Starting me

The more we think goes with the act of nothing being done. So when you actually start doing something like blogging, you can't help but think again.In times where conversations have become tasks, with the backing up of time constraints, it is important to put thoughts into words to express what is there to be expressed.And for people like me who love the inked world as forms of exhalation,blogging seems to be a sigh of relief from the rest of the breath.I am new to this air of living or one can say late (as usual), but it feels good to finally begin and try something.

This is just going to be my attempt to know the perspective of the world i reach based on my perspective of the world, inside me and around there.

Its wonderful to be alive and type, but what is even more wonderful is to live to type and be the type that you are typing. I identify myself with a lot of types, but the type i want to be is what i am a bit already and a lot bit out there to become.Its a curious head that wants to decipher the living formula and its a dreamy heart that may have an idea as to where i will find it.And may be i am just a space in time that needs a ticking.

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Play the.....PAUSE..........**

I stepped on a dry curled leaf on the ground and the sound is somehow very satisfying. The brutal crunching makes way for easy assimilation of the dead leaf into the ground. I have watched the same leaf go from the small peachy pink size to the big vibrant green one followed by the sunny yellow attire!! And let me tell you that sums up the question of life for me in just seven words: EACH FORM OF BEING IS EQUALLY BEAUTIFUL. The body lying on bed has witnessed the pink-green-yellow steps circularize ; credits to the window that allows the eyes to witness the tree, which sometimes looks like a painting in the canvas of a blue shade. Sometimes waking up to a sight of life like that makes you happy and just for that moment everything about yourself seems enough. As usual as it may seem, to have your face washed by the morning rays of dawn, this regular thing is how life kisses you, soft and gentle. For a long time i have been kissed alive by the day and for a long time i haven'...

The beautiful in life!!..

The beautiful in my life does not attract me, it simply stuns my soul in a way that makes me realise that i have one, one of a kind. It's romantic to look into a mirror and try to see with your eyes ,what you look like. It's unfamiliarily easy to touch your reflection with your fingers; your eyes, the shade of grey underneath them, your lips,with their salmon inked dried crevices, your forehead, a perfect place for a touch of red love, your uncared hairs and their long time resentment with you, your cheeks and oh my goodness, the thing they turn into when you smile, it's so undescribably imperfect, making everything insensibly beautiful!!.The face is what you see, the way you see it, is what you look like. Like the breeze of warmth a 90s evergreen love song shower, a lively moment of your parents laughing, the crazy way of irritation your siblings evolve every minute, a random call from a friend who wants to talk to you, a friend next to you who just want you to talk, a l...

Let's fear!

The best thing that happens in my day is when i find myself and my other selves alive, because the good in the morning is that we are, there in the morning. Of all the fears that we carefully amass, it's the fear of not being alive the next moment, that's taken very much for granted. Death is feared by everyone even-though it's a shared fate, and life being the brief stay, is assumed unlimited. I really fear not being alive, being extinct but not necessarily death.I don't think humanity is ever going to crack the formula for how to live a life, and i also think we don't need a full blown answer, we just need few hints, since the answer is- to each their own. One of the hint for that question is undeniably, fear, a definite one i believe. There are a lot of things we are afraid of, or get scared by but fear is the only one,worth your attention.A child is ironi...

```Yours Godly```

The sight of a red moon delights me so much about my life/my eyes that i feel relaxed in ways which makes me live, more lively. I simply fell in love with that moment when the time inside takes a pause to make me realize that it's a rare beauty, no matter how many times the night witnessed it. I never thought seeing the moon would make me obsessed about seeing the moon. Witnessing it is my way of knowing how much this god thing loves me. It's a thing because that's what i have known it from my conditioning. It's a photograph in an assumable sacred place at my home, it's an orange or black or sometimes a beautifully designed body of stones and marbles in some other assumable sacred place at different parts of the world. I wholeheartedly appreciate the amount of art and literature invested in creating the different ideologies of this god thing, because all of that was somebody's ''work''. Somebody's sweat, blood and tears have been fossilize...

My 'M' size life

Do you know what the most committed thing in your life is? It's not your parents, friends, or lovers. It will always be your belly fat. The center of your mass, the middle section of your body, and the putative locus of your subconscious. Why am I subconsciously always aware of its mass, and why does it matter so much that most of my neural energy is spent on concealing its existence? My belly fat grew up with me. When I was small, it was small. Now that I am big, it's big too. It's big enough to hold my beer of thoughts about my middle-of-somewhere existence. My window always shows me life in real-time. It is the beginning of spring here, and every morning when I wake up and look outside, I see the branches more peachy in color with flowers I knew I had seen earlier but forgot. I forgot when they vanished. I only noticed when the roads were colored again with them. These flowers remind me of my forgotten dreams. Dreams that have come back to me, slowly, again. The idea of ...

Letting go.....

There's detergent and filthy clothes in my bucket when I opened the tap water to create lather. Initially, there was absolutely no movement of my clothes but then as the water level increased, I felt what those clothes must have felt; the stress from congestion loosens up as the water enters them and they slowly seem to relax and float as if they are yawning and stretching out of weeks-long wait to be cleaned. I presumed that that's how letting go must feel, at least initially. When was the last time you had to dig some soil and leave it like that for air to seep in? When was the last time you looked into a mirror not to get ready for the day but to read your own face? Have you ever read your own face? Did you like what came as a reflection? Were you able to see the truth of your deeds in your eyes?... There are many ways to look at yourself; the mirror is not the eyes that behold your reflection but it does hold some truth because it lets you see your eyes. I adore my eyes, I ...

The Unblocking

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