Morale - Yesteryear Gifts !!!

Seems good times were long ago. Even a struggle is something prior to a good time. These years - they are fully empty, and life just is going on. Some of the lessons that the past good years left for me:-

This year I have met with all joy and sorrow, success and failure, friendship and hostility. All the way this year, even met with the vulgar things in my life. Yet I have always thought and practiced to be right and do right. I can survive and succeed with such thoughts. I shall come out of the hell of the things stopping me. I shall win. I swear I won't stop until I reach my destiny. My mistakes, my sentiments or my emotions do not contribute anything to my destiny. Only my urge, my efforts!

Success in my life has begun.

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Pains and pleasures are the important and equal part of life. They are meaningless without one another. If there is no pain, we cannot EXPERIENCE pleasure. Pains are not pains; they are troubles neither.They are tests to make our head work. Pains mold us and make us acquainted with all parts of life. I have learned to accept pain. Because I DO NOT WANT TO TASTE THE FRUIT WITHOUT CLIMBING THE TREE.

But pains alone slow down the pace in our lives. So let God, henceforth, give me the power to win all the obstacles in life. Let the year and years ahead shower me with the grace of God, give me a healthy body, stable clear mind with pleasant and pure thoughts, and all powers to win future endeavors.

Praying for a peaceful world altogether.

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A span of 365 days (and also every day spent) teaches a person something very useful to his life. I had lived a proud life; taking too much pride of my health, forgetting the ways to keep it safe. This span in my life has taught and warned me to be safe with health. I always was proud of my qualification and profession, neglecting the thoughts of a jobless life. This span has taught me how to be patient and inert in the worst times, and how to bear the disturbances from the society and surrounding. What I was taught, what I have learned is my armour for the life ahead. Bless me!

The Drought !!!

Am I going to die on the streets ?
Will not I not be dying on the arms of my girl with the last few drops of precious tears in our eyes ?
Am I not going to meet her in this birth ? Won't I not talk to her of me, and listen to her with care and awe ?
Are those forests and beaches going to be uninhabited forever ? Aren't we going to be Adam and Eve ?
Am I not going to feel the resonance with her ?
I seem to be immortal suffering this pain.

Who is listening ? I am trying to communicate. I am thinking for long.
Even words betray me. I fail to quote.
Words that I fail to utter die; words that fail to express my longing are once again cremated. I am forgetting expressions. I am forgetting to write. I am losing my ink.

She remains, and reminds !!!

In Memory Of The Pleasant Days !!!

I hear heavy engines whirring. I hear them close to my ears. I am going to fly. Fly at great heights above the clouds. And fly away into a future which does not tell me if I will ever return. So now is the last of those volatile moments to enjoy the things I am going to miss.

 

I will no more be a democratic man. I will no longer experience true moments of freedom and the pride of exercising it. And for a long time, I will not be breathing fresh air, and will be paying for pure water. No more cool unpolluted breeze. No more self-analysing self-realising calm walks in the lonely evenings. No more ME.

I will give up my black coffee addiction after tonight. I will miss manoeuvering all my favorite cars (ofcourse rented) on the solid roads laid years ago forever. I will no more climb up more than 20 floors. End of the downtown season. I am going to miss flirting the cat eyed teen age girls on the street. Streets that are always parallel and aligned. Streets that are full of shops that never throw garbage. Shops that stock best wines at cheap rates. Shops that offer discounts for beers every week. But after tonight, I will have to stop drinking. The half one on my desk is the last of the best ones, my favorite - Gordon Biersch 'Marzen'.

From now on, there are going to be only sparse thoughts about my dream girl. I am going to miss the longings I have been suffering. I am going to miss the Fight Club.

Will this list ever end ? It is true that I am going to miss these and much more.
But I am flying to those who have missed me for a long long time.

{For The Passed Moment On The Night Of September 20}

Untouched Corners !!!

I remember......I heard this song, and it made me lose myself. Today, I read something; it completely blind folded me and left me somewhere, a place well known to me but not visited often. A place where music is only for one's ears, and light only for one's eyes. My vocabulary begs to describe the place I was taken to. Despite the heavenly aura, the place was distressing, disturbing and painful; a pain one would want to suffer.

There are these 'untouched corners' in all of us.......atleast me. It is a place not acquainted with all the time; not with all, not even self. A place where dreams are not to dream but to fulfill. A place so exquisite and pleasant or deadly and diabolical, the boundaries defined by the limits one take it to. My corner is an uninhabited one. It is just the two of us.

Until these days, my corners were a place to visit. She was mischievous enough to touch these corners....often. I do not know if it was my addiction or hers. And now, I live there.

Silence is the music.
Time and tide is still. The only thing running is my tears.
I do not age nor die. I just, AM........waiting for her.

Waiting To Propose !!!

I sat here on my penny-worth chair at my balcony for a 'little-alone' time. My sight is blurring......It is smoggy all around. I am no more sitting, I am just laying there, as if burned down. Ouch...............my fingers scorch. I hurl my hand with sluggish reflex, and one more fire bud flies to the bunch of others in the trash. The fire buds are still alive, including the last one that flew from my hand. The fire buds speak of the anger in me; Each fire bud reminds of a flower rejected by one of them to whom I did not have the courage to propose. And they lay there...............withered.........and reddened.

The last one that flew was for her.
Will that bud ever die ?
It will tell her that I am still waiting, still looking for her !!!

I can see the smog now, clearly. The smog is smoke, and I lay in my chair as if I have been shot in the mouth.

Thodi Raagam !!!

My humble prayers to Isis for showering me with good words
to write down my suffering. It is the only way I can have it
shared.

I am not afraid of joining the Fight Club. It is the interval between now, every now, and the moment I become a part of it. Until then, I know her exotic long hair will sway over my face. Yet I have not seen her face. I know I will be hypnotised like every time by the fragrance and touch of her soft skin. I know I have to be with her.......without her !!!

I fantasize her - passionately and widly. Her long black hair is smooth and flows like silk. Every time it flows over my face, I let go myself. My coarse hands shiver, losing their skill, when they trace her soft skin. Anytime I close my eyes, I see us always embraced - holding her softly like a proposing flower. She whipers in my ear with a smile wanting something. Her voice echoes inside me. At times, I have found it hard to distinguish if I am thinking or hearing. I can spare time and life if I could lay for more time beside her. It is the green(est) plains and I lay beside her caressing, while she smiles at the sky. That is her diplomatic way of provoking me. The soft breeze carries the fresh dew and they fall undisturbed on her lips. I touch her lips, they are cold and soft. I kiss them..............with my eyes closed; they overflow with tears. It is like a revelation of life. There is nothing but nothingness all around us. And there we lay frozen ............with our lips in conversation.

I am being tormented without her. It is a suffering - thinking about her, being engaged with her all time and not knowing if she is just a dream. I wonder why are dreams called so ? To me, it does not matter whether dreams happen. I am convinced if they elate me to the heights I dream of. So I treat them very real. Yet I am in the dream world. I could not make explicable meaning of these fantansies. These fantasies are a manifestation of a much great emotion inside me. Truly.......it is LUST. I could not find any other way to express it. If lust is sin, so be it; I am already suffering the punishment. Perhaps, my suffering will heal if spoken than written. And any way I try, my words are not going to sound poetic and genuine for a consoling pat. They sure may sound unorthodox and vulgar, and I am afraid of my suffering being ignored juvenile when shared. But pathetic.......I am an orphaned friend. So my fantasies shall remain as troubling thoughts inside me.

There are two kinds of men - those who give more love and those who always want more love. To be either of the two, I need HER. I realise that the Fight Club is an excuse, an escape, an inscrutable reflection of my sadness over missing her. And these fantasies are an evidence. Until the day, she comes out of the dream to my arms, I shall keep writing elegies of my unrequited longing. I shall write of the sleepless nights I sleep with her, the caressing, the momentary blood clots that my coarse hands make on her tender body. I shall write words wounded by the fragrance of her breadth. I shall write to discharge the unbearable suffocation. I cannot endure to have it all left unsaid.

Until the day I unite with her, I am cursed to bear the heat. I am cursed with lust. Hence, I wander......Ohh 'MY LOVE', where art thou ?

I am in LOVE !!!

A few words before I lay on my bed to feel the painful solitude !!!

Solitude is not the feeling of loneliness when there is nobody, but everybody. Solitude is not chosen but ultimately left with. Solitude is not exclusion but retreat without your conscious consent. Solitude is not sweet pain but agony. Solitude is not for sharing with others, it is only for you. Solitude is your feelings in prison, however poetic and genuine they are.

Solitude is being in love with a nobody and expecting it for the rest of your life. I am in love !!!