I spend a lot of my time worrying about my lost writing skills. Mother has constantly told me to practice, something I never needed to do and I don't see why I should now.
A few days ago I found myself bored in a class with not much to entertain myself with. I had, unfortunately, finished the 4 Sudoku puzzles I had copied on to my notebook to complete in class and still had some 35 grueling minutes to get through. Aastha, always by my side, literally not so much but metaphorically, was scribbling away at a speed that could possibly put A1 to shame. I felt left out and oddly inspired. So I whipped out my pen and wrote some really bad poetry, recalling the words of Trisha: 'Just write man'. It was an unmitigated disaster. I am putting it up to remind myself that if I don't practice, this might be my best work.
Dhruv called my writing 'cute'. The horror. the horror.
#1
I don't know you.
I caught a glimpse of you and I felt glad.
I saw you walked by and you smiled.
How long has it been since another's smile made my day?
But. I don't know you.
I feel drawn to you.
I, the proverbial moth, you, the flame.
I feel myself involuntarily reach for the happiness you embody.
I want to feel it, reach out and grab it, share it.
But you don't know me.
How could you know the misery I have felt for so long that I don't know any other state of being?
How could you know that when you catch my eye, I cant breathe.
How could you know that simple is all I need?
I don't know you.
But I want to.
#2
You are lost
but I have never felt so found
Funny how we started in sync and concluded out of it.
My happiness meant yours.
Your sorrow meant mine.
you always knew, you always grounded me.
Be it in misery, sorrow, joy or hope.
Now I find that Um the rock in the sea and you are grasping and floundering and drowning.
I beg you to swim towards me you don't.
You've been my pillar, let me be yours.
I reach for your hand, intent on pulling you out..
But you push me away.
You're slipping through my fingers.
You are lost
And I have never felt so found.
I could help you find yourself,
You're sure of it but you wont let me.
I'm offering direction to your wandering self
and you turn and walk the other way.
They said Id be lost without you
They said that you would be alright.
They were wrong.
You are lost.
I've never been so found.
Let me find you.
#3
We used to be friends
Best Friends.
One soul, two bodies.
I'd smile, you'd smile.
I'd cry, you'd stage a murder.
In your head, of course.
Time spent together, chillin'
Legal, illegal such and such.
Every class, every step, every joke, every jibe.
Side by side yea?
We used to be friends,
Best friends,
Two peas in a pod.
All good things come to an end, they say.
How dare they articulate the inevitable.
But they were right
We had words.
We had wars.
Heated and Cold.
Sunshine changed to rain
Storms
Harsh winds
Broken trees.
It didn't stop abruptly, no.
The rain let up slowly till it was a drizzle.
Overcast cloudy skies
The calm after the storm
The battlefield littered with casualties of our own beings.
We used to be friends,
Best friends.
Now, Fire and Ice.
Here endeth the shitty poetry.
If you read through it, Kudos. I had a hard time writing it down.
But, somethings just need to be done. Exposing myself to humiliation should, somewhere, push me to write better.
You may giggle Trish.
I'm hoping I still get the last laugh.
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Thursday, 2 June 2011
Untitled
"Well Im forming and Im warming
pushing myself and I dont mind asking now..
Smoke surrounds your perfect face and im falling.
pushing a broom out into space, and this is where I found a way."
Music.
It speaks to the mortal soul.
When I can not explain what I feel.
Scratch that.
When I can not even begin to fathom the depths of what I feel, a song, an arrangement of notes, some lyrics, they bring it all to the surface.
and suddenly it all makes sense.
There's this feeling..
It overwhelms and overtakes.
makes everything else fade into complete oblivion.
That emotion, that feeling, become paramount.
Becomes me.
I begin to define myself for those three minutes as just that emotion.
A tear trickles down my face and suddenly, it makes sense.
When I am lost, and nowhere to be found.
When the path I am on makes no sense.
My life, makes no sense.
There is this feeling, this emotion I can not describe.
Music
Suddenly it all makes sense.
Every irrational thought, becomes rational.
Every intense emotion is validated.
Every word of the song, is me, is my life, is who I am.
"stranger things have happend both, before and afternoon. and I'm forming and I'm warming, state of the art until the clouds come crashing."
Sometimes, I can make sense of the lyrics.
"Alone inside my forest room and it's stormy. I never thought Id be in bloom, But this is where I start."
Sometimes, I just do not understand.
"Stadium Arcadium, a mirror to the moon.
Well Im forming and Im warming
(warming to you)"
Yet, there is a part of me that does, a part of me that relates.
A part of me that can identify that someone that makes me feel like the song does.
Makes me feel like sometimes I understand them and sometimes I dont.
Makes me feel like if I try a little harder, do just a little bit better, I might just understand, I might just be better than who I am.
Music.
The word does not even begin to describe what it can do. The word itself, is nothing. It's quite an amusing word. It does not give you a heads up, a warning. Does not give you even a sense of what is about to come.
Music.
It speaks to the mortal soul.
Even if the mind doesn't understand.
It give me this feeling, this emotion I can not define.
Sometimes, a chill down my spine, goosebumps, a connection.
Sometimes, happiness or overwhelming sadness.
Sometimes, the will to write again when I have lost all hope, or to sing, or to dance, or to just run. To go places you have never been before.
Sometimes, a complete understanding, explaining, defining who I am.
Music.
My heart, my soul, me.
Note: The song used in this post is Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.
pushing myself and I dont mind asking now..
Smoke surrounds your perfect face and im falling.
pushing a broom out into space, and this is where I found a way."
Music.
It speaks to the mortal soul.
When I can not explain what I feel.
Scratch that.
When I can not even begin to fathom the depths of what I feel, a song, an arrangement of notes, some lyrics, they bring it all to the surface.
and suddenly it all makes sense.
There's this feeling..
It overwhelms and overtakes.
makes everything else fade into complete oblivion.
That emotion, that feeling, become paramount.
Becomes me.
I begin to define myself for those three minutes as just that emotion.
A tear trickles down my face and suddenly, it makes sense.
When I am lost, and nowhere to be found.
When the path I am on makes no sense.
My life, makes no sense.
There is this feeling, this emotion I can not describe.
Music
Suddenly it all makes sense.
Every irrational thought, becomes rational.
Every intense emotion is validated.
Every word of the song, is me, is my life, is who I am.
"stranger things have happend both, before and afternoon. and I'm forming and I'm warming, state of the art until the clouds come crashing."
Sometimes, I can make sense of the lyrics.
"Alone inside my forest room and it's stormy. I never thought Id be in bloom, But this is where I start."
Sometimes, I just do not understand.
"Stadium Arcadium, a mirror to the moon.
Well Im forming and Im warming
(warming to you)"
Yet, there is a part of me that does, a part of me that relates.
A part of me that can identify that someone that makes me feel like the song does.
Makes me feel like sometimes I understand them and sometimes I dont.
Makes me feel like if I try a little harder, do just a little bit better, I might just understand, I might just be better than who I am.
Music.
The word does not even begin to describe what it can do. The word itself, is nothing. It's quite an amusing word. It does not give you a heads up, a warning. Does not give you even a sense of what is about to come.
Music.
It speaks to the mortal soul.
Even if the mind doesn't understand.
It give me this feeling, this emotion I can not define.
Sometimes, a chill down my spine, goosebumps, a connection.
Sometimes, happiness or overwhelming sadness.
Sometimes, the will to write again when I have lost all hope, or to sing, or to dance, or to just run. To go places you have never been before.
Sometimes, a complete understanding, explaining, defining who I am.
Music.
My heart, my soul, me.
Note: The song used in this post is Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.
Saturday, 14 May 2011
"There's No Place Like Home."
Note: I found this short piece in my diary from a few months ago. I thought it sounded good and would please my mother who is my most loyal and probably only reader. This ones for you mom, you make "Home" what it is.
It was a cold winter morning, I walked in to the house shivering at 10 am.
I had been out all night.
Awake, through the night.
I dragged my exhausted frame up the stairs and crawled into bed.
I curled up under the covers inhaling the sweet smell of the detergent my mother used to wash the comforter with. It smelt like home.
I closed my eyes.
Two rooms away my father was singing "Rasputin" as he pottered about, tinkering with his model railroads or fixing his helicopters.
I heard my dog Buzz run from one room to the other as my mother sneezed as loudly as was humanely possible.
Upstairs my brother was strumming his guitar.
I sighed. content.
I smile.
I'm Home.
It was a cold winter morning, I walked in to the house shivering at 10 am.
I had been out all night.
Awake, through the night.
I dragged my exhausted frame up the stairs and crawled into bed.
I curled up under the covers inhaling the sweet smell of the detergent my mother used to wash the comforter with. It smelt like home.
I closed my eyes.
Two rooms away my father was singing "Rasputin" as he pottered about, tinkering with his model railroads or fixing his helicopters.
I heard my dog Buzz run from one room to the other as my mother sneezed as loudly as was humanely possible.
Upstairs my brother was strumming his guitar.
I sighed. content.
I smile.
I'm Home.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Inspiration
Inspiration.
It starts with a word, just one word, a fleeting thought maybe, and grows into so much more.
Accompanied by a feeling, that big things are about to happen, that starts slowly somewhere in ur chest, spraks its way down your spine to your toes, and grows and grows till it envelopes your body. Excitement builds like crescendo sound till youre ready to burst.
Its like a storm within you, raging and taking over anything it touches, taking control and precedence over every thought, trying to control every action.
Winds swirling, thoughts churling, images flashing...
and suddenly, theres a bolt of lightening and a calm of understanding washes over you, a clarity rarely found.
It ends with a word, just one word, which now means so much more.
It starts with a word, just one word, a fleeting thought maybe, and grows into so much more.
Accompanied by a feeling, that big things are about to happen, that starts slowly somewhere in ur chest, spraks its way down your spine to your toes, and grows and grows till it envelopes your body. Excitement builds like crescendo sound till youre ready to burst.
Its like a storm within you, raging and taking over anything it touches, taking control and precedence over every thought, trying to control every action.
Winds swirling, thoughts churling, images flashing...
and suddenly, theres a bolt of lightening and a calm of understanding washes over you, a clarity rarely found.
It ends with a word, just one word, which now means so much more.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Exhaustion and the desire to write results in nothing of any significance...
Its been a while.
Not that anybody noticed.
Everything happens for a good reason. Everything happens for the better. That's what he said to me.
I chose to disagree. Life is not determined by someone/something sitting up on a pedestal choosing your path, deciding what is going to happen to you... There isn't an almighty watching your every move, deciding what obstacles get thrown your way, which one gets resolved and which one does not.
[Note: Im not disputing the fact that an Almighty exists. I am merely questioning your significance, is it really enough to warrant his/her/its attention.]
We're all just meandering along in a bunch of coincidences, calling it life, trying to make it worthwhile, trying to be significant.
Destiny is not in question here though. your coincidences will lead you to where you are meant to be. If you land up somewhere else, that's where you are meant to be. After all, its not like you know in advance where you are meant to be. Ergo, if you do not know where you are meant to be, how do you know if you got there?
To appropriately conclude: We are not controlled, our decisions take us where we should be. The world and time is a web of coincidence. And where you are right now.. its where your meant to be. Don't like it? Change it.
You know you can.
Not that anybody noticed.
Everything happens for a good reason. Everything happens for the better. That's what he said to me.
I chose to disagree. Life is not determined by someone/something sitting up on a pedestal choosing your path, deciding what is going to happen to you... There isn't an almighty watching your every move, deciding what obstacles get thrown your way, which one gets resolved and which one does not.
[Note: Im not disputing the fact that an Almighty exists. I am merely questioning your significance, is it really enough to warrant his/her/its attention.]
We're all just meandering along in a bunch of coincidences, calling it life, trying to make it worthwhile, trying to be significant.
Destiny is not in question here though. your coincidences will lead you to where you are meant to be. If you land up somewhere else, that's where you are meant to be. After all, its not like you know in advance where you are meant to be. Ergo, if you do not know where you are meant to be, how do you know if you got there?
To appropriately conclude: We are not controlled, our decisions take us where we should be. The world and time is a web of coincidence. And where you are right now.. its where your meant to be. Don't like it? Change it.
You know you can.
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Train Journey: A Reflection.
A Stream of Consciousness: You have been warned.
Music. It calls to my mortal soul. I sit, as the world around me sleeps, listening to the sounds of music that mean different things to different people in different parts of the world at different times.
The dead of the night as towns, nameless, pass by my window in a whirl of lights and cement structures. The lights comes and goes like a flickering bulb, a firefly in the dark. I can see a washed out moon trough the haze and pollution that makes the sky. Its hard not to reflect on the supernatural, to contemplate the existence of vampires, werewolves, possession and spirits. Harder yet to keep the emotions at bay. The emotions, the feelings suppressed during the day. The love that’s been kept aside for a spell. The longing that’s hidden from the world. The emptiness left when a someone special no longer resides in that void. The joy, of making new friends accompanied by the awkwardness of new beginnings.
Speaking of which, I met with two colonels today, don’t know their names. Never will see them again. Yet, we shared a whole train ride, majority of which was spent in attempting to ignore the snores of the asleep. We shared these moments and when this train arrives at New Delhi Railway station, we will part ways, never to meet again. Yet, united forever in that shared experience, a common factor. Two men. From the same world, which such differing attitudes. Can there really be such a situation.
Paradise. An untouched world. An unspoilt memory. A place where all our dreams come true.
My Romeo, who is currently in possession of my paradise, is so far away. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, rivalled by ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Which one to believe? The pain of being so far away. ‘Close your eyes, escape this town for a little while.’ What town? This state of mind. ‘You were everything to me and I was begging you please don’t go’. How to stop those who must leave? How to move on? I don’t want to move on. I want to stay suspended in that reality forever. And just where do I come off, calling this state of mind a reality?
Realism, I must write 2000 words on realism. How do you decide? What’s real and what’s not? What’s real to me, that blue light over the door, the rhythmic swaying of this train, the loud snoring of my neighbour that I can not drown out with the music… can you, dear reader, grasp this? Feel its reality like I am at this moment. Can I once again revisit this reality when I read this again? Can I recreate the soreness in my knee from sitting cross legged? Feel the irritation at the snoring? Recall the physical effort it is taking me to suppress the longing, the tears that are sure to come if I for one minute stop and think of him so far away.
I was asked today, ‘How do you know when to stop brushing your teeth? When it hurts? Or after you have spit twice, thrice?” Its relative to each person, just like reality. All though making brushing your teeth a metaphor for reality may be a little too far fetched, even for my emotion-ridden brain.
‘Thunder only happens when it’s raining’. Stevie Nicks got it right. She claims “when the rain washes you clean you’ll know.” I love rain. Although ironically, I have to bathe after prancing about in the rain. What world is this where the rain can wash you clean? And why am I not a part of it? The pollution and the deceit of the world is brought down by the rain, you bathe in the stale dust of a thousand wrongs and very few rights.
A sliver of light is filtering through the curtains, I can see the dust, its beautiful. I spy my emotion, chocking it. Until it is nothing more than just yellow light. The voice in my head is asking me what on earth I am doing randomly writing what is filtering through my subconscious into my conscious. She, I like to believe that it is a she, wants to know what I hope to achieve through this and all I have to tell her is that I don’t know.
When you’re young, which I still am, you are not at liberty to really know anything. You’re too young, you haven’t experienced the world. And chances are you won’t be allowed to. You’re way too young to. So where does that leave you? You’re too in experienced to know and too young to experience. Where does that leave you?
I know I have done nothing but pose a bunch of questions and barely talk off a train journey, I know is infuriating. In this game, I take no prisoners, only casualties. I’m not old enough to know the answers, or to know anything really.
Love, so far away, separated from me by oceans. I love you and that’s all I really know. Magnified by this reflecting, solidified by this writing, brought to light by this train journey. I am swayed and I move, conform, to the jerks, the swinging. I cope, my muscles working together, to the best of my ability.
Music. It calls to my mortal soul. I sit, as the world around me sleeps, listening to the sounds of music that mean different things to different people in different parts of the world at different times.
The dead of the night as towns, nameless, pass by my window in a whirl of lights and cement structures. The lights comes and goes like a flickering bulb, a firefly in the dark. I can see a washed out moon trough the haze and pollution that makes the sky. Its hard not to reflect on the supernatural, to contemplate the existence of vampires, werewolves, possession and spirits. Harder yet to keep the emotions at bay. The emotions, the feelings suppressed during the day. The love that’s been kept aside for a spell. The longing that’s hidden from the world. The emptiness left when a someone special no longer resides in that void. The joy, of making new friends accompanied by the awkwardness of new beginnings.
Speaking of which, I met with two colonels today, don’t know their names. Never will see them again. Yet, we shared a whole train ride, majority of which was spent in attempting to ignore the snores of the asleep. We shared these moments and when this train arrives at New Delhi Railway station, we will part ways, never to meet again. Yet, united forever in that shared experience, a common factor. Two men. From the same world, which such differing attitudes. Can there really be such a situation.
Paradise. An untouched world. An unspoilt memory. A place where all our dreams come true.
My Romeo, who is currently in possession of my paradise, is so far away. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, rivalled by ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Which one to believe? The pain of being so far away. ‘Close your eyes, escape this town for a little while.’ What town? This state of mind. ‘You were everything to me and I was begging you please don’t go’. How to stop those who must leave? How to move on? I don’t want to move on. I want to stay suspended in that reality forever. And just where do I come off, calling this state of mind a reality?
Realism, I must write 2000 words on realism. How do you decide? What’s real and what’s not? What’s real to me, that blue light over the door, the rhythmic swaying of this train, the loud snoring of my neighbour that I can not drown out with the music… can you, dear reader, grasp this? Feel its reality like I am at this moment. Can I once again revisit this reality when I read this again? Can I recreate the soreness in my knee from sitting cross legged? Feel the irritation at the snoring? Recall the physical effort it is taking me to suppress the longing, the tears that are sure to come if I for one minute stop and think of him so far away.
I was asked today, ‘How do you know when to stop brushing your teeth? When it hurts? Or after you have spit twice, thrice?” Its relative to each person, just like reality. All though making brushing your teeth a metaphor for reality may be a little too far fetched, even for my emotion-ridden brain.
‘Thunder only happens when it’s raining’. Stevie Nicks got it right. She claims “when the rain washes you clean you’ll know.” I love rain. Although ironically, I have to bathe after prancing about in the rain. What world is this where the rain can wash you clean? And why am I not a part of it? The pollution and the deceit of the world is brought down by the rain, you bathe in the stale dust of a thousand wrongs and very few rights.
A sliver of light is filtering through the curtains, I can see the dust, its beautiful. I spy my emotion, chocking it. Until it is nothing more than just yellow light. The voice in my head is asking me what on earth I am doing randomly writing what is filtering through my subconscious into my conscious. She, I like to believe that it is a she, wants to know what I hope to achieve through this and all I have to tell her is that I don’t know.
When you’re young, which I still am, you are not at liberty to really know anything. You’re too young, you haven’t experienced the world. And chances are you won’t be allowed to. You’re way too young to. So where does that leave you? You’re too in experienced to know and too young to experience. Where does that leave you?
I know I have done nothing but pose a bunch of questions and barely talk off a train journey, I know is infuriating. In this game, I take no prisoners, only casualties. I’m not old enough to know the answers, or to know anything really.
Love, so far away, separated from me by oceans. I love you and that’s all I really know. Magnified by this reflecting, solidified by this writing, brought to light by this train journey. I am swayed and I move, conform, to the jerks, the swinging. I cope, my muscles working together, to the best of my ability.
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
At the crossroads.
The "Plan" was always to do brilliantly well in my boards, shock everyone I know with my sheer genius and ability to multi task, get into St. Stephens and then...
...
That's right.
I have no "and then..."
Nothing to complete the sentence with.
Its weird, I never thought I would say this, but being exactly where you want to be, isn't all that great.
I am EXACTLY where I planned to be today.
Today, I do not know what to do with myself, I have no goals, no ambition.
I leave the house, take a walk, meet my friends and come home.
I sit on my chair... and I wait...
I wait...
I wait for inspiration to strike, for an objective to materialize.
I scan the horizon for purpose and reason.
I wait.
I wait at the crossroads.
...
That's right.
I have no "and then..."
Nothing to complete the sentence with.
Its weird, I never thought I would say this, but being exactly where you want to be, isn't all that great.
I am EXACTLY where I planned to be today.
Today, I do not know what to do with myself, I have no goals, no ambition.
I leave the house, take a walk, meet my friends and come home.
I sit on my chair... and I wait...
I wait...
I wait for inspiration to strike, for an objective to materialize.
I scan the horizon for purpose and reason.
I wait.
I wait at the crossroads.
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