Posted in amibiguity, art, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, freedom, friends, HOPE, humanity, INNOCENCE, life, loss, love, poetry on life, poetry on love, silence, society, soul, strength, struggle, the mind, time

All The Secret Personas

Image by Anders Mohlin/Flickr, © All Rights Reserved.

 

All The Secret Personas

To where are your secret prowess strolling? 

Who are you hiding in the pouches, folds and creases?

Ain’t someone struggling to be set free, from the notions you fed it?

A gash from holding the belted throat of mixed personas.. 

Yet crying happy tears to at last choose to be.. or not to be..

The secret power of choice, to let go or hold on whenever one chooses to..

 

Who is trying to find the harbinger of destiny?

Trying to part the blinds and look ahead,

Stroking colors of different minds into a multitude of frequencies…

Hoping to frame and catch the future and time, running ahead to tap on their shoulder..

Who is trying to trick the other to jump out naked? Walk right into room of eyes..

Stripped of all the sense of self, ideas of being different, of being the same, or being sane..

Clinging onto hinges of doors and windows, neither leaving, nor staying put,

But simply watching the fading silhouettes…

 

Which of your holy demons hold you down?

But you see, demons need to rest and clamber out to see the light of the day..

They simply want to clip off their talons and rise above the sea.. 

Voyage on the sails of wind, floating in the breeze..

And dip into the scent of ocean, oh what glorious sights to see..

Feel the sunrise, sing the silence of the sun set and gape at the dragons flying home…

 

What unfurls the curtains of silence on your soul?

Who’s music do you play to find the strength to see the truth  in your eyes?

Who sings to bring you back to your own self? 

Your beliefs, your crumbs of broken thoughts.. Who reminds you of your minds?

The voice of self is a beautiful symphony, strumming the breath, an architect of the many

minds and beings in you..

 

Who shows you the honest reflection of the home you have built?

Who is the mirror? Is it you or is it another?

Is it a song or is it that piece of cloth hanging at the back of your closet?

Are they words of your mother? Are they words of your father?

Are they the songs from your lover?

Does music set you free, like it does me?

There ain’t anything small about loving and hating.. There ain’t any crime in falling and rising..

Kindly gather your smiles and your tears in a wholesome cup of soulfulness..

There ain’t anything folly in dividing wholes and splurging your being as you desire..

People are in you, their hearts make you a being..a very plain human.. 

The demons make you complete, and the personas are winds in your sails..

A saxophone of life that is and will be beats in you… and is music your heart shall make..

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

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..

 

 

 

 

Posted in 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

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.

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.

FullSizeRender

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 amibiguity, answers, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, life, love, poetry on life, poetry on love, silence, struggle, the mind

Wars we fight

Who dwells in their own head?

I do.. I do..

I live there with a man of dispiriting affections..

Broth of hatred.. froth of nonchalant love..

Rebelling against my rationale.. Again which is mine and which is his?

Life seems spent at war with love…

Moving on…

Which emotion is not to be felt?

I ain’t following a parchment of archaic laws…

Written and misspelled by all engrossed in a deep desperation of a kind..

Desire to be remembered… desire to be embraced.. Desire to be discovered..

Desire to be designed upon.. embarked into.. a journey from soul into a another..

Desire to appraised with condiments… tokens from one soul to another..

Who… which monk.. which teacher.. which bud..which man or women…

Can surpass the need to live.. need to be, to find which has not been found within..

And the need to feign control..

To him who I love.. who I have loved.. I can love..

I have found not the meaning of it..

I will always bless thee… find thee in my memories… search for thy love..

I hope.. this day.. the gulf of resentment has cleansed as much as it has left my heart..

Apologies I render.. and hope I shall find thee again.. in life.. in love.. in my heart..

.

And the man who fights with rationale.. in my head..shall always loose..

For rationale.. feigns control..

An incomplete drama of scribbled words.. this shall be..

For none can unfold the unrest of love and desires..

The conundrum of what to be.. who to be.. to succumb..

Or to succumb again.. just, to which…. ?

Posted in CHILDREN, darkness, HOPE, human rights, INNOCENCE, life, loss, poetry on life, society, struggle

Can one feel what that child does?

Image result for child in war

A child sits amidst the dust, asbestos, rubble

Eyes sunk into self.. yet wide and devoid of the tremors of death brewing within..

To be born into a life wielding no power,

But the love rendered by the womb and palm of the protector..

And at a sudden instant swept into smoke and fire,blood splattered of the power he knew..

Can one feel what that child does? A wait for god he once knew and had..

A shell of dark fear, dread, turmoil, torn life asphyxiates the beating heart…

And child chokes within.. clinging to nothing..

Suffering from plague inflicted by the cacodemons, men on his land..

Their horrendous misogynistic hunger for blithe innocence..

Draining the pulp of life and reveling in the numb pain diffused in the air..

The helios  of hope brutally shred.. flesh from bones..And yet not a tear shed..

For none are left to touch.. none can touch his moment…

 

From my window I see the rays flit through the blinds..

Their intensity simmered by the glass shield..

I see a sight peaceful.. sodden warmth,

The light breeze like music.. as the leaves flutter to its tune..

Sparrows titter.. shuffle between the green symphony..

I hear not… but eyes watch the music..as though notes scripted in the moments..

As though soft silence speaks.. spelling solace and hope..

Almost unreal.. The winds carry not a smear of pain..

The pain for the flow of the nature’s elements is null..

Or maybe it feels pain.. in the bloodied water and coagulate breath.

But not here.. its uncannily calm for a world trifled and drowning in pain..

Its a surreal, eerie balance that soothes not the heart..

Burden of pain outweighs the mass of solace..

 

 

Posted in courage, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, friends, HOPE, life, living, love, memories, poetry, poetry on life, strength, struggle, the mind, time, youngsters

Simple Friendship

Its called friendship you know..

The light in my eyes.. at a simple smile in yours..

The spark when hopes shines through the tunnel..

The Rebellious laugh when the fortitude gives away..

Our bizarre plans blow against the wind..

And we rise victorious surfacing at the shortest stairwells clambered..

Its the smile and laugh my heart craves..

Its the pain my soul wills to diminish..

Thy tender heart.. understands my pain.. and mine yours..

Its simple touch of human likeness..

 

Its called friendship you know..

The pain inflicted on you..reflects in my eyes..

As does in yours..

The tremor in your voice.. finds a helpless flutter in my heart..

But when your words sting.. to where shall I turn..

For it is your presence that soothes my pain..

Yet.. I know.. you shall be there when I turn back..

For a sincerest person like you..is hard to find..

 

Forgive my anomalies dear..

Harbor no ill of me.. You find place in my pain..

But more so in .. more so in carefree laughter..

Pondering.. I find your heart pure..

And mine wishing only the place of a life long friend  in pain and gay remembrance..

And your life to ride to your dearest hopes and dreams.

For Its simple friendship.. you know.

 

Dedicated to a dear friend… its a few simple words.. I couldn’t find ways to disguise my ways.

 

 

Posted in answers, DREAMS, emotions, expressions, HOPE, humanity, life, poetry, poetry on life, questions, strength, struggle, the mind

Do you search for those words as I do..

Why do you write so? What inspires you to do so?  

Which portions of your life befriend you to do so?

What makes you pick that pen up and scrawl those words?

Matters that pour nuisances of you heart and more so of your mind on the parchment.. why do you write?

I write out of sheer boredom engulfing my shelf life here.. Or do I?

The agony of a mind fanning its own thoughts..

I write to forge a bond with myself..

I write to loosen the knot in my bare hands..

The knot between bare hands? Yes.. the fidgety fingers fumbling..

Pondering what has become of the self I knew yesterday?

I write wondering shall I ever be that prolific dispeller of words… who writes with ignatious ..an unabashed flair…

From whose beacon of riveting knowledge shall I glean that uninhibited figurative tongue?

Fuse words of boisterous beauty.. Purging impudent purity … honest in in its picturesque candor..

A language of man… nature .. laden with no pompous substance but only the essence of poetry..

Poetry that peels the layers, draws the vulnerability in the eyes of man..

Shall I ever touch the hearts and minds lighter in joy.. foster the soft naive rush of unhinged emotions..

Fill their smiles with a knowing that these clumsy words indeed spell the unknown clusters in there hearts..

Shall I ever revive the light in the eyes of those men.. Lasses and humble beings in pain..

They who know not how to touch their own wounds.. barren for words..

Why does thee perspire to rise with the sun and ride to the time..

What in thy soul has life of its own? And what shines the light in the darkest corners..

Kneads into shape your empire of dust time and again.. kindles the fire wood in cottage..

Like the shepherd thee rises with dawn.. Hoping to find what thee looks for.. 

Stare at the mountains.. clamber the hills.. search for the  lion with the humbling mane.. horrific yet dangerously prideful and beautiful..

Search for the maiden who calls thy name.. search for yourself in the galore of beings one sees..

Oh..Why do you write so? Why do you perspire so?

What it is that leave’s your touch as the sun breaks sleep..

What is it that saunters in your eyes in the day.. haunts your heart by dusk..

Do you search for the man.. as I do.. 

Weave words like needles were carving scriptures from your mind onto this plain parchment for epiphany..for sake of epiphany

Do you search for those words as I do.. words that bind you to you..

 

Posted in emotions, freedom, life, loss, lost, poetry on life, poetry on love, struggle

To find..

To find and string your own strands..They fly in the whirlpool of ripples rising from your epicentre..

To find your heart throttled beneath the sheaths of all that your heart knows.. and doesn’t know..

To find the true destiny of the scarred hope..

Hope who walks stealthily in your darkest shadows..

Hope is the tongue of that loving king on the throne of buried hell..

Warns you of a beautiful death.. Murmuring hoarsely“burn the wooden doors of the great framed arch..”

To find.. find that place.. that place we all want to go to.. ..

All want to writhe and laugh..and dance..and roll in its heated sand..  

A craft doorway.. The wooden doorway frames it.. The hell’s haven..

Be forewarned of seeing your pitiful self sculpted on gallows..

Drag your famished body..

Shoot into the orange light…rising heat…fiery flames of love and war..

Of bludgeoned hope.. Ambient dreams.. and rising agony..

And sweet, ravishing, merciless poisonous fruits reaped in lawless love…

Hold your breath and drown forever..It’s the sea of bodies of crippled friends..

 Each face a glaring resemblance of your many flesh wounds.. of your many fair colors..

To find the loss that scraped your flesh bit by bit.. To find all that you thought you had abolished…

To find all those brave souls you stabbed with you lust for life…for selfish freedom..For heinous desires..

To find your mind in trampled by one a many hurtling truths of enticing lies..

To see the bundles of firewood you have gathered..

And to see the blood red sunshine you have drawn in that bland…colourless garden of life

Masked tiny creatures carrying trays laden with shells..

Embodiments of prophesied lives lived in and with or without them..them-love..hope..dreams…ambitions..

To find that one creature who might frisk past screeching your name..you must follow the voice..

Chasing with your hands tied..On your knees to reach touch a shell..

 And find that one shell that prophecies your freedom from this journey.. as a slave of time..

A voice leads to another voice and another… And you must twist and scatter and disfigure..

But each head that turns to face you… a medusa..

And you must look at it to escape into the next moment..

You are sculpted on the gallows..

To piece all those static bits.. to merge all the stone figures..you must burn..drown and disfigure to find..

To find…to find..to find.. to find…I must go on..to find..