Curls!

The cluttered crazy girl with curls
Her smile wanes, complete to incomplete

What will you make of the eyes that stay silent
Of her raised eyebrows, lowered questions?
You can only begin to end her doubts
If you know how cluttered and crazy she is!

EveryThing!

If I will give my everything to you
You will mean the world to me
My reason, my logic
My mind, my soul
That is what you want?
That is what you like?
Between this war of love and myself
You will get all the love, but me
If I shall come to you
I will come with my everything
Together, with reason and soul and your everything
We shall make our world :)

Neodda, people etc

Things that get you back to writing are not things, they are people. Bouncing smiles from one corner of the class to another, uncontrolled crushes, bundle of mistakes and the typical gossips of a typical booze party makes you feel like writing. Writing all the nonsense that you've grabbed in the entire day and pouring out some truths and lies that are running parallel along with people by your side. People by your side- this phrase is nothing but an  irony, as literally those people could be running after your seat, your internship, your placements, your crush and your peace of mind.

Sometimes I think people here fear too much. Fear of giving each other support, fear of holding a hand, fear of lending an ear and so on. This fear is making them hollow from inside and the disease is spreading. I never thought I will feel negative about any place in my entire life. Here it is dark and when its dark people prefer trusting anything that they lay their hands on. Trust is not permanent for them, its just a support till they see some light. After that, they vanish. They don't fade, they don't stay, they just disappear. Their thought wanes out from your memory and in a few days you are again in that dark place holding someone other person's hand. Its just like a business cycle. They never ending cycle of trust and mistrust.

How I wish people here trusted more , smiled more , laughed more , cared more, pampered more and lived more.
In  brief sentences and gestures, lies their stingy opinions.

I feel my heart will sink one day, seeing the brevity of their lives.

Home

The journey must be completed fast in order to return home

For here it is bright, sunny but happiness does not fill my heart

The smile surfaces me, like a feather wishing to enter water

But too light to get inside depth and bring the bubble of love above

I hope I never lose memories that take me to you , home

As you always remain, the purpose of my entire journey

Sleep!

Out of curiosity I read today about sleep patterns  and learnt that I'm a foetal sleeper. I release all my tensions while sleeping. So the unconscious curling up has a meaning too. Foetal sleepers are those who curl up while they sleep, the more the curl, the fresher they wake up next morning. So I need to sleep like a puppy tonight to wake up all fresh tomorrow morning. On second thoughts, that could sprain my neck and back. Nevertheless, I sleep in the  log position in the afternoon. Which means I am stubborn in the daytime and I don't prefer relaxing. I have things on my mind. Quite true as half the day is gone in jumping from one lecture to another and I have a lot of networking and projects to do in the other half of the day. Good that even in my dreams, I recognize that. Good that I am a practical sleeper. Not a hopelessly snoring one! None of the posts on the internet talked about occasional Tsunami like moments in my sleep when I fall from the bed, or sense as if I am falling and wake up scared.
I have the habit of keeping as many pillows as possible on the bed to get the feeling of a lion sleeping in his den! Over stated statement that was !

Nevertheless , have a good night sleep! Much needed!

The man

He thinks he is armed. Full of bullets of ideas, chauvinism, chivalry and what not. He likes to be treated as a hero. Limitations do not exist for him. He is like the bird that returns only on will, never otherwise. How I wish I could tell him that every part of his ideal dreams is nothing but fiction. How I wish I could tell him, some wishes bring sorrows and the only way to avoid being sad is to forget them with a smile.

He keeps on looking for random keys that could connect him back to the lost wish. He appears, so determined, as if nothing is impossible. Reality would strike him one day but love, my love, doesn't want that to happen. For I am happy to see him like he is: lost in the dilemma of truths and lies. Sailing courageously for an island that does not exist,

I like him this way. He is ignorant of the truth, not unaware of it. But his hope reminds me of someone so similar... me. I wish I could blindly trust some wrong things, some wrong people, just because I love them so much, even after knowing they would fail me one day. I knew those people would  fail me, hence I feared loving them. But this man loves, the way people are to be loved. Always without fear, he loves them despite the truths and lies.

Merry Xmas :)

A deep sense of void fills me. I haven't been writing. Zilch. Except the monotonous MBA papers, there is nothing that I manage to write. The irony is that an year back, I used to love writing. Has the love waned?
Today when festival songs echo in my campus and I seem like a misfit to this festivity with 2 books in my hand and nothing related in my head, I wonder why did I stop writing? How difficult it was to shell out half an hour of my day and write about the thing that made it a good one, or maybe a bad one. This love for life seems to have retreated. Or maybe I have stopped giving enough time to things I once loved. I loved acting neurotic , being human, cracking poorest of jokes, gifting people chocolates and doing random stuff for them to make their days. I haven't been acting myself. Lost? Yes, I am.

This sense of loss fills me with rage to fight back. For every love is worth fighting for. I unnecessarily blink my eyes to console myself of my overwhelming loss, the kind that even refuses to squeeze out as tears. The point is that everything can change in some trivial moments but what matters is that how we lived before that moment arrived. So make goodbyes lovelier, greetings affectionate and times worth remembering. Every moment you spend, should be worth your time on earth. God Bless! Merry Xmas :)

Broken lines and dreams

How do we manage to pick a broken quote from a book and love it so intensely? This book that I am reading is filled of lines that will complete themselves before I sleep. Such is the nature of innocence in these sentences. The silence well defined, the noise well controlled. Every feeling measured against rationality, every feeling melting and crossing its boundary towards the end of the chapter. Today, when I am on the last page, I feel I could have written different stories about every line. Stories that I will recite to myself years later. Stories that will say, how the half moon decides to complete itself, how a rude guy makes a soft decision, how we get those butterflies when love happens and how we always hold onto, our broken lines and dreams.

Red

I like this colour of love. I like the insanity in this colour- the tinge of isolation and the need of love this colour shows. This colour is not a shade of mere colour, but a transformation of mood: from dependence to independence, from curses to immunity from etc to beyond etc. I have seen and worn every colour, but nothing like red. The air around you tells you that you are present where you are, important where you exist and noticeable in every manner; when in red. That's why I say, its not a colour. Red is a state of agony wrapped in art of love. Because all that you say, turns into plain red. The red that bounces between love and hate.

Liking it? 

Type ?

How we are connected is a different story all together. Sometimes, amidst of the noise around me, I am reminded of your laughter. The cheesy grin that runs through your face and covers a huge part of your facial geography. I like to imagine you this way: smiling. I pick up a means of technology and start punching my fingers, writing what could, perhaps, sound perfect. Perfect enough to match your smile. I fail a lot of times in my attempts to make you smile. Sometimes the conversation is interrupted by people who are nowhere involved in it. At times it is interrupted by the network that connects us and at times by our dilemma to make the first move. Sometimes, in between these interruptions , I predict what you are likely to say. And I smile when you later say the same.

Is it the technology that really connects ? Or are we connected beyond it's scope ?