You are the very worst of humans I’ve seen so far. Or probably the best. Everyone you touch is set free from their doubts and is put on their path of redemption. Seeing how you are, they see how much better their own lives are. They see you and they see you are not what is missing in their lives. And their lives are saved.
What then is wrong with me? Why does it also not happen to me? Am I so strong that my first instinct upon seeing you is not to run in the opposite direction, but to stay and fight and destroy myself in the process? How then, am I still alive, after your fatal touch? Am I so rooted in my faith, or is it just my madness that instead of how you would’ve had it, me walking away, my love for you has only grown stronger? What is this, is it just the craziness in me that makes me believe that in my ruin, with you, is only how I’ll find my redemption?
Tell me to run, or I don’t know, I’ll kill us both. You never wanted anything serious…
I am just realizing that I’ve had a hole in my heart for a very long time. It didn’t fill up with the time that has passed, like I had thought earlier it would, and now i know it never will until I fill it myself. Stuff it with all the discarded waste in the world, from sawdust, rusk, vegetable peels, wasted bones from the butcher’s shop, dead bodies from wars, and all this will never have made any sense to me, how i’ll know, it will never be enough, and I will need to always press in more and more, if need be, barbarically jump on the filling and jump until everything is well in place until there is no more place for anymore stuffing, then pour cement over it. This hole i speak of, angry and obstinate, hungers for more, eats everything thrown in it, like a drainage basin, always empty. Sub holes, now, that i need to worry about. But can I? Don’t i already know where the holes all lead to? I need to die. Then the sea will finally fall quiet. And the howling beasts’ cries will begin to fade….
There was a meadow of flowers, in the middle of a wide-stretched wilderness, sitting atop a hill almost forgotten, waiting to be discovered by me. It was bound by barbed wire, thick and rusty, where spiders nestled. I was hungry and cold, having lost my way.
Then I broke my way through the last of the brambles, I was brought face to face unto this heaven of wild flowers, just by the mere sight of which I was rejuvenated, in the bliss of which, I realized even though I didn’t have shears to cut through it was enough.
This sight of exotic temporal beauty would last only until sundown and I’d have to leave them before that and head off on my way. But, for the moment, while I sat so close to the meadow with my fingers nearly long enough to caress a flower or two, my being lost…
There is a beautiful reserved forest area in north Delhi, a wild area that has been caged within the national capital city-state of Delhi. Although it’s usually too crowded by commuters and university students, the Kamala Nehru Northern Ridge still in its vastness provides you the joy of solitude, if you take the road less trodden on. I can assure you, in this wilderness you will not get lost!
We just laughed and we laughed.
Until we were bored of typing 😀 smileys,
and we started to fight.
Things started going down the drain
and my brain too started walking drunk,
you know going left and right.
I know this is bad poetry.
But haha, I hope,
at least if you would’ve seen it,
it would’ve made you laugh.
I am laughing, too.
But you have me blocked.
Things really shut down
between all those laughter riots
and our amateur jamming sessions,
Why then, don’t I still have the heart
to erase those .wmv’s we recorded?
Maybe because, like day after night
and night after day,
after you left,
my beautiful mind has gone just haywire.
Stuck there, and my day still dawns at dusk.
So extreme, they were,
our insane sciencey discussions,
the earth stopped upon its axis,
that glazed winter froze,
the minute you were gone,
and life is like a glass ball,
filled with gel and glitters,inside which
the Princess now dances alone
amongst twirling magnificent snow flakes.
All night long.
This time, my trip took me off as high off into the mountains as well as brought me into the floodplains of the valley. I found myself at Rishikesh, the holy city of the Hindus, where I witnessed the Kaanvad Festival of Lord Shiva, in the month of Shravan. The temples
There’s something about the “togor phul” (gardenia) and monsoon rainstorms, that leaves summer mornings around this corner of the world, incomplete. Sitting in my backyard, under the rain-shedding roof, the air, wet with the suffusive watery fragrance conquering the senses consolingly, taking slow sips of sweet mango pulp, your life feels complete, and whole in a way you can settle for, for eternity.
This scares me. I have to get away. I have miles and miles (maybe thousands of ’em to go) before I sleep.