The Sake.

Is it expression. Is it escape.
Is it both?
I have sought it.
I have resorted to it.
In times of emptiness.
In times of congestion.
I have wished for it.
I have rewarded myself with it.
I have defined it.
I have questioned it.
In times of innovation.
In times of meditation.
I have.
I have.

Once Again and For Me.

Simply because it was at the pinnacle of my choices and the curriculum intrigued me. Tough? Yes. Beneficial? Yes. Like it? Yes and No. It renders itself to fluctuation much more than I have admitted to my conscious. An unsure confession would be that I am still awed by its offered prospects, albeit the wide-mouthed gap I am yet to bridge, scares me. A matter of time before I muster the courage to admit in its property that I am scared, post which the word shall receive its deserved font.

This fear, very frequently, distracts me and before I realise I long for other things I ‘love’ paying my tribute of time to.

Orange

So much of the war between ‘perfection’ and ‘goodness’ just essentially grounds from the need for small details – ‘analysis’, if I may, and the ‘big picture’.

When may I become so conscient, enough to realise which to choose among the two? Not unlike many other encounters, this resembles any shade but an absolute one. As of this second when I digitally ink this down on what seems to be an impeccable surface, I just happen to understand to not take either of the two till its extreme, that I lose sight of the other.

Attempting to break down something that is continent of one’s own intuition has its own charm, so does the exercise of assembling parts into a whole. One needn’t choose between the two, just switch when the stage demands so.

In all honesty, my reflections tell me I am biased towards the gestalt of things, perhaps because I find it demanding to look into the details? What then, explains my inherent craving for perfectionism in everything I commit myself to? Only further reflections will tell. Or not. Some questions are probably best if left in their Sisyphus state.

WOVEN LABYRINTH

Hummings, rather eerie.
Gaze, perfectly steely.
Complaints, non-sensical.
Ambience, sombre yet comical.
Intentions unintended.
Happiness unsought for.
Unpoetic melodious poets.
Conclusion undecided.

Road: 5m; Path: 2cm

Attempt, diversify. Diversify attempts.

Yet, make it constricted.

Make efforts, widen horizons.

But give me that narrow answer I seek.

I shall grade you, mark you, rank you:

not on how much of the soul you’ve traded;

rather its alignment to the set schema.

For decades now.

Yes.

I shall reinforce you

in every way I can.

So that that little pestering bug in you

loses its path;

and goes down the girth of hopeless recovery.

Still Dealing

Nearly after two epochs of having made an attempt to traverse through blocks (of nature other than those definable on physical terms), you still remain stranded. Stranded not on an island, rather a metropolis. The blocks in question, are rather awkward in their appearance. Those which resurface when you least want them to, hurdling your way forward. Your attempt at getting rid of them wasn’t half-hearted, and you know you could still find a better way, though you have failed terribly, everytime. The only resolution that seems to suffice actually proves you wrong, time and again.

TRACT, FUTILE.

When and why did we arrive to this point? Could this all be just a short phase or a dream from which I can get out of, later if not sooner? How have people learnt to even dwell in the midst of such intoxicated an environment, in turn, becoming toxic themselves?

Cat fights over things I consider bearing adjectives unfar from pettiness.

A second seems too long to wait for, before buds of treacherous emotions bloom into grotesque, poison-spitting flowers after she has left the table.

Assuming the vain pride at the rigidity with which we tend to follow that wretched fad which pleads to fade away and retire at the earliest.

The last time knowledge for curiosity’s sake was pursued, was when I breathed my last; and as humanly ashamed as I can be, I am still biologically alive.

CONSISTENCY, CLOSURE, CURIOSITY, FLEXIBILITY – what was the point I acquired their diction and they got subsumed in my vocabulary, but ‘Avera Kedavra-ed’ from my conscience?

A MODICUM OF TRUTH

Towards the end…

What does one define as the end? As Bo Jack characters have so thoughtfully put out, there’s always a day after the “happily ever after” day. 

Half asleep, and one doesn’t know what to engage one’s inactive soul into. Why would you come running for something, sacrificing your much-needed sleep? Does it give you the satisfaction of being productive? Are you though, really being active? Is all this a pretense? Maybe not. But who cares?

Why do you need someone to care for it to qualify as something worth caring?

CHETNA

Counting the notes,

I ascertain…

It’s rhythm coupled with

my inner sentiments;

that rages fire

within the entire system.

Evoking ecstasy –

Fluorescent shades.

Passing out,

Going faint.

My vigour fades

into a known oblivion.

There I see my life

passing beneath my eyes

That fire rages again

and I pass out.

And this time,

the ashes aren’t grey…

-DMH

ANOTHER FINAL GOODBYE.

Theme grotesque.

Dreams Picturesque.

Yet, I repeat it.

Being unable to conceal it.

And so I pour down

all voices trying to tear me down,

into this impeccable surface;

unlike the realities we often face.

True, he who has to go will go.

Easy to say, don’t miss them.

No, I’m not missing anyone.

But my mind digs and

brings back to me all interactions

we exchanged over conversations.

No tears falling down, I confess.

But beats are louder, breaths a mess.

Go say it’s just a phase; will pass.

Agreed. But neither can I ignore

the memory which is now a carcass.

No, I haven’t lost someone.

I have just stopped knowing someone

whom I never knew.

For the stench of that very carcass

entices scavengers:  resembling memories

to munch on its flesh.