mindset

Triumph over self.. 

The parchment and the blank space shall absorb all my postulated negativity..

And the smears of hope… Maybe it shall sing me a new song..anew answer..

With such an endeavoring wish tucked in my self.. Proceed I..

And smother I, it with my blunt words and purposeless thoughts..

 

Have I everything I need? And what is it I need and for what?

Have the people I love been cajoled yet? Cajoled by the time spent to stay on..

Why is acceptance a need, a need- so very binding?

Oh my… what if she gets what could be mine…

what if he takes away the spoon that could be mine..

To what end must it serve? to what end does need serve?

To need is to survive and to survive is to need, ain’t it?

Is what I own in me.. a shadow of what the other own?

Ought I to be better and different?

 

Is my ego to be grow on hedges and fence my crisscross ways?

Or must it slumber below..knead itself?

Has my own shadow darkened by heart?

Must my reflection in the eyes of the world be firmer…

Be colored in ways my self has not encapsulated…

Am I to be a master of my ego.. Or am I to be a servant?

To master it, ain’t it the same as to serve it?

Must I hide my faults.. must I smuggle the protruding black jewels into a dark corner..

Or must I smack it with laughter..

 

Why is beauty so well carved by symmetrical terms..

by eyes serving the proposed norms…

why is beauty such a need.. why is beauty so well sculpted in forms so well pruned.

Why must my beauty be compared and scripted and marked..

why must I serve a servitude to these very engraved thoughts…

To needs.. to pertinence with this humming civilization..

 

To be free from self.. free from want.. from desire…

Ohh how sumptuous..how freeing.. how embezzling is the thought of

“triumph over self”..

Ohhh..But how ensnaring to be turning in this cocoon of self..

spiraling..

but to reach no purposeful end.. desiring to be free from self.. and yet reaching nowhere..

 

 

 

 

Categories: amibiguity, answers, blogging, change, emotions, expressions, feminism, HOPE, humanity, Hypocricy, life, mindset, Moralizing, poetry, poetry on life, questions, society, strength, struggle, the mind, time | 2 Comments

Crookedly Woven Thoughts

Image result for wars within THE MIND AND HEART

Where must the mind land? Where must it traverse to?

It must speak for itself to rise and draw on the versatile goodness of fate…

It wishes to grapple in the light just as it does in the dark..

Must it bow, must it be, must it take flight? And in direction ??

Now it speaks a mingled concoction of crookedly woven thoughts..

 

 

Ain’t there enough food on the streets to feed this epidemic of scarcity?

Ain’t there enough love in your heart to heal all the hurt?

Ain’t there enough dust settling on the blood to awaken the heartless with its stench?

 

 

There are ghastly streets, rotten drunkards, thirsty for more,

There is enough monsterity to hope for a shower of hailing empathy..

A desperate need to be rescued from depths of such self destruction..

 

 

Was man born only to rinse swords in tears..

Do those who suffer only remember of the ways to inflict?

The wars of despondency, a continuum of repulsive deeds ,

As human strides round and beneath..away from its naive beginning..

Representing the darkness mounted beneath the sheath of our existence..

 

 

For words to leave the bindings and reveal the intentions of the mind..

The heart must pace with the subtly settling, unknowingly induced pain..

Settling pain is unsettling, unnerving, ain’t it?

 

 

In wars, how must the heart clamber out to help itself?

 

Is life a war?  In ways it strives to derive the worth of time..

An urgency to grope for what is and isn’t yours,

What exists, just tumbling and rising on pillars of man’s uncertain designs..

A struggle to win hearts.. A struggle pacify the reflections in others..

A desire to be owned , A desire to own..

The wry ways of this human embodiment..

Darn the pain.. Darn the seemingly sodden truth..

 

 

Must I say something nice? I shall..

Heart must clot its wounds…

The man, must keep on keepin on..

And the light shall reach you as it stretches across to save us all..

Maybe there is love, hidden at the corners of your eye..

Maybe there is love, trembling to be undone on the ridge of your lids..

Maybe there is love in the hearts of the diseased.. maybe it will be find the hope..

And we shall smile in unison.. as plainly as the child does.. without reason..

In supple ways, maybe light will find all of us.

Categories: amibiguity, emotions, expressions, HOPE, INNOCENCE, life, light, living, lost, love, memories, mindset, poetry on life, poetry on love, questions, silence, souls, strength, struggle, the mind, time | 2 Comments

Oh Shush Shush

A piercing splinter tears apart the soul’s periphery.

I ponder; did a cane pass through dragging, leave behind what it wouldn’t miss?

Or a rose placed artfully on the soul grow on its thorn, It was plucked leaving behind the prickly bit..

It’s such a blur; it won’t stall for a moment of retrospect or introspect,

Breath is the wind blowing the wretched splinter in circles, a horrendous stormy weather,

It leaves thy home in a pile of powdery remains, clustered fragments of curtained images…

It leaves thy inner child panting and wheezing, clutching in places,

Colored in red-brown dust, the color of eyes, the color of blood,

 A darting arrow from the eyes of the strangest stranger splits it open..

The color of the red syrup slurps through the tear, The wound is to be dug deeper before healed..

The heart is to die again..and again and again.. 

In penance for the acts of desperation; Death of the heart is necessary,

Pain is an addiction, It traps your breath, But you are left feeling alive, just alive is the real alive;

It is audaciously exchanged for the empty vastness, where one is not in the desert, but beneath it..

 

Oh shush shush, silence the sounds of the restless breaths,

 And the splinter shall stall for a moment of freedom and rest,

Raise thy torrid eye, look into the sky,

Watch the clouds afloat, row through still air, silent breeze;

 Watch the sky crack to reveal a bluer stillness,  

Oh shush shush..

Breeze flows on the tracks of life, life that thrives in arid, humid, torrential days and climaxes,

 Felt in the eyes, like a feathered touch on the skin, the unruffled flow of life in the strangest of times,

 Flutters of the tiny sparrow’s wings, sudden thrashing and then for a moment afloat in the lazy wind,

Reaching her nest after a day of grains, straws and droplets of water,

Rampaging from wall to wall, beneath rare shadows and scorching rays,

The quivering tips of darkest of green leaves swaying in surrender, slightest momentum released,

Oh shushed are you?

Does the pain now sail away with the breeze?

 Does the vacuum fill with sights of nature, the tiniest electrifying moments, the miraculous breadth of life?

The splinter slain to unconsciousness, Breathe in deep the peculiar scent of nature afresh,

Dear mind, Oh shush..ponder away from consciousness drugged in constant spiralling stale pain,

Stride into the invigoratingly alive life, Stroll away from thy own trepidations,

For the cures, the answers lie in the breeze, the clouds..

The flutter and the quiver, the tremor as nature breathes with thee in solace,

Carrying you to home indeed, Releasing you to breathless nomadic winds, just as you are..only standing there..shushed in your heart.

Categories: answers, emotions, expressions, freedom, HOPE, INNOCENCE, life, life, light, memories, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, poetry on love, strength | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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.

 

Categories: change, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, love, love oneself, memories, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, questions, re-incarnation, soul, the mind, time | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Designs by Time- A Maze

Time, It walks as though it hath not a care,

Aloof, dispassionately sauntering, sparing neither a thought for all the desolation, nor the euphoria

Existing all by itself, Thriving in its solitude,

Plotting to cast its well scripted plans onto the void, our world, our lives,

Manifesting illusions, one or multiple for its every click,

We mortals, just mere pawns while it attempts at injecting thrill into it’s veins,

“Oh you epitome of enigmatic existence, why not teach us to live like you?

Maybe it ain’t worth your creative talents, ”

 

A sharp edged hand of a clock, it’s partner in crime,

It plays its part quite beautifully, dexterously,

Digging into the soul’s flesh, Carving out a maze, a unique piece of art,

Maze keeps expanding infinitely in all directions and dimensions,

Invading and capturing the seemingly insurmountable highs and non echoing abyss,

You, my detached mate watch with me the intricately woven designs of your illusions,

Every passing moment absorb the musings of the soul winded in the maze,

Some elated hummings,  some whispers drowning in dread, some lost mutterings of a tipsy lass,

Every click of the clock and scratch of the edge masks the screams and flicks away the tears,

 

Stormy it is,A few marks fade, a few lines blur,

But the hand retraces the trial, else digs and drags crossing to make new paths,

A rendition of mine treads down the old known pathways,

Another struts along the anew one,

Peering ahead, trying to discern unexpected twists, turns and dead ends,

Or misleading ends blurred by fog, Its walls smudged and smeared with just paintings of landscapes beyond,

As though the landscapes are real pathways, not just delusional sights,

 

Inside the maze, one is bound to catch glimpses of oneself, maybe combat the other,

The pawn must face itself, loose itself to seek the truths that haunt and breeze through here,

Despite the unattainable pedestal of truth, the non-existent end one must trudge on if not gallop,

Indulge self in demolishing and resurrecting to find the same and demistify the secrets in here,

One must clutch on to the dagger like hand,

Engage thee, time, while savoring the derisive scars your designs impinge upon us,

While you mock us with your unaffected, disavowed  stature.

Categories: amibiguity, emotions, expressions, life, mindset, places, poetry, poetry on life, silence, society, soul, time | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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.

Categories: amibiguity, emotions, expressions, life, love, love oneself, mindset, Music, places, poetry, poetry on life, silence, society, soul, the mind | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

Scales Of Evolution

balance

Human was not born into this world,

Only evolved from the animals we call beasts today,

Before the evolution tipped the scales,

The seas, the mountains the earth, the petals, the weeds

The shells, the sand, the morsels of life that traversed with the wind,

The earth bubbled in its serene existence with zealous purity,

The purity that a mountain spring sprinkles upon the dwellers,

Flowing sometimes stealthily,

At times flowing with an exuberant force,

Young and vibrant in search of new lands to explore,

All the forms of life, large and dynamic, shrewd and slippery,

Roaring and domineering, small and fastidious,

Lived on these streams, on those springs

They pounded the land when in need,

Their formidable yet magnificent animalistic power shook the earth

But the scales were always left balanced,

Logic, a reason that led to rise of another species,

Nameless multifarious species rather,

This age, Evolution is taking a toll as one species looses itself in a whirlwind of its own creations,

This day, this period of earth’s and its dwellers lives,

The springs, the air, the pure forces of life infected by the viral uproar,

Are drying up, worse corrupting all that it touches,

And vanquishing the purity to graveyards dug by our evolved mindlessness,

Or rather mindfully shrewd actions,

Foolish we are to think our time immortal,

Trapped we are in the science we harrowed out from this earth,

Entangled we are in our own traditions and thoughts,

Thoughts that were led by reason once are today shackled by the lack of it,

As we abhor change, obnoxiously pride ourselves on our social systems,

As we evolve into what evolution had never fathomed possible.

It’s time to rename ourselves,

Unless we let the springs sprinkle us again,

Clean the dirt, the marsh,

We assimilate, we mellow down,

We withdraw and loosen our adamant sense of ownership,

We melt the shackles of power,

Mold the molten steely power into the axe that could bring to surface our former self

Or make it the magical ingredient,

An ingredient added in potions drunk by us to turn into the personification of godliness,

A godliness that is stirred with drops of devil’s blue blood to tip the scale towards a balance.

Let’s reach, let spiral back to the point of incidence of human and beast.

Categories: amibiguity, change, Economic Disparity, education system, emotions, expressions, feminism, Hypocricy, life, life, mindset, Moralizing, poetry, poetry on life, re-birth, re-incarnation, silence, society, soul, the mind | 2 Comments

The Cave of Delirium

The urge to fight evaporates,

Turns to smoke trapped in closed cave

A cave whose walls are impenetrable by another,

Another than the spirit where resides the cave,

Or does the cave host the spirit?

Spirit only an inhabitant, seeking shelter,

Only to end up hostage..

What one makes, one procreates,

It takes over the maker,

Imbibes and savors the power to bind the maker,

Slave it or set it free,

Unless the maker stays the keeper of the cave,

 Standing at edge between the two worlds,

One outside and the other within, a perfect osmosis

It’s a cave of delirium,

The spirit’s exploits and endeavors,

Deeds and misdeeds, take a toll,

Reason and logic, intuition and emotion burn,

diffuse to take a form of their own,

One starts evolving, twisting and turning to define the other,

Playing a game to delude the spirit,

keeping it trapped in the deadly spiral of its own illusions,

Smoke only gets denser,

 As the keeper now shackled in the mid air is choking,

Choking on vapors,

Vapors rising from the fire of its own creation of ruins,

 In its own cacophony, crackling noise,

That deafens it, shoving aside any shadow of sanity,

As the spirit that lit the fire, stares at it delving deep,

Searching for a way out to the other side, outside a hopeful reality,

A moment of epiphany,

The only way out is it to burn in the pier till there isn’t a pier to burn,

The cave of delirium, it holds no ground, burns with the keeper, the spirit

A spirit is immortal; it takes birth from the ashes to reincarnate into another rendition.

Categories: amibiguity, crazy, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, life, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, re-birth, re-incarnation, silence, society, soul, the mind | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ramble on Pathetic Journalism

I am not sure, how this post is going to turn out to be or where it is going to go but it is going to be quite unpoetic I am guessing.

I have been watching lots of movies since the past few weeks, so my mind today was revolving around the lives of actors, how we see them, what do we see them as, how their lives are robbed of privacy and sanity quite often. At the risk of sounding naive, I wondered who was responsible for this and also why the messing up of their lives was such a juicy and happiness inspiring talk for most of us. Yeah, there is the matter about publicity stunts but “dude, get a life”

Then slowly the monkey in my brain jumped to the very often published photos of the actresses when they had an oops dressing moment ( Oops because we have made it oops), known or unknown to them. As though this never happens to any of the people in the real world, Duh. Their cleavage, or a show of her limbs or anything else that is suppose to be bandaged.

Most of us are of the mindset that these women merely exist to entertain us, mostly the ones who are bold and sensual, words which would translate to scantily dressed to much of the crowd. The men, aah the men, men hath no fear, after all the worst could be an unzipped fly in the crowd aside from a morphed/real video tapes of course. And yeah the rest, we have seen it all, its just a part of the scenery, beautiful scenery to be marveled at, those toned muscles and abs, not a truer sign of truer hunk. A hunk that’s all, not a s*** as we call them.

And yeah s***s, You want them, you need them, but you also want to derogate them just to feed your ego, to prove that you are better and almost as though you are doing a sex worker a favor.(yeah right)

To those journalists who earn their living through their gossip and erection inspiring news snippets:-

Do women assets really impact GDP, political affiliations, nuclear wars, poverty? They do pay your living expenses and you pay taxes I am guessing and do the nation a big favor,but really that’s all the journalism you got? Yeah cleavages do generate good amount of money via fashion industry and the film industry and even if I was the worst guesser ever, I would say they and their money pay more taxes than you or your earnings do. The industry has a lot of good perspective to offer too, not all good but quite good.

I get it, you sell what the crowd wants, but don’t you also generate market for the news. The media has great power, just as words do and art does, hence when they sell, they impact. Why feed on a derogatory mindset, when you can change it fellas?

That is because the way people tend to look at actresses, the same carries over to the way they treat or look at women on a day today basis. Of course there are many more factors impacting that outlook apart from the fact their brains are just junk from s*** in the outer space.

The mentioned concern is certainly not a cause of derogatory remarks on women on a day to day basis, but it is what fuels the mindset and the cause. Its a choice between being a part of the change wave that by changing your style and focus or staying on the other side sticking to bad irresponsible journalism, and that’s a choice you guys have to make.

Categories: Economic Disparity, emotions, expressions, feminism, Hypocricy, India, journalism, life, mindset, Moralizing, politics,justice,society,corruption,women, society, teaching | Tags: , , , , , , | 19 Comments

My Book Of Dreams

DSC_0090

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! 🙂

Categories: art, change, darkness, emotions, expressions, life, love oneself, me, mindset, poetry, poetry on life, soul, the mind | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

The Shaded Shadows 2.0

The beginning, at the end.

Evelina

by Evelina Di Lauro

Kaavyarth

The essence of writings..

Writers together

Best articles for Best readers

Travel Much?

Never cease to explore and tell!

518-songofmypeople

A town everyone hates, yet no one leaves...

Sweta Ojha

A Personified Narrative : Defying Reality. Sketching Imageries.

poemhobby

Human !

BayArt

New Perspective on Life

Fool's Blog

Various & Sundry Foolishness!

P e d r o L

storytelling the world

indahs: dive, travel & photography

cities - cultures - ocean - marine life

HASTYWORDS

Turning Tears & Laughter into Words

Wind Against Current

Thoughts on kayaking, science, and life

ultimatemindsettoday

A great WordPress.com site

Girl Meets B-School

Non-traditional MBA doin' it for herself

%d bloggers like this: