at your very sight.

Morality is just a value. It is rather discomfiting.

You appeal to your self to eschew the truth.

There is an answer.

It is the origination, of an impasse.

Acquiescence-

You know something is amiss when you start expecting an opaque figure to reflect.

It is when you ignore the reality and converse with the deaf. And dumb.

You drowned even though you knew how to swim.

No struggle, and you let go.

And now the sea is full of corpses, just like yours.

Did you fear repudiation? Was it self abnegation? Or were you simply scared of being obliterated?

"All of those things", you answer in a tone of complacent resignation.

But you will never be exonerated.

AndTheyWillWalkAllOverYou-

Aren't you the able one. With your head set straight, your goals all aligned.
You know what you want. Or you think you do anyway.
They come to you for counsel. And what do you know?
They love you. For now.
Are you happy?

No?

You're wretched-pretentious, giving them a piece of that divine chocolate cake you made, making them all euphoric. All at once.
Is that even possible? How do you do it?
Did you leave some one out? Oh well then. That one will just have to endure the neglect outside the Pinkdom till the priorities change.

Or wait. Do your priorities even change? It's all about the rainbow over the hills is it not?

They'll just go away if they're meant to. Or else they'll stay.
It's always fun and amusement you're after. Did you ever stop to think?

So think. Like they all do. Try, being one of them.

Oh. Can't find your way back to the campsite? The smouldering coals.
Abandoned.

Comfortable in the uncomfortable. At peace in a storm.
Stable in being unstable?
Yeah.
You'll persevere. Be disconsolate. Then crumble.
Doormat.

X&O

An omnipresent state of mind it could be.
Do good.
And you must. Because not doing so will just discombobulate them.

You can have everything, if you want it.
But what good is it? Don't think.
It is a fine state of mind, you can live with it till it's not.

But stay true.
And you must. Because they will reconnoitre the being for further attacks.
Go through your soul like a narcissist in a mirrored maze.

Back and forth. Till you shake. Crash, then fall.

Oh descried. Coup de grace.
So you exist no more.

YouHearButYouDon'tListen-

You're such a douche. To me and everyone around you.

It's that scheming brain. Forever opportunistic. You're ugly.

I'd push you off a cliff if I got the chance. Maybe when you have your back to me.

My only fear is that I might miss you after the deed is done.

The Self. After all is said and done. Soulless.

Summer-ing.

So finally I had the time to blog about it all. I've been sleeping late at night and wakin into the noon of the next day...watchin movies, three to four in a day...

what bliss....
and what a waste...

I'm becoming a 'nocturnal creature' of sorts and don't know if i like it much. I want to intern somewhere. Maybe it'll make me more active. I need a proper routine. Everything is too random. Need to plan.

So finally I had the time to blog about it all. And yet I haven't done much to blog about.


xoxo