love for originality.

like the morning without its sun
or the green grass sans mist
life which is a borrowed expression
is nothing but zilch.

books with shiny firm pages
cars with gleam and luster
"Want me and Desire me"
they ll seduce your eyes.

your fidelity will find its smug corner
sitting under a confident veneer
to keep u sane
u ll always remain the same

just like the lives that are lived
without any invention without any regression
imitating the animals
happy with procreation

on the last page of your diary
there will be the question
if i existed
how i imagined?

Where everything belongs.

its taken a whole lifetime
the time left has no meaning
i have never felt this distracted
this atttracted

i seek the potion
bursting out in slow motion
the shrub is not an entity
its mother natures bounty

pupils are dilated
like a black hole sedated
there is rhythm in everything
my bloodstream is a symphony in making

my feet is bare
conscious is rare
the wetness in my soul
the sun the moon
want a share

my hairs are entwined
like the catkins on a vine
gush of air
through each pore in my skin

i ask the skies and whatever lies beyond
to let me be
i am sinking to where i belong
at the center of earth
its just me and gravity
and infinite mirth.

Metaphors. They are a culprit.

Elated was he when,
he felt he found the perfect escape,
for the first time in his life,
which, until now, had been full of strife.

Little did he know,
about the seeds he was about to sow,
of love, of attachment, of obsession,
toward her,
toward the only source of his compassion.

He could see it,
more convincingly,
he could feel it,
because his story was being re-written,
in which each day was different,
each day was morning, afternoon, evening and night,
filled with fun, excitement and blissful delight.

Nothing else could be more real,
when he hunted for the man in her eyes,
it was only he,
the hero he always wanted to be.

She saw things likewise,
because he was the man from one of her dreams.
she thanked God in her prayers,
for being the most kind,
she was happy to be with the man she believed she could never find.

Her voice was only mellifluous,
the dulcet tones made him wonder,
how could anyone be so enchanting?
because he believed what she spoke,
came from her inside.

He would tell her day and night,
that she means the world to him,
which she was only glad to know,
the meaning of her being.

Both were on an emotional high,
full of love it was full of craze it was,
full of pleasant pain it was.
It was new it was a beautiful novelty.

But it couldn't be permanent,
cz their emotions had reined in their imaginations,
with concocting wishful metaphors,
each lost in their own worlds.

They had trusted each other,
of knowing one another.
but what they could only know,
was the best each had got to show.

And with time came a certain restlessness,
each thought how long could the play sustain?
and came along the insecurities,
the dark side shone bright.

Every passing minute made them realize,
that it was time to say goodbye,
and learn a lesson for life.
its not advisable to play with metaphors,
because metaphors made them believe in their own stories,
the stories which were different from one another,
and from reality.

saturday night

what a funny weekend. A group of 3 guys getting lucky with stranger wannabe girls. So its saturday evening and i along with 2 of my liquor hungry mates turn up infront of a bar for a good time with beer and music and IPL. But to our dismay we are informed by the man at the door that "only guys" not allowed. They were lucky that we werent a bunch of section 377 beneficiaries else they could have got their asses kicked and branded (or maybe carressed) by their highnesses(the local bobby darlings).We were just very normal guys who at that moment realized how important it is to have a girl.
If you are with a girl, u can "be my guest". If you aren't, then "sir come around 10pm and i'll try and see if i can get u in". Anyway we didnt have any hopes and were either pulling long faces a moment laughing at the humor the whole situation had created. Because suddenly, between the three of us, girls seemed like extra honour credits in a crappy engineering subject, or a discount food(only passion we follow and the sole sin we commit) coupon. Certain need and purpose was felt in the existence of girls. A moment of great revelation and realization.
And just when we looked across the distant dark street, 4 girls and a guy were walking in our direction. The girls looked good. Good clothes. make up done well. Tresses up with the trends. For a moment we didn't know what to feel. We were just looking. But to me, i was reminded of the many times in my life that i had truly thanked god for saving my ass. There i saw not 4 girls and a guy, i saw 4 couples! Lottery tickets! And oh they had passed us while i was lost in a reverie. I turned around and made a mock jog toward the walking tickets and struck a conversation with the watchboy(yes, the guy with the girls). I asked him to do us a favor and in no time we were inside the bar making ourselves comfortable when one of the girls made a remark, "theres no dance floor here...lets go to some disc..cant we go to some disc?"
Boy oh boy! This liaison between two stranger groups was becoming more dynamic in existence and in purpose! Now not only we needed them, but we were about to be used as well! Soon we were packed in our car and heading for a disc, like a cat on a prowl. Out of pure amazement one of us called in our 4th partner in crime(unfortunately, the chap doesnt drink) and he joined us too. Now we were 4 couples and a stag. So we squared in on one hep disc and got our wrists stamped. And then there was no track of time. Only a hazy picture runs through my mind, we are sitting on the sofas, then we have drinks in our hands, then we are dancing, then the girls are dancing, then we are drinking and the girls are dancing. Us drinking them dancing. All of us dancing. Us drinking them drinking. Us watching them drinking and dancing. drinking and dancing. Phone ringing. The sober one out of us reminded us that it was time and we should be heading out. Which made complete sense cz we had to return to our homes while the girls and the watchboy, who were college students from dehradun, were on a trip to "chill out and hang out and have a good time".
We got more than what we wanted. We were in company of girls and didn't have to listen to even one word that escaped their rattling tongues. We got to drink and we got to watch em dance. We also caught up with IPL. Only that the music was so loud that made our retinal fluids a liltte wobbly and it was hard to read the figures describing the match score.
We headed out for a coffee shop. After getting us a cup of hot coffee each, we were sober to drive back home.
As long as there are wannabe bimbos who believe life is about "chilling and having a good time", we can always look forward to a great entertaining evening!
Wonderful arrangement.

Nostalgia. Or Nostalgie. A Feeling we all are familiar with.

Nostalgia. Or nostalgie. When he revisits his past, he feels nostalgic. It also refers to the part when he constantly and many times sub consciously draws patterns between his past and present events. That is when his present takes him back to the past. It also comes with introspection. When he is reflecting on something. Or evaluating his present, he is incessantly, ceaselessly, tirelessly mapping his here and now to where and when. Thats nostalgia.

Coincidences, i.e. the experiences having an abstract pattern intelligible to his sentience and not necessarily his conscience. Or empirically proven events but which also are elusive and allusive in a very sly and exciting manner, they arouse him. They are like the spirit embalming his seething passions, setting them ablaze like a flambe . Days and nights pass by while he is lost in a reverie. Pleasant or unpleasant, he loses contact with the trivialities like sadness or happiness, achievement or despair, kinship or aloofness, instead he is in contact with a different transcendental realization, it feels as if he can look past an azure firmament. Thats nostalgia too.. It makes every bit of what stands motionless across him, look like what it looks like through the looking glass. Nostalgia is when he gets up every morning and recollects anything that he can associate with, anything that tells him who he is. If he is not nostalgic, will he forget who he is? Will he be over his past? A distant past. The curse of nostalgia will hold him back.

Right now he is thinking if nostalgia defines him, then tomorrow when he gets up and recollects what he did the same time a day ago, and realizes that he had assimilated the happenings of the penultimate day, which was essentially the recollection of the day before that. But suddenly he is nostalgic about the many times when he got up and did'nt have a clue of what he is doing. If he is nostalgic about too many things, he ll be a different person at different times. Thats how Nostalgia defines him. Maybe it defines all of us.

a newfangled something.

Listening to songs picked up randomly. Very ardently pushing the shuffle button. Because that makes it a little curious as to which song will come next? which memory will be flashed before the eyes(of the mind and the heart) throughout the length of the mystery song? Thats how i have been spending many past nights.

Sleep doesnt come easily at night. Shit doesnt come easily in the morning. Life doesnt come so easily during the whole day. My actions have lost their timing. Time has paced ahead of me, slipping down a rudimentary idea in my reluctant palms, a newfangled something.