Quackery....

as I dragged my feet up on the stairs after yet another disconsolate performance in my internals somehow I was more melancholy than usual…6 semesters and have been through this many times before, and in fact a little too frequently for my liking. I asked myself when will this drudgery end…a deep sigh escaped my heart. I turned the key and entered into the familiar mess. I sipped the last few drops of water from the bottle and shook it to emptiness. I threw it aside not without a part of the despondency I was feeling, and it fell noisily. Am I over reacting? After all it was an internal. Yes Most of my friends would say. Though my marks have never been kind of somebody’s envy, I know at least a few would gladly settle for it. Somehow the kind of nonchalance and imperviousness I bank on eluded me today. This was not a question of today perhaps; it was a symptom of a more deeply rooted unease, a reluctance to accept the present in dangerous connivance with stubbornness, an inertia vehemently resisting change. I try to pull myself off this superficial, self-inflicted gloom, by deafening it with loud music, drowning it with perfectly frivolous activities and diverting it to something else... Something that’s less tasking, less meaningful. The symptoms subside the disease persists. They’ll keep gnawing within until I have the courage to uproot rather than prune, they’ll feed on my cowardice and comeback stronger. Until then from my side.. Godspeed !!

Amen...

someday i'll kneel before u
& make bare confesions
until then, bless my silence

someday,while u walk alone,i'll
come and hold your hand
until then, bless my absence

someday i'll hold u
by my arms before u trip,
until then, bless my blindness

someday i'll show u
all riches of the heart
until then, bless my poverty

someday i'll ask u
to forgive me
until then, bless my cowardice

someday i'll not
bid u farewell so abruptly
until then, bless my helplessness

indelible stains....

there are these small,seemingly trivial moments in life that get permanently recorded in "hidden" cameras.like bookmarks left admist the pages of life itself. somehow never managed to forget them. yet i know it was nothing significant (it was not intended to be that at least)..a phrase uttered, a glance stolen,a gesture..they are quicksands of my past. i might have crawled through them.. but some part of me is still buried there.i carry these everyday.. reliving them with the same intensity each day....these r not moments of joy or victory of grief but something more..something that stands as a culmination of a lot of choices i made..if i put together all these snaps perhaps i would get a very clear picture of how i have lived my life. the signpost might be wrong but the billboards are not.

It is on momentous ocassions that life is revealed but it is in small moments that life is understood.

i rejoice...

when i first met him he seemed too perfect..just what i thought somebody should look.i wish i were like him.then i actually met him,saw him closely from a distance, too afraid to approach.shed the fear slowly,the wall was never broken,but i managed to peek over. the more i got to know him the more i became disillusioned.oh he is not so perfect afterall..he lies,he flatters,he mocks,he stammers,he feigns knowledge,he gets tanned.he was actually like me!!.no. not yet!. the last nail in the coffin was when he tried to impress me (there was no need).that basically is insecurity...isn't it.of course i tried to read between lines but somehow i know i am right.now what i think of him is no consequence to him,and purely my perception.but somewhere i stopped hating myself...somewhere because of him i signed a truce with my weaknesses.

room for life

my life is a little like my room.. always messed up, every time somebody "important" is supposed to come i try to push the filth under the cot. only to hide it. never making an effort to remove it.so each time there is more dirt, more waste.. then it starts to stink and all my efforts to hide come to nothing. i cant shove the smell off.i suffer it. too afraid to look to afraid to start.my life is a little like my room .. shantaram lying on top of a certain JBK das.each time i pick up one i miss the other. an empty pen stand ,a 2006 calendar marked with a time table to study mocks at me on my table.i see my comp shrouded in dust.. a guitar waiting for salvation...
today i cleaned my room it 'appears' better.someday i must start cleaning my life..
my life is a little like my room sumptous yet belittling