22nd Surajkund Crafts Mela

In a completely random order ofcourse!

All You Need Is Love!

Aria

"It was during that sorrow that
love came to me!
A voice filled with harmony
That said...
Lie still, I am Life!"

"I am the god that descends
From the heavens to the earth
To make of the earth
A heaven!"

"I am Oblivion!
I am Glory!
I am Love, Love, Love!"

untitled

No, nothing at all, I regret nothing at all
Not the good, nor the bad. It is all the same.
No, nothing at all, I have no regrets about anything.
It is paid, wiped away, forgotten.
I am not concerned with the past, with my memories.
I set fire to my pains and pleasures,
I don’t need them anymore.
I have wiped away my loves, and my troubles.
Swept them all away.
I am starting again from zero.

No, nothing at all, I have no regrets
Because from today, my life, my happiness, everything,
Starts with you!

You.

I make the stupidest remarks in your presence

me. who is like a ribboned rock.

carefully planned so as not to be late.

me. who is out of synchronisation

like forgotten people of the jungles.

I write in grand fury those complete letters

so you would read and smile to yourself

all your tears I wish I were.
so beside you I shall flow, down your cheek, and

know your woes,

I would roll, watchfully, make no eye contact lest you see me there

watching

and caress you as I go

even inadvertently

helplessly enchanted by wit by folly by elements put

to make that love I have for you.

untitled.

at night
i sat by and watched you sleep
dreaming of dreams making you smile
and when you got up and told
me you were dreaming of
me kissing you
you were beautiful.

Keep Breathing

The storm is coming but i don't mind.
People are dying, i close my blinds.
All that i know is i'm breathing now.
I want to change the world...instead i sleep.
I want to believe in more than you and me.
But all that i know is i'm breathing.
All i can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing now.
All that i know is i'm breathing.
All i can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing now.
All we can do is keep breathing

A. For you.

I don't know anyone who isn't haunted by something...or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet, our efforts usually fail.

So the only way we can clear out the cobwebs is to turn a new page...
Or put an old story to rest...
Finally. Finally to rest.

Ashes to Ashes. Dust to dust.

Bombay

A week in the city that never sleeps. Long late night walks by the sea. I still have sand in my shoes. Squashed between cars on the road from suburbs to town. Glamour and celebrities who are no longer just celebrities but almost friends. A book. And a book deal. Cafe Mondegar. Leopold. Ferry on the muddy brown sea. Heritage buildings and decaying facades. Kalaghoda. Jazzy taxis. Poison. Juhu. Mocha. Alcohol. Sex. Cosmopolitan. Sweet breeze. Siddhivinayak. Filmcity. Groovy music. Freaky people. Matted long tresses. Anorexic women. Haute couture. Jimmy Choo. Versace. Big office. White walls. Black hearts. Jealousy. Cold vibes. Ego's colder than ice.

Am tired.

As I stepped off the plane with my bag in my hand, the first gust of cold wind on my face made me realise that I didn't like the city of dreams. I was just so happy to be home. To be in my own bed. To just be here. Yes I know if I go back, I could be 'someone', but for now I think I can wait a little. I think I can just be myself and wait for it to come to me in its own due time.

What will be. Will be. Afterall.

...

"The truth is, I probably don't want to be too happy or content, 'cause then what? I actually like the quest, the search. That's the fun. The more lost you are, the more you have to look forward to. What do you know? I'm having a great time and I don't even know it."

Mistakes

In life, only one thing is certain...apart from death and taxes...no matter how hard you try, no matter how good your intentions, you are going to make mistakes. You're going to hurt people. You're going to get hurt.

Truth and nothing but the truth.

Writers give back so many things. We give fantasy, we give advice. And most of the time, we give our undivided attention. But by far the hardest thing we can possibly give someone is the hard truth. The truth is hard. The truth is .... akward. And very often truth...hurts. I mean people sat that they want the truth. But do they really?

The truth is painful... Deep down nobody wants to hear it, especially when it hits home. But sometimes we give the truth, because the truth is all we have to give. And sometimes we tell the truth, because we need to hear it out loud just for ourselves. And then are times when we need to tell the truth because we just cant help ourselves.

And then there are times when we must tell the truth, because we owe everyone atleast that much.

Untitled

"Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?"

I hope you know what you are doing

"I love it!" he said. "I just love it!"
And then we kissed our first kiss soon after that. He tasted of salted sunflower seeds (his secret weakness, as we would learn later). His tongue was thin and pointy and intelligent. I didn't remember leading him to the bedroom, only that we were there already, lying on the crumpled blue bedcover, his fingers, my fingers, the small hollow inside his elbow and the vein pulsing in it. I thought I could see a faint radiation of heat where our skins touched. Did his hair smell of lemons? In my hurry I tore a loose button off his shirt. (Later we would laugh about that.) The back of his ear-stud rasped my hand, raising a weal. He brought it to his mouth and licked it. The small mirrors embroidered into the bedcover pressed their cool disks against his bare back, then against mine. His nipples were brown and hard as apple seeds in my mouth.

Then his hands were on mine, tight, stopping me as I tugged on his zipper.

"Don't. It isn't safe. I didn't expect this. I don't have anything with me. And I take it you don't either…."

The blood rocked so hard in the hollows of my body, I feared I'd break open. He had to repeat himself before I could understand the words. I shook my head vaguely, not caring. I wouldn't let go. My body, thwarted so long, had seized on wildness like a birthright. A part of me cried, You're insane. I pushed my face against him, his chest hairs wiry against my tongue, until finally his hands were gone. I could feel fingers, their drowning grip on my hair. I heard him say something. The words were too close, out of focus.

Later I would think we had started with God. As in God I hope you know what you're doing.

Dreams

I understood.

Will it hurt? I whispered.

Will it hurt a great deal?

He lashed his tail. The air was the color of old telegraph wire.

Will it at least be quick? His scales winked yes. From somewhere smoke rolled in to cover him. Or was the smoke part of what is to come? Will it happen soon?

A small irritation in the glint from his eyes. In the world he inhabited, soon had little meaning. Once again I'd asked the wrong question. He began to undulate away.

His tongue was a thin pink whip. I had the absurd desire to touch it. Wait! How can I prepare? He swiveled the flat oval of his head toward me. I put out my hand. His tongue--why, it wasn't whiplike at all but soft and sorrowful, as though made from old silk.

I think he said, There is no preparation other than understanding. What must I understand?

Death ends things, but it can be a beginning, too.

A chance to gain back what you'd botched.
Can you even remember what that was? I tried to think backward.
It was like peering through a frosted window.

He was fading. A thought flowed over my skin like a breath.

But only if you seize the moment.

Only if-- Then he was gone.

Last night the snake came in my dreams again.

All my life I could do anything. I could do anything, really. Except the one thing I wanted.

Untitled

Did it matter, then, she asked herself, walking toward Bond Street. Did it matter that she must inevitably cease, completely. All this must go on without her. Did she resent it? Or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? It is possible to die. It is possible to die.

White Nights

"But that I should feel any resentment against you, that I should cast a dark shadow over your bright, serene happiness!...That I should crush a single one of those delicate blooms which you will wear in your dark hair when you walk with him! Oh no- never, never! May your sky be always clear, may your dear smile be always bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart...Good Lord, only a moment of bliss? Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of a man's life?"

Untitled

'I love you so, because you haven't fallen in love with me.'

Change

Change. we don't like it, we fear it. But we can't stop it from coming. We either adapt to change, or we get left behind. It hurts to grow. Anybody who tells you it doesn't is lying. But here's the truth. sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same. And sometimes...oh sometimes change is good.

Sometimes...change is everything.

Message from a Zen master.

You are missing the rea life. Use more energy. Then fresh energies will flow. Just don't be a miser. Use them today; let today be complete unto itself, tomorrow will take care of itself, don't be worried about tomorrow. The worry, the anxiety, the problem, all simply show one thing: that you are not living right, that your life is not yet a celebration, a dance, a festivity. Hence, all the problems in your life.

Untitled

I say I love you, but you say you want to have freedom.

Why is freedom more important than love? Without love freedom is naked. Why can’t love live with freedom? Why is love the prison for freedom? How many people live in this prison then?

White Oleander

I could do so many things right now. I could just leave this city and write a book. Spend a year with a business tycoon and go to places he goes, meet the people he does, chronicle his life for him and the world, I could be famous in movies, I could just turn out to be a certain someone in direct marketing, I could be someone in advertising as well. There are so many things I can be right now. The possibilities have expanded. I have a choice.

A choice for the good or for the worse? I dont know. But yes a choice. SO much like a white oleander, white, pure, virginal, pretty, full of possibilities. And poisionous.

Am not quite sure which way I wanna go or what it is that I want to become eventually. Everyday opens up so many more possibilities and so many more ways of growing, being someone and doing something.

Some would say its the time of bloom after the long winter, a change of landsacpe. But to them I would only say that yes it is. I am living this too just as I have braved the dry winter. But am not sure which way to choose, the one which will make me instantly famous or the one which will make me toil some and then get me fame.

Do I want fame? The only thing I have really wanted in my life. Yes. I want to be famous. Known for my work. Known for what I do and how I do it. I have always wanted to prove my worth and this is perhaps the time when I have the opputunity to do so as well.

I can choose any one of the choices and excel in anyone. Just need to choose.

Which one, remains to be seen.

It's Time

"i suppose you are right. there isnt a reason to keep on living and feeling sorry for yourself. I have been jilted in love too and not just once. there were always more people in his life. more women and more fun it seemed, i was just a tiny speck of something which was once valuable. professionally am not going brilliantly either, am just doing a job because it is a job and thats what i am supposed to do. am I good at it? was. once upon a time. now am just a relic. i am so many things today. so many things which were, i have done my time and paid my dues, done my sadness and done my pain. at the moment am empty, devoid of everything, emotions and any hope or anything else. day is all about jsut breathing in and then exhaling in the evening, if i was to vanish tomorrow i dont think many would care or want to know. i hardly have friends, those who are, are only till a certain limit. I just want to rest. in peace. dying is the easy way out. i just dont want to do any of this anymore. and that is my reason. what does one do when one is just empty of everything else? "

May You Rest In Peace

"May you rest in peace, for a mistake such as this shall never be repeated"

Reads the peace memorial at Hiroshima Nagasaki. The world celebrates Friendship Day today, as some 60 years ago this was the day when one of the most barbaric acts in living history of mankind were being plotted. August 5th was the day when perhaps the final touches were being given to the plan, the final details being planned and the flying routes discussed. This was the day when Mr. Truman perhaps deliberated with this followers and gave the final go ahead.

Over a 1,25,000 people died in the immediated aftermath of the henious event. Every year more names are added in the list of people who have died ever since, for the effects of those nuclear explosions still echo in the nervous systems of people who survived. Maimed, disfigured, cancerous, tethering on to life somehow, these individuals have only known pain and suffering in the short life that they have.

Really, May Thier Souls Rest In Peace. For I hope a mistake such as this is not commited again.

Hotel Rwanda

"There will be no rescue, no intervention for us. We can only save ourselves. Many of you know influential people abroad, you must call these people. You must tell them what will happen to us... say goodbye. But when you say goodbye, say it as if you are reaching through the phone and holding their hand. Let them know that if they let go of that hand, you will die. We must shame them into sending help."

I am amazed at how the world just sat and watched 1,00,000 human beings being salughtered in the violence and genocide in Rwanda. How all the tales of atrocities reached homes and white houses and no one, no one even sat up and gave it even as much as an afterthought. Where did we loose our sense of resonspibility and decide that it wasn't our problem anymore. Tales of people dying becomes the headlines of newspapers we pay to read, suffering ofothers seems to be value for money for us.

Mad World

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World

And then...

"You said you loved me."
" I meant it at the time. "
" Well what was it, a viral love? Kind of a 24 hour thing?"

I

"I dont want to need you, 'cause I can't have you."

Fatso!

Thanks for the Memories

Gratitude, appreciation, giving thanks. No matter what words you use, it all means the same thing. Happy. We're supposed to be happy. Grateful for friends, family, happy just to be alive...

Whether we like it or not.

Maybe we're not supposed to be happy. Maybe gratitude has nothing to do with joy. Maybe being grateful is recognizing what you have for what it is. Appreciate small victories. Admiring the struggle it takes simply to be human. Maybe we're thankful for the familiar things we know. And maybe we're thankful for things we'll never know.

At the end of the day, the fact that we have the courage to still be standing ...

... is reason enough to celebrate.

Desire

Too often, the thing you want most is the one thing you can’t have. Desire leaves us heartbroken … it wears us out. Desire can wreck your life. But as tough as wanting something can be …the people who suffer the most … are those who don’t know what they want.

Drowning On Dry Land

Disappearances happen in life, people can suddenly fade away. Lovers go missing. We open an album to discover the pictures are gone. It's unexplained, it's rare, bit it happens. We call it memory lapse, say we never saw it, any explanation but the truth.

That life is full of vanishing acts. If something that we didn't know we had disappears, do we miss it?

Disappearances happen. Pains go phantom, blood stops running, and people fade away.

There's more I have to say. So much more. But I've disappeared.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

Its very interesting, how you go on with life and the small pleasures that you used to get previously no longer appeal. What is even more interesting is the simple fact that how after going through with something’s in life and in love, the same things no longer give you any pleasure as they did before. That’s what’s been happening to me at the moment. There are those who seem to be romantically interested in me, trying hard to get my attention and I am not even remotely interested in them. Its very strange, my reactions which are so subdued, my expressions which are next to nothing.

I have been having these out of body experiences, for a while now. Life seems distant and the past even more so. I see myself somewhere from a distance, hovering above my physical self, gazing down to see me function, sometimes perfect but mostly it’s the imperfection, which catches my eye.

I don’t even know why or what or of if any of this makes any sense. Its my lunch break and I need to write something, so here this is, my post, trying to make some sense out of the current me.

Untitled.

me

The past few days have been weird. I am doing quite alright at work, they seem to like me and my ideas so far. At home it has been peaceful too. Nothing specifically disturbing so far. Somehow the other night while I was trying to sleep, I looked at the ceiling and felt like crying, for no reason. I had a sea of tears welling in my eyes, ready to pour out. I have no clue why did I have tears in my eyes, but I just wanted so badly to cry and take it out of me. And then, just as they had come, they disappeared.

Mother's Pride

It's 1:16pm and am sitting and typing this on the day after Mother's Day. I hadn't spoken with my mum for a while till she called me yesterday. It was a usual phone call, full of the nagging - why havn't you called, did you eat properly, are behaving at work and all that. That just made me think of so many things together. Someday I will not have her to nag me or call me to say any of these things. She will too cease to exist as so many other people. I will miss her, terribly. She's been the cloest to me all this time. But the thing is I haven't been close or honest to her. She hardly knows me at all. She doesn't know any of my secrets or my trials and tribulations or why I left cities or why I left jobs or why I spent weeks in a monastry once. These are questions which neither she asked or I told her about. She has an image of me which is nice, sometimes very irritating but overall a very nice guy, it's just that I am far off from that. I have a secret which could possibly shatter her world, without which I may not be who I am. I know I can tell her anything, but this one thing is something she may not have full understanding of. What do I do?
She is my most favorite person on this planet & I can't tell her the truth. how sad is that?

New Office

I dont want to write anything about the new place am working at, it seems that each time I end up jinxing it. Superstitious? You bet.

At the moment am enjoying my honeymoon here, everyone is nice and sweet and things are okay, am waiting for the big moment, when I get jolted out of it and wonder when life isnt so neat and quiet anymore. It will happen I know, they always do without fail. I used to make my people perceptions very soon, decide who I am going to like and who am not, in the blink of my eye. Here, am trying a new approach of chances. Of giving everyone enough time before deciding if it is love or war.

It is an interesting place, most people have their own perceptions about me already. I am the outsider into their cozy little world, so it is going to be a slight uphill task of breaking their mould. I normally make easy friends with women, here am still to find a someone who I can think of being friends with at the moment. I sit isolated in a corner room with the airconditioner constantly working to make sure I am an icicle at the end of the day.

I don't know what to make of this unccany manner of things. Everything is so reminiscent of my past. The way I got this job or the position am supposedly hired for, the way am travelling to work everyday, the distance from work to my present home, the attitude of my workmates..just about everything I can think of. Even the ex boyfriend factor. He was there then too, calling me at weird hours of the night to ask for directions of some place or just to know the meaning of something, or to just ask if he was sounding drunk. I took those calls, gave answers and disconnected. I am still doing the same things all over again. I ran away from all of this a few years ago, for reasons best left unsaid. I wanted to escape it all and not have to fight. And now its here, with me and I am living it.

Reading Mr. Coleho, I understand that life gives you a second chance to things the right way, to make some sense out of everything. Perhaps this is it, this is the unfinished business I was told I need to finish. The battle that began back in time needs to end, I need to do my part and not look back at this. I know I want to do bigger and better things, maybe this needs to finish first.

I just need the strenght and the brain to do it right this time.

Beauty in the Breakdown

"Love was enough."

I can't imagine her pain or her ecstasy as she said those words to me. Sitting in a B grade bar, on a rusty stool with no piano in sight, this acclaimed singer/musician was batting her now almost gone eyelids at me.

Having seen the small shrine she built to her immortal love, just a little while ago, I didn't know what to say to her, a few paintings he had made for her, an autographed book, a few now yellowed pictures and her wedding ring.

Their was a story which was worth talking about, a 50 something man in love with a not yet 20 something girl. If age wasn't what worked against them, there was also the media pressure and the public images they both carried. One who was a famous writer and the other who was just about beginning to know what being famous felt like. It was all very new to her, to him she was his third wife. The fact that he had children from previous marriages didn't bother her, it was love.

Today after 10 years of loving him and some 15 after losing him to life, she sits and looks at me, as if it was all still happening, she was still with him, there in that rundown bar.

She doesn't have the money, anything from the inheritance of the books, the estates, its all with the children or the other wives.

" I didn't want to loose everything I have, the memories of him over some cheap squabble about who will have the money. Love was enough."

I wonder, about her, the love and the beauty of her breakdown, taking a sip of the cheap beer in front of me, I call for another round.

For me. For her.

Dream of someone else

"What about you, is there someone else? "
..
....

"No."

" No, but, but there's the dream of someone else."

RoadBlock

There is something to be said about roadblocks and my life. The minute I hope and think that I will manage a way to careen off the pothole and just in nick of time, I find myself deep in muck. You climb out of a ditch hoping that it will be okay the next time, that maybe this will be the last and the next pothole will come a lot further down the road. But no sir that is now how it is supposed to happen I guess, its like a series of potholes, sewn together at seams. Like those on a perforated strip.

Most of my posts seem to be in a similar vein, I wish I could write lighter, happier posts. At the moment tho, I cant seem to bring myself to do that, or do anything for that matter. It doesn't do well to dwell on the past and forget everything else I know, but when your past seems to haunt your present? When recurrent memories seem to repeat themselves in present for some reason, aren't you supposed to talk about it? Think about it?

Right now I imagine myself in a small little drive in restaurant, serving people the day's best - apple pie in some long forgotten town. One of those small places you see in many of these hollywood movies. I would be very content with that kind of a lifestyle, going back home with a porch and a forest at the back, sitting with a mug of coffee and hearing the crickets, as the moon glides across the sky. A small isolated almost content life. Would it really be too much to ask for?

Sideways.

The sky looks pretty
Normal and so do the trees
I woke up pretty
Early and I could see
That I've been walking
I've been thinking
I've been looking at you
Sideways.
I've been moving
I've been dreaming
I've been looking at you
Sideways.
I have no problems
Dipping in my feet
But the trouble comes when
I have to jump.
And all the reasons not to
Seem pretty good
At the time
Cause I've been walking
I've been thinking
I've been looking at you
Sideways.
Yeah I've been moving
I've been dreaming
I've been looking at you
Sideways.

The Swan

By my side,
You'll never be.
By my side,
You'll never be.
Cos I'm fake at the seams,
I'm lost in my dreams.
I want you to know,
That I can't let you go.
And you're never coming home again,
By my side,
You'll never be.
By my side,
You'll never be.
I wanted to tell you I'd changed.
I wanted to tell you that things would be different this time.
But I see you, you see me,
Differently.
I see you, you see me,
Differently.
You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again

Scars

People have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret road-maps of their personal histories, diagrams of all their old wounds. Most of our old wounds heal leaving nothing behind but a scar, but some of them don't. Some wounds we carry with us everywhere and though the cuts long gone the pain still lingers.

What's worse, new wounds which are so horribly painful, or old wounds that should have healed years ago and never did?

Maybe our old wounds teach us something, they remind us of where we've been and what we've overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future. That's what we like to think. But that's not the way it is, is it? Something's we just have to learn over and over and over again.

Grace

I dont think I would have left my old life that easily, I could have still gone on with all that pain and misery for maybe a couple of more years, had it not been for the accident which finally didnt let me have that choice.

I was living my life on scraps, thin strips of scraps is more like it. Hanging on to them with all my might and making myself believe that this was it, this was the last time it will happen, there could be happiness and maybe things will be back to the way they were. In my profession at that time, it was a gift > Imagination. You were lucky if you had that, had a real shot at being a successful copywriter or maybe a good graphic designer. Only, that I didnt realise how to channel it in the right way, today when I look back at the people who were with me at that time, all of them, they're all so far away from me. Leading lives some of which are now famous, successful, accomplished. These were the people who actually made it somewhere, can think of a lot of things for themselves now, a family perhaps, their own house maybe. And there is me, still standing in the queue to take a bus. Trying to begin my life over again, did I go horribly wrong somewhere? I suppose I did. I didnt stick on long enough, I didnt do so many things the right way, the way they were supposed to be done.

I actually thought I could make a difference, tried my luck at being someone and I wanted to keep trying that. Forever maybe.

Just that forever was too long.

Now its the same me, hanging on to a scrap again, in a different time, but in the same place.
All over again.

My Visual DNA

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

AncientPromises

I could go hiding. Far away from people, world and everyone. To a place of my own creation. I have been blessed with that little thing called imagination or survival instincts if you may, and that will let me create this make believe world around me, a small little haven where I could stay locked up in a tower for a while and not think about anything else. Its easy to do that, so just sit back and think that you cannot do anything now, now it has all been done. It has been said and it as been foretold.

I have decided.

I am going back to my old life. The life I ran away from. The life which remains unfinished, untold and unsaid. Maybe this is the sign that I need to finish that, what I had begun so many years ago. That escapism isnt the answer. That running away is temporary and that you need to do your karma till it finishes its cycle.

While I sit back and think over the years gone by and what was and what is now, I am scared, I dont know if I am up for it all over again, if I will be able to survive, if I have it in me, to muster the courage to fight and then to remain. I dont know any of that. I may not last long in this. I dont even know if this is what I wanted from my life, hell I never knew what I wanted anyway. But this is it then.

Life try me.
Its not like I have a choice.

The Prophet

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being,

the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine

the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit,

the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find

it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,

and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Together they come,

and when one sits alone with you at your board,

remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

- Khalil Gibran

Careful! Speed Breaker Ahead!

5 days in the aftermath of my birthday and I didn't even realize that it was my birthday. My new life was supposed to have begun. I was supposed to have relocated and re started my being into a new me. The new job was supposed to be interesting and the new city exciting. I was at my destination and at the doorstep of this life. And then what happened? Destiny. Mix-ups and mis-understanding and then some humiliation and some sadness. Oh and lets not forget the 1500 Kms of bus travel in about 24 hours. A screwed back and a sore ass, that is what you get for wanting more, for thinking that you could maybe, possibly maybe turn your life around. I know, I know what everyone will say, its all in a learning experience, maybe its for the better, there must be something good in all this. I have heard all that. Ever since 2004.

It isn't and so I carry on, drag my feet along the sand and get some more blisters on my feet. Gather some more dust and have my shoulders a little more stooped. I'm a survivor am told, but what else can you do when there is no other choice? Once upon a time I had dreams. I wanted to be someone, today my best ally is pretense. I can pretend. Maybe that's all that remains when there is nothing else, the ability of make believe. Like Satine said in Moulin Rouge "I make men believe what they want to believe.." me too. I make everyone believe what they want to believe. Someone may call me just a big drama, maybe I am, there is nothing else to me anymore.

Maybe its hope. That's the thing. I hope. Things will be better, they'll solve themselves out. But they don't. Not for me.


I'm tired.
I wish dying was an option.

Birthday

It's 12.00am. As I sit here waiting for phone calls, or just a phone call, I wonder about the year gone by. One more added onto my age and one more gone by. The new year ahead at the moment promises to be interesting and full to the brim of hope. But wait that sounds familiar.. isn't that what happens every year? The year ahead looks pretty. Anyhow, This year I intend to make a few changes and alter the kind of person I am. Mellow a little maybe, if that's the word. Try and see if I change around then would my life change ?
12.04am am am still waiting for the phone call. I have never made big deals out of birthdays, but I think like everyone I too count the number of people who wish me, doesn't everyone?! Birthday presents.. I get one every year, the one I actually wait for.
The night is breezy and pleasant and there is a full moon against a inky blue sky. I can inhale the cool air and feel it filling my lungs, someone has Queen of the Night blooming in their garden, there is a sweet, musky fragrance in the air, its delicate perfume caressing the insides, almost as if I touch the isolated strand it would shatter into million little pieces.
12.10am.. phones ringing.
someone remembers.

Lonely

Forty years ago, The Beatles asked the world a simple question. They wanted to know where all the lonely people came from. My latest theory is that a great many of the lonely people come from a stationary shop. More precisely from the ink these stores sell, which glides on paper as a writer writes a story. As writers we ignore our own needs so we can meet our characters' needs. We ignore our friends and families so we can create other people's friends and families. Which means that at the end of the day all we really have is ourselves. And nothing in this world can make you feel more alone than that. 400 years ago another well known English guy had an opinion about being alone. John Donne. He thought we were never alone. Of course it was fancier when he said it. No man is an island entire unto himself. Boil down that island talk and he just meant that all anyone needs is someone to step in. And let us know we're not alone.

Inadequacy

It's 2:36 am.
I miss you.
I remember you.
I remember I loved you.
I wish you were near.

Do you know what we'd do if you were here right now?
We'd bundle up really warm and go outside and sit beside the lake and
watch the blood red moon sink into the inky lake. I'd hold you close
like I never have before and always wanted to. I know the terrain of
your mind and find it rejuvenating. You know the contours of mine and
find them comfortable. We'd be old lovers looking at an old moon, drop
against the backdrop of this beautiful Dalhousie. And I'd hold you
close, and we'd talk softly as if we didn't want to shatter the
crystal perfection, ice-cold around us. We would talk about nothing
and everything and it would be the most important conversation in the
world because it was ours.

Then, when you began to feel cold through your coverings I'd get up
and dust off and give you a hand up and then we'd go into the house to
the kitchen and make coffee. There'd be no one around us.We'd go right
into the center of life and warmth, and I'd make a Double Espresso and
you'd have a Hot Chocolate, and I'd tell you how good mine was and
you'd say how good yours was, and we'd taste each other's and maybe
even prefer it to our own, but not say anything, because we'd settle
for less for ourselves, but not for the other. And then you'd start to
tell me about the little things in your life, the gossip and the petty
defeats and victories. You'd tell it to me in that way you tell me
things that makes me want to preserve you, right there and then in
that moment for all time, so you'd never lose your innocence and your
kindness and your glow. You'd be talking and sipping and waving your
hands around, and then I'd slide my hand onto yours when it paused for
a second, and you'd pretend not to notice and you'd keep talking and
then take your hand back to emphasize a point. I'd smile to myself
because I know you so well, and because you've got spirit and you
don't come easy. But I'd be persistent and grab hold of your hand and
pin it down, and we'd smile at each other as we recognized our ancient
game.

Then, when the coffee and the hot chocolate were finished, we'd go out
on a walk. We'd walk in silence; the world would be such a comfortable
place at that moment that we'd both let our thoughts drift to
unimportant things. We'd get back to the house and it would feel like
home even to you, and we'd go up to my room and gently open the door
so as not to wake anyone. As we entered through the darkness you'd
trip over my bag left on the floor and you'd grab hold of my arm for
support and instinctively, I'd flex my muscle. Your giggle would burst
through the darkness, and you'd start me chuckling and that would go
on until we'd have to run into the lounge next to my room and collapse
on the couch laughing hysterically.

Then we'd be spent and we'd remember that there would be few days like
that, because now we are adults and our first allegiance is to the
pursuit of money and success, and not to unconditional love. So I'd
tell you some things - beautifully worded and eloquently spoken. And
you'd tell me some things - clumsily and awkwardly. But you'd believe
me less than I believed you, because you know me well.
Before I would go to sleep, I'd look at you for sometime, as if you
were a picture. And I'd remember all the times I'd looked at your
photograph and wished you were in front of me. I'd pull you to me, and
bring my mouth close to plant a soft, innocent kiss on yours, to
express to you, in a fleeting brush of lips, what I loved you for. And
maybe you'd let your lips touch mine, just for a second, but for a
second longer than ever before. And then we'd sleep - me, with my head
on my pillow and in your lap; you, with a smile on your lips and in my
heart.

I wish you were here.
I wish you were near.

Human

I don't see right, I don't see wrong
In anything I've done, In where I've gone.
And I'm only human and yes I've made mistakes
I wish that I could foresee what I'm doing wrong, get some breaks.

Through a doorway I'm calling, down a long road I'm walking
Like an eagle I'm soaring up so high.

You can see it in my hands
You can see it in my face
I'm chasing passion down a one way street.
But I'm in command of lost control
And I'll tell you one thing's certain, that I'll never fake it for anyone.

Run to a place you'll never hide, to a place you hold so tight and
you'll try....

And I'm only human and yes I've made mistakes

Sleeping With The Enemy

You don't get to call me a whore. When I met you, I thought I had found the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with! I was done. So all the boys and all the bars and all the obvious daddy issues, who cared? Because I was done. You left me. You chose someonelse. I'm all glued back together now. I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don't get to call me a whore.

Mindcircus

Falling in,
Six hours from morning,
And falling in,
Sink me off to sleep

So come along within,
I think it's time to let me in,
I'm tipping my foot very close to the edge,
And just a few more of your seconds,
And I need for me to repair
To neatly stand and spin it around in my head,

Oh can i please have some silence,
How about some space?
Can i have some space?

Almost, ready to drift now,
And I feel myself slipping inside you,
Oh just a little bit further,
before something drags me back,
You're so close,
I thought I nearly had you there

I'm so tired, I gotta sleep,
I wanna wake up from a dream,
I've had enough, I need to sleep,
I wanna wake up without you, yeah

"Turn around. Walk away."

"From what?"

"From my friend."

"But I wasn’t …"

"Uh yeah, yes you were. Come on, look. You can’t do this. You don’t have the right. Not anymore."

"I just wanna find out if he’s okay."

"No he’s not! He’s a human traffic accident and everybody is slowing down to look at the wreckage. He’s doing the best he can with what he has left. Look I know you can’t see this because you’re in it but you can’t help him now. It’ll only make it worse. Walk away. Leave him to mend."

Pain

Pain comes in all forms. The small tinge. A bit of soreness. The random pain. The normal pains we live with everyday. Then there’s the kind of pain you can’t ignore. A level of pain so great that it blocks out anything else. Makes the rest of the world fade away. Until all we can think about is how much we hurt. How we manage our pain is up to us. Pain. We anaesthetize, ride it out, embrace it, ignore it. And for some of us the best way to manage pain is to just push through it.

Deny, Deny, Deny

What do you say to an exboyfriend who calls you up at 3:00am after some 3 years of silence.

"hello?"
"its me..."
"okay. can i sleep now?"
"its me. wake up. talk to me."
"why wud you call me at 3am and want to talk?dont you have some controlfreakconventiontogoto?"
"laughter."
"amdrunk"

I had guessed as much. In the past on several occasions while we were together, I got phone calls at weird hours of the night to talk. Speak till he fell asleep. I obliged ofcourse, in turn losing valuable hours of sleep and then facing an angry always-on-pms-dyke at work. While it was endearing and sweet and nice, I realised very soon that it couldn't go on for very long. Those nights was when I already knew this wasn't going to last very long. I was already changing and accommodating too much. The guy was obviously a drunkard and that's not counting any of the dope. But I still denied it. Deny, Deny, deny. He did look like rather good though. And who wouldn't want an affair with an almost Adonis to last for all the while that it has a chance. They are always nice and sweet to you, these vertible Gods. They kiss you, they lick you and then they kick you. The thing is you expect it a lot of times. But even then I don't think it is ever us. It’s not us. It’s them. Them and their stupid boy … penises. Penises. Penisesisies.

They didn’t tell me they had a wife. They gave absolutely no warning that they were going to break up with you.

Into You Like A Train

In general people can be categorized in one of two ways. Those who love surprises. And those who don’t. I don’t. I’ve never met a writer that enjoys a surprise. Because as writers we like to be in the know. We have to be in the know because we aren’t the kind of people that die and law suits happen. Am I rambling? I think I’m rambling. Okay. So my point actually … and I do have one. Has nothing to do with surprises or death or lawsuits or writers. My point is this whoever said what you don’t know can’t hurt you was a complete and total moron. Because for most people I know not knowing is the worst feeling in the world. Okay fine. Maybe it’s the second worst. As writers there are so many things we have to know. We have to know what it takes. We have to know how to take care of our characters. And how to take care of each one of them. Eventually we even have to figure out how to take care of ourselves. As writers we have to be in the know. But as human beings, sometimes its better to stay in the dark. Because in the dark there maybe fear… … but there’s also hope.

Touch Me

As people, as friends, as human beings we all try to do the best we can. But the world is full of unexpected twists and turns. And just when you’ve gotten the lay of the land, the ground underneath you, shifts. You lie there waiting, sitting by the window with sun light pouring in, watching the blue sky turn orange and pink and then a deep shade of inky blue. But hope doesn't arrive. The stars shine and the moon rises, the wind wraps itself around you and cries in familiar wounded voices. You can't do much but sit there and wait for the feeling to pass and wish that it would be better. Soon. It is not as much as its about the change of events in your life you are so unhappy about. It actually is about why does someone who does not deserve it, has it so good? Why? It was yours, happily ever after, it was your lifetime achievement award, it was you who was to be congratulated for having found it all, for having done it all. But no, it isn't so and from the looks of it, perhaps it never will be.

Life is so strange, when you want to live it won't let you breathe, it will take everything away and corner you in a dark alley and tell you that you cannot. And when you don't want to live anymore, when you know you cannot go on, it tells you walk. Walk even if you don't have the will or courage or the limbs to make it through the night.

We all go through this at some point in our lives, they say. The intense orgasm of pain and darkness. It is very unlike anything you would ever encounter. But then what is? We hope it gets better from here, that we will only get wiser and kinder and more forgiving. But are we really? We get bitter, we get suspicious, we get sarcastic and anything good that comes there after is questioned, is made to step up and prove it self. But prove what? That it is permanent? There is nothing permanent, we know that too. Then why bother? Really?

Nowhere Warm

Okay so sometimes even the best of us make rash decisions. Bad decisions. Decisions we pretty much know we're gonna regret the moment, the minute, especially the morning after. I mean maybe not regret, regret because at least you know we put ourselves out there. But still, something inside us decides to do a crazy thing. A thing we know that'll probably turn around and bite us in the ass. Yet, we do it anyway. What I'm saying is we reap what we sow. What comes around goes around. It's karma and any way you slice it, karma sucks. Payback's a bitch. One way or another, our karma, will lead us to face ourselves. We can look our karma in the eye or we can wait for it to sneak up on us from behind. One way or another, our karma will always find us. And the truth is as writers we have more chances than most to set the balance in our favor. No matter how hard we try, we can't escape our karma. It follows us home. I guess we can't really complain about karma. It's not unfair. It's not unexpected. It just evens the score. And even when we're about to do something we know will tempt karma to bite us in the ass � well it goes without saying - we do it anyway.

Slipping Away

All that we needed was right
The threshold is breaking tonight

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people, they're slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away

All that we needed tonight
Are people who love us and like
I know how it feels to need
Oh when we leave here, you'll see

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people, they're slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away

So long
So long

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people that slipping away

Wait

A lot of things happened together, I could not breathe for exactly 1 minute and 12 seconds, life blurred and then I had that familiar feeling of pain. Heart Break to be precise. Is it possible to have the same feeling again ever? I didn’t know till today. I had thought that the part where you say that this is over and done with actually means that much. Apparently it does not. These moments come back to haunt you, to remind you that you too are capable of feeling the same pain. Okay, let me rephrase that you are “Still” capable of feeling the same kind of pain. That it is not over yet. That it will remain for a while still. That while everything else may melt away and you may not remember it, pain will stay with you. Just as real and sharp as the day when you got it the first time.

Somewhere along the line I lost it. The idea that you could be whole ever again, but then I had also lost the realization that it is important to be a certain whole being. I thought it was okay that you could be this half being; this half walking talking and crying person or thing and that was enough and okay. That you could perhaps make do with it. But apparently not. It isn’t enough to be the wronged one. It isn’t even enough to be the wronged one and seek revenge. I sought revenge, went after it with all that I had in me. Love pushes you over they say, it begins that change in you which lets you blossom and bloom. They don’t know that love can turn you vicious. That it can kill and mutilate and that it hurts you more than you can hurt the other person. It was much too late by the time I knew how it was going to be. To late to make amends. To late to undo. To late to realize that love couldn’t conquer all. That it will haunt you for the rest of your life. Whatever life I have lived till date.

“does love exist?”

“…. Perhaps for you it does”

lyrics - sheryl crow

It Had To Be You

i grow, to become an adult, if i must.
i too do not care to be alone.
unprecedented, it is not, i know.

i do too that looking at the glass so objectively.
i am aware of the
sprouts wielding its tendrils up and up and up inch by inch
year after year. for, sometime ago the sad image turned
and metamorphosed.

every strike at the hand of the clock i mature.

yesterday, dear, i learned to use a watch.
the bald teacher talked of
it in school. but i used it for a purpose, yesterday.
and calculators
do not leave my side these days.

so like an imprinted duckling i walk forth
by killing that spirit god of doodling
i grow, to become an adult, if i must.

it is ironic. times when i was to study i did not,
imbibing turnspikes
after another giving wet hedges a light brush to
sprinkle the dust of water
upon myself, and while avoiding the tall snake lying on the road,
made love to life.

with weed up my throat i gurgle. it is just
as i thought
a greeting card persona non grata there
on the wooden floor
of the basketball court lies my childhood

Inadequate

It's hot and you're making my palms sweat.
I hate you and I never want to see you again.
Because you can't just stand here and give me an
identity crisis like this, you hear me?
I don't care what's true and what's not. Leave me
alone and turn off the light.
In the dark it is easy to pretend that the truth is
what it ought to be.

I can feel the sweat dripping down my skin.
Only, it's not my skin anymore.
Now I'm confused.
That's why I warned you not to bring changes and empty
out the past.
Because you created the past and now you've emptied
out yourself, and spilled doubt everywhere.
That's why you have to get out.

I'm jumping out of my skin here, and now you're
telling me it's not my skin?
I don't understand any past other than the one you
gave me.
I'm simple. I don't understand choices and options and
what could have been.
I only know what was. And now you've destroyed it.

Listen

Fresh starts. Thanks to the calendar, they happen every year. Just set your watch to January. Put your past behind you and start over. it’s hard to resist the chance of a new beginning. A chance to put the problems of last year to bed.

But who gets to determine when the old ends and the new begins? It’s not a day on a calendar. Not a birthday, not a new year. It’s an event, big or small, something that changes us. Ideally it gives us hope. A new way of living and looking at the world. Letting go of old habits, old memories. What’s important is that we never stop believing that we can have a new beginning. But it’s also important to remember that amid all the crap are a few things really worth holding on to.

This Used To Be My Playground

After careful consideration and many sleepless nights, here’s what I’ve decided, There’s no such thing as a grown up. We move on, we move out, we move away from our families and form our own. But the basic insecurities, the basic fears and all those old wounds just grow up with us. And just when we think that life and circumstance have forced us to truly once and for all become an adult …

"what color underwear do you want, I'll get it when I go out shopping..."
… your mother says something like that.

We get bigger, we get taller, we get older. But for the most part, we’re still a bunch of kids.

I’ve heard it’s possible to grow up. I’ve just never met anyone who’s actually done it. Without parents to defy we break the rules we make for ourselves. We throw tantrums when things don’t go our way. We whisper secrets with our best friends in the dark. We look for comfort where we can find it. And we hope. Against all logic. Against all experience. Like children, we never give up hope.

Mediocrity

its difficult to write poetry
on a afternoon
grey and dull
darkness falling
like a furry moth( tough its not 4 o clock yet)
enveloping me
in a sort of suffocating vacuity
an aching nothingness
of having to accept
that ur mediocre
ive tried my best from keeping it from you
tried my best
to piece together
short staccato sentences
with pregnant gaps
and jagged edges
like a grey winter afternoon
struggling to hold on
to its weak light
because its not 4oclock yet
an empty passionless poet at twenty six
tried my best
so you wouldn't know, but perhaps
you already know that i cant anymore
that one cant have writers block forever
that its just a defense mechanism
that i am
only a mediocre person
terrified of my own mediocrity....

Not Ready To Make Nice

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying

Return of the Rain

Its so strange the way things happen in life, the strangest are the ways you meet new people. Everything has a reason, some people come into your life just for a little bit and then leave and you forget about them, for they have fulfilled the purpose they were there for. There have been so many in life that are no longer with me, my time with them ended I suppose, and today when I look back I can't even recall why they were with me.

These few days am increasingly being reminded of someone, scenes and I feel as if I am there again, in between of the cursing, the fight and that humiliation. It still is capable of bringing tears to my eyes, still has the power to make me feel the same kind of hurt and pain that was there when I was in the middle of it. I wonder why, is it because I have not made peace with it yet? Don't know, I know am not angry or have a grudge or anything of that sort. But still it has stayed with me..maybe am wounded beyond repair.

Some would think again, its the sadistic pleasure I gain out of remembering all of it again. But I dont know why, it just feels that these memories are a part of me somehow and I can't seem to forget them. I had not thought about it for so long and today its here again. With me.

No More Drama

Many people tell me that I like wallowing in my own misery, that I like to live and re-live my own pain. Perhaps! But tell me when that is all that you've got left, when that is the very thing which is somehow manages to hold you together, when there is no help in sight, what else are you supposed to do?

There is a light at the end of every tunnel. Guess so, only it seems at the moment that my tunnel is a bit too long for me to handle.

Runaway Love

Its been 2 long years for me to reconcile, reinvent and reconstruct. But well, the karma perhaps, it hasn't yet materialised. Tired, out of shape and out of breath with the endless chasing of all those impossible dreams; on the verge of losing my excuse for un-success, for un-immortality, for un-greatness; on the brink of tumbling into the human world of dissolved hopes and fading lights, I have no choice but to step out into the thin night air.

I've had an eventful life, in my twenties and have seen some of those things which people won't believe. I guess it comes from the fact that I've always been too "intense" - so to speak. From great pain to my euphoric being, I guess if there was one thing I became or am brilliant at is masking it all. I have the greatest gift - deception. So much so that today there is no one, no - one who knows the real me, let alone understand me.

Self-desrtuctive? Perhaps, I always found so much comfort in destroying everything which was so much dear to me, so many times I've done that now I've forgotten how it may feel to have something in your life. Did I do all of that on purpose? Don't know. Everyone will have an opinion about me, but I think I did what I did each time, for I saw someone wasn't happy with something about me, so instead of focusing on what I wanted I thought what about the other person needed.

I irony is that I called it Love! My great tragedy!

Maybe Tomorrow

I have been toying with the idea lately. It seems as if I have almost even made up my mind, decided the place and figured out how it will be. But then I wonder if it is the right thing to do? If it is the right thing to do to just disappear suddenly? Its not like I have not done that before. I did and failed at that too. Miserably.

Maybe thats the price I need to pay. Maybe that is what it is, the punishment of my mistakes. To be there constantly and not know what's going to happen to me, or just keep on expecting. Waiting and wondering and constantly trying to make it.

Perhaps.

What to do

When life closes in on you, what do you do?

They say we all have to pay for our mistakes here, in this life. I am trying to undo all of them too..but nothing seems to be working out. What do I do in that circumstance?

It's just getting a bit too much to handle and I have no clue what to do. The problem being that I can't even ask anyone for any help, for what can I possibly tell them, why I need help.

Invincible

This bloody road remains a mystery
This sudden darkness fills the air
What are we waiting for?
Wont anybody help us?
What are we waiting for?
We cant afford to be innocent
Stand up and face the enemy
Its a do or die situation
We will be invincible

This shattered dream you cannot justify
Were gonna scream until were satisified
What are we running for?
Weve got the right to be angry
What are we running for?
When theres no where we can run to anymore

We cant afford to be innocent
Stand up and face the enemy
Its a do or die situation
We will be invincible
And with the power of conviction
There is no sacrifice
Its a do or die situation
We will be invincible

Wont anybody help us?
What are we running for?
When theres no where, no where we can run to anymore

We cant afford to be innocent
Stand up and face the enemy
Its a do or die situation
We will be invincible
And with the power of conviction
There is no sacrifice
Its a do or die situation
We will be invincible

It doesn`t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart`s longing.

It doesn`t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn`t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow, if you have been opened by life`s betrayals, or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine and your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with JOY, mine or your own: if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn`t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself: if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday, and if you can source your life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon.

It doesn`t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn`t interest me who you are, or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn`t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Ruminations - Part 16

There's an old proverb that says you can't choose your family. You take what the fates hand you. And like them or not, love them or not, understand them or not, you cope. Then there's the school of thought that says the family you're born into is simply a starting point. They feed you, and clothe you, and take care of you, until you're ready to go out into the world and find your tribe.

I don't know which one I belong to, or if I do belong to any in the first place!

Make Someone Happy

Make someone happy,
Make just one someone happy.
Make just one heart the heart you sing to.
One smile that cheers you,
One face that lights when it nears you.
One gal you're everything to.

Fame, if you win it,
Comes and goes in a minute.
Where's the real stuff in life to cling to?
Love is the answer,
Someone to love is the answer.
Once you've found her,
Build your world around her.
Make someone happy.
Make just one someone happy
And you will be happy too.

Someday out of the blue

Someday out of the blue
In a crowded street or a deserted square
I'll turn and I'll see you
As if our love were new
Someday we can start again
Someday soon

Here comes the night
And with it come the memories
Lost in your arms
Down in the foreign fields
Not so long ago
Seems like eternity
Those sweet afternoons
Still capture me

I still believe
I still put faith in us
We had it all
And watched it slip away
Where are we now?
Not where we want to be
Those hot afternoons
Still capture me

Someday out of the blue
Maybe years from now, or tomorrow night
I'll turn and I'll see you
As if we always knew
Someday we would live again
Someday soon

I still believe, I still put faith in us

Here comes the night
And with it come the memories
Lost in your arms
Down in the foreign fields
Not so long ago
Seems like eternity
Those sweet afternoons
Still capture me

Pour Me Comprendre

To be able to understand me,
you would have to know what I have become.
To be able to understand me,
My life would have to be known
You will need to learn all about me to become my friend.
To be able to understand me,
It would take at least this evening
To be surprised the way one of my tender glances but,
all is lost to chance.
I know he's very small
In the arms of his mother.
Damage, damage.
I liked his face so much.
To be able to understand me
The decorations from my childhood would have to be known,
The breath of my brother who sleeps,
The resonance of my first agreements.
To be able to understand me
My nights would have to be known.
My dreams of love.
And then my long insomnia.
When comes the day,
With it the fear of facing the life.
It can be there to share with some
A happiness of which I have had my share.
Damage, damage.
I liked some landscapes so much.
To be able to understand me
It needs to be known
That I will not be able.
It would have to be liked more than me
And I will say to you
That I really do not believe in it.
To be able to understand me
It would be necessary to meet Love and meet truth.
For you to understand the great love.
Know that afterwards
All that is there will still live a day.

"I just need something to happen, I need a sign that things are going to change. I need a reason to go on. I need some hope! And in the absence of hope, I need to stay in bed a feel like I'm going to die today."

Writers are control freaks. With a pen in your hand, you feel unstoppable. There's no fear, there's no pain. You're ten-feet tall and bulletproof. And then you leave the study. And all that perfection, all that beautiful control, just falls to crap.

At the end of the day, there are some things you just can't help but talk about. Some things we just don't want to hear, and some things we say because we can't be silent any longer. Some things are more than what you say, they're what you do. Some things you say cause there's no other choice. Some things you keep to yourself. And not too often, but every now and then, some things simply speak for themselves.

When the truth is ugly, people try to keep it hidden, because they know if revealed, the damage it will do. So they conceal it within sturdy walls or they place it behind closed doors or they obscure it with clever disguises but truth, no matter how ugly, always emerges. And someone we care about always ends up getting hurt. And someone else will revel in their pain and that's the ugliest truth of all.

I have often wondered what it must be like to be dead. If we still have the five senses working or if it is just that some of it is with you. If there is any memory left still or is it just the thot of it which is left behind. It must be a strange feeling I suppose..to see and not be seen, to hear and not be heard, to touch and not be felt.

At some point we all have to go through this, for some of us it is may be a difficult journey for some it will be easier. But whatever it is, in whichever shape or size one turns into, I think in the end its all about what you leave behind which matters the most.

The memories is all that remains.

Trust is a fragile thing. Once earned, it affords us tremendous freedom. But once trust is lost, it can be impossible to recover. Of course the truth is, we never know who we can trust. Those we're closest to can betray us, and total strangers can come to our rescue. In the end, most people decide to trust only themselves. It really is the simplest way to keep from getting burned.

Sometimes doing something is worse than doing nothing. But is doing nothing enough ever?

The Year of Magical Thinking

The truth is that it has finally happened. I have lost the will to write now. Maybe I have just accepted the fact that I wasn’t capable of writing as much as I wanted to. I tried and it just didn’t work out for me. Many of the things which haven’t worked out for me lately.

The problem I lies in the fact that I begin to believe in dreams which don’t exist. Things which have no basis begin to become the center on my world for some odd reason. A sorry state to be in I know. But is it wrong if that is what gives you happiness? Temporarily? I don’t know what permanent happiness is. or if there is a state as such as well. Maybe not.

My year of magical thinking has been a very long one. Longer still is this part which doesn’t seem to end. I think am being torn apart in being who I want to be and what I am. Dreams and hopes and aspirations are each so different now and so profound that I cannot deny them. But then too they’re all un attainable.

Setting goals was easy but it is very difficult to just stick with them. I don’t think am capable.

Easy Silence - The Long Road Home

When the calls and conversations
Accidents and accusations
Messages and misperceptions
Paralyze my mind

Buses, cars and airplanes leavin'
Burnin' fumes of gasoline and
Everyone is running and I
Come to find a refuge in the

Easy silence that you make for me
It's OK when there's nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay

Monkeys on the barricades
Are warning us to back away
They form comissions trying to find
The next one they can crucify

And anger plays on every station
Answers only make more questions
I need something to believe in
Breathe in sanctuary in the

Easy silence that you make for me
It's OK when there's nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quite you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay

Children lose their youth too soon
Watching war made us immune
And I've got all the world to lose
But I just want to hold on to the

Easy silence that you make for me
It's OK when there's nothing more to say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me

The easy silence that you make for me
It's OK when there's nothing more to say to me

And the peaceful quite you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay

Ruminations - Part 15

No-one likes to lose control, but for someone like me there's nothing worse. It's a sign of weakness, of not being up to the task. And still there are times when it just gets away from you. When the world stops spinning and you realize that your shiny little keyboard isn't gonna save you. No matter how hard you fight it, you fall. And it's scary as hell. Except there's an upside to free-falling. It's the chance you give your friends to catch you.

Ruminations - Part 14

We all want to live in a fantasy world. Me a little more than others. But most of our fantasies resolve when we wake, vanished to the back of our mind, but sometimes we're sure if we try hard enough - we can live the dream.

In the fantasy world everything is simple. Pleasure is good, and twice as much pleasure is better. That pain is bad, and no pain is better. But the reality is different. The reality is that pain is there to tell us something, and there's only so much pleasure we can take without getting a stomach ache. And maybe that's okay. Maybe some fantasies are only supposed to live in our dreams.

The Hanging

From BridalBeer's Blog:

""So he won't commit?" Asked Raunaq, his palm close to his chest, and an invisible gasp flew out.
"No."
"OK, then," he said, examining his nails, "Gift him a bra, and tell him to hang himself with it."

Rumination - Part 13

There are times when even the best of us have trouble with commitment, and we may be surprised at the commitments we're willing to let slip out of our grasp. Commitments are complicated. We may surprise ourselves by the commitments we're willing to make. True commitment, takes effort, and sacrifice. Which is why sometimes, we have to learn the hard way, to choose our commitments very carefully.

Umrao Jaan Ada

To say a book loses something in translation, would be an understatement in the case of Mirza Ruswa’s Urdu classic, The Courtesan of Lucknow (Umrao Jan Ada).

Here is a line from the book, one of my favorites so far:

"one ceases to long for something which one knows is out of reach..."