Posted in amibiguity, answers, change, darkness, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, friends, HOPE, Hypocricy, life, lost, love oneself, poetry on life, poetry on love, the mind

Carried Away.

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Carried away in the windmills of desire for desire,

A hunt for what was felt not..What was found not..

Wondering if this was the rhythm of  fall and rise not knowing the end,

If the path might lead away from the drabness,

Away and yet into another forest edge..

Edge of just the beginning? Or is the end already?

How far does one breath last? How long can one hold ones breath?

And the once traversed edges and forgone brazenness,

Now there we were, here we are, blatantly hunting again..

To the very end, For more always..

And might one run out, only to break into a bleak fall onto the hard earth?..

Or just feel another spin, with no cradle to land in..

A moment of fleeting touch, and the hunter and hunted melt away?..

 

A prowling sinner awakens within the simpleton,

Feeding off spilling sounds of mumbling caress..

Flaying about the senses, to drain the whispers of two minds,

In a time where life seemed to walk backwards,

A brush of unknown cajoles the mind..

A  degree higher in depth , a degree closer to self..

Bathing in camaraderie of selfish fornicating and a tipping edge of likeness,

 

Temptations far too fickle in nature,

Unhinged, Unbinding and unknown forever the calling..

Deviations persist through their innate nature..

Exceptions drowning the words of saints..

Which would you choose?

Ruffle the monotony on a path undone of spiked drunkenness?

Or smother the breaths with ruptured righteousness?

To be carried away in desire for more want ,

More prowess,

more dreams,

And more unknown..

Ain’t that no sin? Or just a norm for sinner?

For it never felt like one to him,

For a sinner shan’t ever know the end… Look to the end

Keep them coming..He would say

Be carried away.. For the end is never far, never near.

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Posted in amibiguity, blogging, change, cynicism, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, life, living, loss, love, love oneself, poetry, poetry on life, society, struggle, the mind, time

Cynical and Baked in Questions

It gets difficult..more and more difficult as you proceed with time and the picture of life presents itself in its many attires. Mind you I didn’t say progress with time or walk with time, just proceed with time. Word choice and placements have a significance of their own.

At some point you feel that there are things you have lived through and are living  through and they appear to be the same kind of things.  Same mistakes, same kind of degenerations. A spinning of deja vu.  At some point you question, that maybe you are just being a wise fool, especially with the way you ask questions, the same wise ones over and over again.All you wish is for a day that sprung the meaning of life itself to you. But the appearance of and questions about incidents, parables, predicaments and blessings keep resounding against closed door of your clogged shell of very gooey ego. Self stranded emotions and brittle feelings keeping piling up. It makes one feel caught and pinned onto a point, when all swings by and the wind blows but you are dangling from the hard rusty iron needle of time. Going in circles along the same loop, you don’t even have the pleasure of rolling along.

You wonder how you ended up here and what do you even have to  show for your self? And why do you even want to show something for your self? Why are you lagging so far behind in your walk to being a monk? Is there a sheet of  paper that defines you or is there a purpose which encompasses and protects your ego manifesting an obscure image, but an image nonetheless to the eyes of the world. Are you what you see in the reflection of this world and also are you what you speak and what you think you need and want? Or are just a Mr. Nobody in the shoes of very malleable live sculptor of you. No wonder, you always want to reinvent your self as they call it-a new makeover ,every now and then, it gets you excited, your very  malleable ego is at least.

You wonder if you really have gathered friends and if their loyalty walks in a two way street. Where does your loyalty lie, how far does your loyalty go? Does the man really speak what he means? Or does he even know what he means? Is the ego ever satisfied, is pleasing plug ever diffused, Are the eyes ever alive with a smile that comes without a question, without a memory of having lost a battle in other moments.I wonder if a blind, deaf and dumb lady without an inch of memory would smile? If she smiled, what would she smile about? and would her eyes smile, Would her eyes feed the world the sense of an emotion and expression even if it did not count in her blessings.

The people we meet leave deep and dangerous stride of prints , and deep heaps of brown,muddied and soggy dusted down remains of time. Always a slippery slope or notorious ditch within self. Do you ever wonder if what you feel is reflected in the heart of another, will you ever know the heart of another, will you ever know the truth? Or is knowing the truth an oxymoron because one can never know anything and the truth is a flirtatious breeze of momentary epiphany.

If man was one part of nature, and what man makes is another apart of nature, the two combine and use and delve into each other to thrive and build a culture and frame of living. Once you step out of the frame, you have just fallen out  of bed and are now wide awake. Wide awake and piling a basket of questions. The culture has been breeding and knitted into a very fine sheath with a hemmed membrane. All the people you know are swinging in the cradle of the sheath wrapped up in it but you, you are suddenly sitting on the bare ground.

Is it possible to feel happiness even when you know there is a life built by others and you have to be the mice spinning in the running wheel.  Do I think I am better than others? Well, then I am just as narcissistic and an ego maniac as the next person. But I do fall out of the bed of sheath, naked, cynical and baked in questions.

 

 

Posted in art, emotions, expressions, freedom, HOPE, life, light, love oneself, poetry on life, the mind

Quick fix or good fix?

Quick fix or good fix?
Which one would you recommend for a soul in a fix?

Hates comes easy to the heart..
So does vengeance…it’s partner in crime..
Then love and empathy , they seem so down trodden ,Hanging on the brim of that hollow self?
Men and women tend to forgo the command of their breath..in search for all that is gold and silver,
The simplest bonds of innocence seemed to be just foliage, a bothersome heap in the corner of their bitter home to self..

Feeling tired yet of the much bitterness about nothing…? All of this for just a quick fix..

Ohhh o… so much for a good fix when the ranting never ceases…
But the pen speaks..steers its drawn prose.. across the puzzle…and it all fits..
Effuse a pinch of happiness that knows no reason..
Because thee fits so well in thee…

Simple and true is the heart…
It shall feel all.. the bitter, the numb, lustful anger…
And the sweet and the resonating pulses with self..
In solitude it knows pain.. but in solitude it knows hope..

Solace it finds in trust on self.. and on the pen that forges a story for its substantial self..
Sometimes fictitious..- just a wish and at times a wish so true – like the sound of an awakened child smearing a smile in thy eyes..

Sip the tea…
drain the boisterous and pitiful, nonsensical and glib hunter of all that is grouchy..

The tea simpers a peace…
For the humble heart has its fix… it fits and rests well in its cell..a Phoenix loving and reviving through every whiff of life..
It’s well looked after by thy own breath.

Posted in amibiguity, answers, art, blogging, courage, darkness, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, fun, HOPE, life, living, loss, love, love oneself, memories, poetry, poetry on life, poetry on love, soul, strength, struggle, the mind

Etching On.

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Etching Patterns of thoughts on the papyrus of our mundane lives..

Designs we croon into the ear of our twin incarnation..

Curved stretches curbing across the mounts..the will, the wish..

Binding with the harsh breath..mellow at times.. juggling at times..

Strolling across to plot a breathless life..

 

Stumble over potholes dug by our own soles, Hasn’t thee rolled over, traced back, and strutted along then?

Yet the path of etched drawls back and forth scuttering on..

Inking on.. smug.. or giggly.. dreadful or greedy.. smiling through the blots of ink..

In hope in faith.. for trusting to be bound by fate.. we etch on..

 

A kind samaritan spinning the fate.. whispering incantations to string fate to wish..

A mildly fulfilled soul springs along.. sketching butterflies..

And yet then. droplets of pain blotch the ink just along the curve..

 

Words lack depth one might say.. as the heart fails to siphon strings of syllables

Wishing to only tell stories of memorable cons, fortitudes.. innocence and love..

How often has thy samaritan hidden in the cave of doubt?

How often does thee ponder of ways to escape the designs?

Trapped in thy own breath, memories and desires..?

 

Or did the benign fisherman row thee  across?

I think he did.. didn’t he?

Anew bridge..anew sketch..

Anew binding of faith and fate..as thee etches on..

 

P.S- Random thoughts, random sketch as I try to drown myself in something mundane.

 

 

 

Posted in change, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, love, love oneself, memories, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, questions, re-incarnation, soul, the mind, time

Cocoon of Freedom

Do you become what you hate?

Do you become what you love?

Or do you only love what you can’t become?

Or do you love only your reflection in every grain of sand?

What we carve our souls into, is already a mould,

It has thorns, it has nails, and it leeches onto the images our eyes clasp onto,

Every crisp notion of existence I have was a haze before,

It lay stale, rotting in the fungus that was fed to my mind,

At a time when the world I fathomed to exist, existed in only patterns of right and wrong,

And I chose to clutch the trailing thoughts of others,

I stuttered to express what I did not understand,

 I raveled myself in which I bludgeoned myself to believe,  

 

 A ferry waited at the end of my dying stammering self,

One fateful night I met the night guard at the bank,

He asked me if I wanted to crossover then, morning the ferry would be gone,

I collected the shattered pieces of my mind; some jagged ends bled my soul,

On the way I tripped on the tightly laced shoes,

 Then left them near the old tree from where hung ragged clothes, masks and shoes,

Barefoot, I got onto the ferry and set off to the other side,

To find missing pieces of my mind,

To be in presence of those colors of light,

 As the beams passed by my soul, images under the veiled reality would form,

Focusing from infinity to a my finite existence, a surreal view,

Yet an existence where my soul could breathe and could trace the waves,

The curved turbulence that sounded the hymns and curses sung by own mind,

Mindlessness was a destructive interference of rays trapped in a cottage,

 Walls camouflaged by words scripted by others,

I burnt it down, but the fire still crackles, smoke still blows in the wind,

 

A rusted bridge, a path appears every fortnight,

 A path back to the village of my dying thoughts,

Though much gibberish, mutters my mind, and obscure images, see my eyes,

I shan’t climb that bridge,

Heart is a nomad, but it resides in this land now,

Though tormented by the unknown, it is enlightened,

 But the ground is slippery, is cracked and heated, feet are sore and blistered, and nights are chilly,

Yet the solitude is comforting,

 As my fixation with my baffling shell of infinite reality is my cocoon of freedom.

 

Posted in amibiguity, emotions, expressions, life, love, love oneself, mindset, Music, places, poetry, poetry on life, silence, society, soul, the mind

To my Dear Sweetheart

To my dear sweetheart,

You are sweet indeed, I am sure, but many a flavor twist and turn your primal taste,

I crave to know your compositions,you are music is uncanny,forever pushing, then swaying me as I stand at the edge,

Are you fickle, or is that just your pretentious sheath, trying to tumble me as I stamp my own feet?

But you are me, why would you do that ?oh my sweetheart, enlighten my being today,

I search your depths, I seek answers from you for the wise old owl you are,

Are you as wise as I make you out to be?  I vouch for you, you know that,

But hope, you haven’t joined hands with a third, ally you think it is?

No my sweet, destiny is elusive, a trap, an ally or foe, I know not,

Colluding with a power above both of us, you and me are one,

We create karma, thy power, my will and trust, but the third animal, hath no stakes in our karma,

Lets not invite or give space to that invader,

As I skim, then scan, then delve deeper harrowing the depths, braving my fears,

Yes,my fears,as I wade through the sand, it all comes together behind me,the sun shines no more,as I lie beneath the desert,

I ask you, what are you capable of? Are you capable of love? Do you understand love?

I ask you, how do you reign you devils, how do you recognize them, how do you accept them for what they are?

I ask you again, love,can you really love another? Or do you seek to only fill the pores, satiate your desires, then call it love,

Don’t you find solitude alluring? Its serene charm awakening voices of truth,

Sounds that were before lost in the cacophony of mindless babbling of a world decked in self made garments of lies,

Adorned by jewels that reflect the masks we put on, the paths we carved for other’s minds,artifacts of our orderly lives,

The white noise dissipates, a foghorn that slowly drives away and silence of solitude permeates,

Yet, you pursue to posses another, You see, having glimpsed your weak spots I try to leash you,

Remind you of the debacle, the toxic potion in the chalice,

That tempts one into loosing any sense of self, stagnating self nourishment,

As I search for the point of equilibrium, It strikes me,

You need, you desire to walk in solitude with another who walks in his own,

To look into the eye and share, yet not own or be owned,

To find solace in your own self yet stroll into the Gardens of your haven holding the hand of another,

Your penchant for purpose and reason commendable,

Yet at times one might find in purposeless journeys ones purpose,

Or if not, you might see sights that enlighten your mind with both anew questions and unwound answers,

My dear sweetheart, my dear soul, I leech onto you,

To shield you lest the treacherous demons of our world wrap you in their claws,

Yet I know, it is you who are my savior, my retreat, my trustworthy ally, my cauldron of strengthening elixir.

Posted in art, change, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, love oneself, me, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, soul, the mind

My Book Of Dreams

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My book of dreams

I have one that is stowed beneath my pillows

Pillows of need and momentary salvations

Yet my subconscious sleeps on it every moment.

 

It is the one,

The one for which I breathe smoke, and dry air

In adamant desire of breathing in the scent of “the path”

A path decked with petals, monuments of hope and life,

 

The book, its existence is the reminder,

Reminder of my purpose,

This book when lost, Leaves me barren, void,

Stranded, only hanging on the hands of the clock, tick tock

 

I fear its loss,

I fear its burial in the grounds of rotten cowardice,

Air drenched with the stench of stale worthlessness

And pettiness of delusional grief

 

Frail pages, burnt at the corners,

Illegible scribbling and scratching, rewriting of my souls whisperings,

The writing in the book blurs, like it has now

The skepticism and powerlessness of a lost soul, dissolves the ink even more

 

Where can I find the quill?

The quill with the memory of all that is missing,

Quill endowed with the boon of inerasable ink,

Quill that breathes life into the minuscule scriptures,

 

Maybe it’s hidden in between the pages,

Or maybe it’s the key to an anew cave, where I could write on stone

Engrave it and let my soul fly in and out, feed on the fervor of the aromatic cave

Or maybe it’s right here in between my fingers, awaiting my orders.

 

P.S-I edited one of my doodles:)

P.S- And it just sort of happened to match today’s daily prompt-Fearless Fantasies.. so I am gonna to include a Ping back! 🙂

Posted in amibiguity, change, emotions, expressions, life, love, love oneself, poetry, poetry on life, re-incarnation, the mind

Naked Soul

Surrendering, sinking

Letting the soul succumb to its weakness

Sliding off the peripheral skin

Moving away from the consciousness,

And letting sub conscious reign the way

And letting the colors of self float into another palate,

Unsuspecting of the dark colors that could form

Reveling in the thrill of a unwonted impulses

Unknown to the corrosion of thee soul,

The bright colors, the light peaceful ones are now clouded

Letting another change self,

Graciously melting into another being,

Floating through the fear of being seen

Naked soul traverses through winding lanes

Lost in a whirlwind of tears and smiles

It sees hints of slashes and hears the shrieks

Realization dawn’s that a voice inside is dying,

It is being buried alive,

It is being shunted and is lost, the soul is blistered

Its own magical colors,

Its chameleon powers have been stolen, ripped off

Or simply dissolved and lost its essence,

It, the naked soul now silently searches for its adornments

Finding them in a corner, its voice and its fight,

It redresses and inches back,

It gathers its allies,

And chooses the colors it wants,

It distills and finds its true elements,

Clutching in its hand its sub consciousness

Tenderly nurturing it, and listening to its silent stories

Letting it heal and reform into anew self,

Surrender, the soul has learn its lesson on it

A naked soul stands naked surrendering only to self now.

Posted in darkness, emotions, expressions, life, love oneself, mindset, Moralizing, poetry, society, the mind

Trapped

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Trapped

Chains bind the ankles, bind the nervous impulses,

The cold steel stings the warm blooded creature,

In the eyes of the fellow mates,

She ain’t warm,

But a cold blooded sorcerer,

Love for self battles ferociously,

 Grinding to strike down the righteous thoughts of the community with sheer will,

A thriving community and yet each living being a lone soul,

Her eyes linger on the trails of the path ahead,

Which path does one choose??

A path dark or a path illuminated by non-luminous sources

A path dark she willed to choose,

As she knew in heart, the light of her soul was her company,

The blazing torch within would reveal all,

The shady and seemingly sinister corners,

The flower laden bed

But underneath, poison ivy and deadly spines.

Yet the soul marches sanguinely,

 Knowing the healing drug for all wounds her path could inflict,

The path itself would brew,

Yet as her foot touches the path chosen

The chains trap her, pulling her up, leaving her dangling,

As the path not chosen sends its demons,

Demons that hide in the shadows and blindness of its blinding light,

Pulling the chains intending to leave marks,

Ravenous and soul thirsty,

Thirsty to crush and savor the freedom of soul,

Plotting to drown the traveler in its whirlpool of delusional reality,

Yet a soul as unencumbered and as uninhibited,

As numb to the enchantment of the moonshine,

As untouched by glossy facets of our existence,

Neither fears these fiends of the other path,

Nor is pained in soul by the vicious attacks,

The marks sting, But only if she lets them,

Blinding the attackers with her own luminosity,

She buys time, trapped as she is,

Will she find her weapons to cleave the chains?

Will the winds take her side and carry her to desired path?

Trapped by servile righteousness and yet trapped by hope and will of her soul,

Trapped she is.

 Photo Credits:- “Chained soul by Darryl King” /Google

Posted in life, love oneself, me, the mind

Daily Prompt:Giving self a chance

What’s the biggest chance you ever took? Did it work out? Do tell!

What happens when you loose trust in people? In a person? In the world in general?
Do you give them a chance?
Maybe you do, maybe you don’t, you might be just getting on with life!
Changing your views, becoming an atheist or maybe not!
Maybe you just don’t care and brush it aside!
But what happens when you loose trust in self? What happens when each moment you are second guessing yourself?
I gave myself a chance, a chance to prove everyday that I am not that person but I am that person,me!
I take chances of following my gut instinct because I have learnt that not doing so leads me to my pitfalls.
So, I give myself a chance everyday.
I think the biggest chance I have taken until now would be the track change in my career, following what my heart told me to do and clutching on to that one chance as though it was my elixir for life! Well, I am not disappointed. Long way to go,longer seeming trials to come but I know I will give myself all the chances because I deserve them all :-):-)