Wednesday, February 2, 2012 . . Posted in General
I’m glad that you are not me. But if I was you, I would have walked through to see if everything remained sill the same.
A bunch of army visited me in my dream. Infants kept falling on their way. There was absolute silence. When the horses hopped across the dale, to freeze the peaceful land, I stayed numb. I don’t consider myself to be awake at the middle of night. Hence I dream. I have broken chains hanging around my neck. Each of its links, tilted – and tainted. If, and only if they remain attached. I wish. What do they need?
Why do they sly? I sigh. But it doesn’t matter much to the ‘mature’ people. Instead they relish what they witness or feel about infants. Innocence lost. Innocent mortals are burned and buried. In the end, who wins? Who falls? Who fights?
I’m glad that you are not me. My woes differ from yours. Probably it may be lesser than what you possess. And by chance if we trade them, who would carry more? Would you rather sit back and infuse the hollowness with rooms of mirage? It got to be beguiling. Like a feather flying away with the breeze to taste its momentary freedom.
I’m glad that you are not me. But we do have similar faces. We observe things alike. But we perceive them in a different way. My life is limited in my thoughts. The army that crossed the dale, to slay the innocent infants believed to be immortals. Their hearts are frozen. It never cares. It never bleeds. They yearn for blood. Their mind murmurs for triumph. In the end, who wins? Who falls? Who survives?
But I know that good never die. I was also taught that every good thing that we perform will have a brighter side.
If, and only if my ink had lasted for another line, another word would have got tattooed on this page. Everything has its time. I’m glad that I am not you.
If I was you, I would have missed out learning someone so special like you. Let these words find its way. Like jigsaw puzzle resolves a padlocked mystery.
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Monday, February 2, 2012 . . Posted in General
Late last night I had a hallucination. My cold feet moved here and there in search of sanity. The friends I knew took a new turn in life. And the ones whom I gave least importance in life became my whole new world.
‘Mr. Mojo’ was a great human being. Sadly he left a few notes and ascended from this terrain to the deep blue sky as one of those shining stars.
My plight is poles apart from the notes that I write – or have written. God exist. Angels seldom spread vivid dreams in my sleep. Each sculpt that I perceive had lured me through to the doors of another plateau. All I did was to keep my eyes shut and invite them with a swindling smile.
My tales were twisted with diverse characters, burning with noxious air, to fulfil their incomplete tasks upon this globe. They were rambling for a haven. To sustain, they kept performing their infamous acts. In most of them, I stood next to them watching them slither.
Why do I smile? When the world under me is shattering away with a delicate sound of thunder, and the clouds above me is moving across with its fiery face, why do I keep an optimistic face? The answer is unadorned. I exist.
The frames in my heart have a lot of scenes. Each has its tinge. Like a jigsaw puzzle it is clustered. If, one of you looks forward to touch one of them, it sinks. Like a dazzling star in a fish pond. Have you buried your bygone tales yet? There’s none as such. Each day fades away with one. So I seldom bury them deep down my heart and see it stained, and raise a seed.
‘Mr. Mojo’ was an inspiration to many broken hearts. The eloquent words in my sleep formed pictograms and pretty blooms.
So, I say this to me that each moving body on this soil is just a vague reflection. In their eyes, I see a framed scene that I once knew. It’s not that lucid, yet like a déjà vu it hassles my notion.
Have you seen a good friend, my friend? They are there. Like angels, who gives us a reason to perform? Everything under the sky is just another phantasm. Everyone should rave for their existence. If we keep trading our roles to make it easier, then we fail, with a pale face. It’s now or never.
Late last night I had a hallucination. To every smiling faces that has buried a woe or two to wander, ‘shine on’. To the rest, ‘live or just leave’.
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