|Artist | Nature-lover | Bibliophile | Aesthete |Feminist | Potterhead | Editor at Error: The Road Not Found | Dust of no one's soul I am🍁|
We all have a short stay here,
So let us try to be the best version of ourselves.
" And yet , as nothing real ever happens, that change is in itself an illusion. The ceaseless activity of time is self defeating, purposeless, and therefore null and void.
The more things change, the more they are the same. That is a terrible stability of the world. One day is like another, and when we die we might never have existed. "
"I will never be chill
Universes don't expand by cooling,
They burst open a blooming of fire and wonder
And what am I
If not barely contained, seldom restrained exothermic reaction
I learned to love
Despite all the ways I burn"
There is some unusual aura about the post midnight hours
The mind seems to find this eerie silence as an enchanting muse
And the words begin to rhyme even with the eyes half shut
The thoughts flow from one to another and keep on multiplying until there is a creative piece at hand or sometimes a creative blunder
Inspiration knows no time nor does the divine intervention
"Each one of us is a mass of imperfections, and to be able to recognise and live with our imperfections, our basic natures, defects of genes and birth-hereditary flaws-makes for an easier transit on life's journey."
- A Good Philosophy
"Because isn't that the point of every relationship : to be known by someone else ; to be understood ? He gets me. She gets me. Isn't that the simple magic phrase ?"
On some days, going around , thinking about random stuff , it simply feels Mrs Dalloway-ish, the difference being that flowers don't amuse me . The Peter Walsh of my life never gave me enough to think about nor did the Sally Seton .
She might have people to reminisce about, but, unlike her, I've got myself to think about.
I feel self sufficient. The party that is happening around doesn't bother me & I'd rather be wearing a new dress than that old green one !
Maybe Mrs Dalloway lived more but she never lived enough...
I've never shut the door for you
Its always someone else who blocks the way .
Somedays, you wish you would not have to do the right thing. Giving a blind eye to the rules. Shutting aside the ethics. Forgiving people for their mistakes. Forgetting their faults. Melting away the prejudices. Fading the hatred, malice and grudges. Not letting anything come in the way , while you do what the heart says. There will be days when you'll come across situations which would call out for your mind to do the righteous deed, Then if you'd pause and listen closely you'll hear your heart string a chord, that will be the time when you'll deafen your ears, & again make the wrong decision to do the 'right' thing.
" This Cindrella house party goes off at midnight
And there is no version of the fairytale
Where she does not run away from the Prince
And back to her fucking carriage
Because she is a queen nevertheless
Blessed to live without him
And on her own fucking iron throne..."
What should you do when someone doesn't live upto your expectations or disappoints you
Or doesn't consider you as their priority ?
Hope that they'd change ?
Keep quiet and Adjust ?
Why not rather change yourself!
Don’t expect from them .
Don't rely on them for your happiness
Don't treat them as your priority either.
Because your peace of mind is priceless.
Life is an endless battle.
So choose your battlefield wisely.
Why You Need to Go Where it Hurts
Go where your heart feels broken the most; amidst the pain in hunger and hate in crime.
Wildlife is dying, emissions still flying, such sombre praise of how much we have grossed.
The ice is melting, our souls are freezing, hearts of hope, now closed, stenosed.
With all that we’ve done, unutterably asleep, there’s no longer a place for arrogant riposte.
Listen where it hurts, go where you’re horrified, so much can be done with your heartbreak and time.
You are always needed where you feel the most pain; addiction and sickness or poverty and abuse.
Fear into hatred, wounding to flesh, hell is never far from licking the sane.
Drought, distrust, destitu...
Its "Okay" to not have an opinion
But it isn't okay to not voice it when you have one !
I hear soft rustles of the slim lustrous leaves of the palm,
A flutter of the tiny lost bird,
Flawless chirps of night crikets,
A thunder above my head from the starless sky
Despite this wrenching orchestra of nature
Only those sweet things you whisper in my ear with that warm breath
Can make my toes curl
And this feeble heart pound ...
those round things that sing
of the harvest they didn’t sign up for.
Lemons. Apples. Mangoes. Melons.
Of being cupped in silk, cotton and lace
and a charade of underwires
that mirrors get to face
those round things that sing
of the tyranny of twin alphabets
AA BB CC DD EE
that size up
and look down
and make you pay a toll
for the burden of being too shy
or the curse of being too bold
those round things that sing
of finding joy in hungry, loving hands
of losing sleep over cancerous glands
of tenderness, hormones and silicone
of being cast in headlines, songs, insults
rarely left alone
those round things that sing
of cleavages that speak of
As the clock ticks 4, Strain your ears and you'd hear a murmur of vagabonds ,
While a cuckoo will tune itself to the song of dawn ,somewhere you'd hear a distant bark , or the honk of a rare car, a tinkling from the bicycle passing by , screech of a sleepy owl, soft cry of neighbour's baby , a squeak of the hidden mouse, before your alarm comes up with its own peice of sound , open those eyes wide and hear the secrets whisper of the Cosmos, if you happen to wake up during the interim of morning and dark , strain your ears hard enough and listen to the music playing within the heart !
"Poetry does not belong to the poet who composes it ; it belongs to those who need to use it, espeacially lovers seeking to win the beloved through words."
Poetically Mine ;
I was looking for two lines
amongst a stack of sheets
-Withered and foxed;
That would perfectly rhyme
Touch the soul and get stuck in mind,
I would learn it,
Keep it safe,
Store it in heart,
Maybe flaunt it
by humming it from the start,
I'll recite it alone,
Smile to myself,
Fall into a swoon,
Only two lines !
Not more I ask ;
I found a scrap of paper
That lay unmasked
I wanted to crumble
And into the bin , let it toss,
For it had much more than I longed,
It then shouted with ink
turning from black to red,
That it had so many stories to tell
Words that would dance
on the beats of my very heart,
It promised to sing to me
as and when I demand,
I was look...
"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion but an escape from emotion; it is not expression of personality but an escape from personality,
But of course only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to escape from these things."
" Why is life so tragic, so like a strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end. But why do I feel like this ? Now that I say it I don't feel it...Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don't I write it down oftener¿ Well, ones vanity forbids. I want to appear a success even to myself. Yet I don't get to the bottom of it. Its having no children, living away from friends, failing to write well, spending too much on food, growing old - I think too much of whys and wherefores : too much of myself. I don't like time to flap around me ..."
- Virginia Woolf, 1920
'Kept looking at the watch
And it was already time,
Less had been done
Still things were so fine,
There were laughs & cries
Giggles and smiles
Hugs and promises
Also some bluff & lies,
Look through this lens
Everything will seem alright
Don't shut them in a box
For they will always shine.
"I find you in half read books
and dusty sheets,
I find you in dried ink pens
and moonlit streets,
I find you in epiphanies that
turn into compulsive needs ;
I find you some place poetry
and possibilities meet."
"Sometimes life takes hold of one, carries the body along, accomplishes ones history and yet is not real, but leaves one's self as it were slurred over."
He said he was far , very far from me
Beyond my reach ,
How could then I feel him , within the beats of my heart
With the eyes shut, in the deep sleep
Even with open , in the day dreams
I could see him clearly sitting next to me
Spreading his fingers apart
Making space for mine
Clutching my hand so tight
Like a bird that holds on to a branch,
too afraid for the first flight,
Laughters of you , of us
Echoes when I pass by that lane
That light still flickers
But he says , things have changed !
Somehow you travelled in time
And I seem to have broken my watch again
Before I buy a new one
On this weary branch you still have claims
These twigs and leaves you collected
Await to be wo...
"I will wake you up early
even though I know you like to stay through the credits.
I will leave pennies in your pockets,
postage stamps of superheroes
in between the pages of your books,
sugar packets on your kitchen counter.
I will Hansel and Gretel you home.
I will talk through movies.
Even ones I have never seen before.
I will love you with too many commas,
but never any asterisks.
There will be more sweat than you are used to.
More words than are necessary.
My hair in the shower drain,
my smell on your sweaters,
bobby pins all over the window sills.
I make the best sandwiches you’ve ever tasted.
You’ll be in charge of napkins.
I can’t do a pull-up.
But I’m great at excus...