I Know It..

For some reason of unknown priority is the state of mind, which is in constant denial of thoughts that does not allow it to rest, like literally. Something in the head aches unlike the familiar headaches as if a machine has been running without a stop and is drained of fuel and energy only to realize no work has come out of it. Its abnormal how loud and fast my heart beats as if i have magically raised a second one in all these years in my right side too.There are people around me, so its hard for my eyes to even think of melting glaciers because i do not have an explanation for the warming that led to it.A cocktail of emotional trash flushes through the veins of my head and hurts the walls of the vessels in which my life filled blood somehow manages to reach out for me.I am dumbstruck with these changes as it is a renewed version of the previously experienced one, but this time with more intensity and nothingness. I tried emptying myself off of all but sooner realize that its not under my control to not think, what i am trying, not to think because what i end up involuntarily doing is thinking about it. Its a task to console yourself for every single thing at every moment and even more a task to do it in front of people, known , unknown, regardless.Its a wave that hits you and you get waved by it, thinking that this is all you got and get.And no matter how high the waves rise to make you believe its gigantic grip in your life, time is the gravity that will show it the ground. So while you struggle coming out of the deep, dim ocean of thoughts to grab a fresh breath, your body manages to learn to swim through it secretively.Even if you can't see or feel what you have learnt you will never be the same body for the next wave of your life because now you at least know how important these waves are for your dream to be a swimmer!

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"That confused girl"

There are many things to say to you, but she chooses to zip her words into a sigh as if telling the obvious would make it irrelevant. I don't think we learn to speak during childhood, I think we keep learning it till we become quiet. Silence is composed of a thousand words whereas sometimes all it is that a thousand words say is "nothing". I know the power of words and so I am not quiet when it comes to speaking the unsaid obvious. There is a girl at my window staring at the passing clouds thinking to herself where does she stand in her life; is she a passing cloud too, would she ever know stillness? There are two kinds of people in the world; one who knows the word, the other who knows the meaning. There is one more kind who fall at the intersection of the two; the hybrid one, who knows the meaning of the word and the "when and where science" of using it. At every stage of knowledge of the word and of the meaning and of the usage, the bar of responsibility goe...

Wish I was loud.

My nails grow in silence, break with noise, and grow back in silence again. My heart grows in silence, breaks in silence, and grows back in better silence again. If our lives had background music, it would have been a lot easy to live. Every emotion would have a 'value'; every value would have a sound, every sound would welcome you for feeling everything as sincerely as you want. If mind had a face, beauty would have a very ugly definition and if our hearts were as mindful as we want it to be, evolution would have reached the finish line way back. I have lived most of my life till date nurturing the ideology of silence and letting time be my spokesperson. But as you grow up, you tend to understand the world a bit better especially the power held by a befitting reply. My father uses this phrase a lot, he says, " kill the issue on the spot". He lives by his words, he does kill the issue on the spot, he does not mince words when it comes to an offender. I on the other ha...

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...

Love isn't in the air

The laundry-washed clothes have a unique smell of freshness, the freshness of it being clean, the goodness of it being good to go again! The day seems newer with a fresh ironed cloth on the body, the body seems fresh with a new soaked approach for the day. The birds talk to me, the purple flowers stare at me, I blush when they do that and I think, how am I not over them already! I never get over them. Every single time they make me feel purple, even if it's just for a moment. It's the same with humans too, I suppose. People who make you feel purple are purple themselves, they have their own color, they have their own sun trapped glow. There is no one way of describing an early morning sunrise and so there's no one way to describe that purple feeling. Sometimes when you can't measure something in quantity, you aren't able to say how much gravity it holds in words, so you reply with a silent adoration for the ocean before you. I see the ocean in his eyes and when the...

```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...

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'...

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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