The pleasurable anonymity felt across the rhythmic ecstasies by Allah Rakha & Zakir Hussain. Drowning in it with vague and obscure mind. As if you want to escape but loving its redolent remanence… slowly and disdainfully re-leaving/revealing the heart. The enchanting trance gyrating around you. Bowing in front of amazingly undefinable voice of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi. Now his voice will spread peace in heaven.
mermaids in my dreams, merrily diving away
mermaids in my dreams, madly swimming away
mermaids in my dreams, mostly wondering why…
well, the merriness merrily fading away,
the merriness momentarily masking…
the mad dreams of mermaids.
It was cheesy. The myriad of confusion to the society. The congeries of emotional licking. Its not about what happened, its all about why happened. what, is so obvious but not why. The incandescent awakening of sudden reality or indecent adulation of quick realization. People are not satisfied by the creamy layer, they edaciously dig for the mud and rust. Everyone has their own reasons. As some one said, your right may not be my wrong or vis versa. Back to the viscous circle, still trying to realize the requisite.
I stumbled at one point. I realized at the next. slithering back to me, the earlier position. Why am i writing? Because I am expected to? Because I want to? Because I am forced to? None of above, Because I love to & Because I am more expressive while writing. Everyone need to let out their emotions, feelings in one way or another. Its not necessary that what you write is your life but its always necessary that it has you in it, in one way or another.. at least as a spectator. Hmm… mostly as a spectator. Reeling through the reels of life, these writings are just the tip of the iceberg. Alas, if I could show the submersed part. Yes, a shit load of happiness and inaccurately flowing river of sorrows.
Do I have anything in my mind to write? Nopes.. nothing as of now. May be I have a lot of things inside me which I don’t want to write. Believe me the endless sky has an end if there is a beginning for it. The beginning is where we start looking at it and the end hmm.. we feel like there is no end. Those white patches of clouds reminds me of reverberating proclamation of peace. And the fog, its just the reflection of those clouds. Why I am talking about peace? What is peace to me? Its just another word which is echoed around me, used uselessly because the more peace you want, the more harmful you become. Think about this. We stopped killing animals for food. All became vegetarian in the name of peace. Animals start reproducing and starts eating more and more vegetables, so there will be less vegetables for us to eat. We become hungry, we starts killing animals more voraciously. There goes the peace. So how can we define peace? Is it just about peace between one species, oh that should be human by the way because we think. Too much. ahh yeah its boring. So let me stop.
hmmm… That meant a lot. The hmmm… Its been 1 year since I wrote something here. I was destitute of imagination/need/encouragement? Don’t know. I believe I was just lazy. Blaming on all the reasons which I could make up. Oh by the way its a viscous circle. It can be but I don’t think it is, am I right, can be… Way beyond these circles, its your choice to move out. But the choices have restrictions. The limitations of human abilities or the confinement the mind make for it self. I usually claim that I don’t care if any one read my blog. I do realize at least at some point that, yeah I want some to read it and say its good or at least if they criticize. But that is not always the case though. Some one reading my blog makes me conscious. Don’t know if that could make me hide the truth. Oh yes. Most of the time. So what make us stop from revealing the truth? Is it our conscious mind or just cowardliness. May be both.
To the awry and incomplete propositions, he fights knowing that its for nothing. The enlightened slavery of this enigma which pounce upon him with acute itches which may open up a deep wound if scratched. He asked which way I should lead you. There was no reply. Silence prevailed paths. The decision is about the path not about him. Was it ever?
My impromptu views promptly decayed by the unrealistic realities. Thousand dreams and thousand wishes, each ends in a tragic reality. Who made the mistake? the answer is always we. Everyone and everything else is just reasons. The sarcastic miseries of life playing anomalous tyranny on me. The dominance which cannot be pacified by the outcries of obsolete present. Framed by words, framed by emotions, framed by distance, the result is all the same. Pulling down the deep proportions of the past, the dilemma still remains. Its all the same, echoing through the heart. The author cried, hold me tight, hold me to heart. I am falling, catch me. Crucify me for the imminent mistakes, bury me for the misleading comments. I may not resurrect, I may not phoenixfied, but I may lay down in the memoirs as a hateful memory.
9% or 8% which is more. chimay acting up fast. What should I say about it. “Peres Trappistes”. Perhaps I wished things be true, perhaps I didn’t. So the more you ingest or infect yourself, less the chances to escape. This is a story about my friend. He told me the story and he died. He gave me the consent to spit it out before everyone. Perhaps those who know him will understand. He believed or in his words, “I Hope”. Hope was everything for him, his life, his career, his love, his dreams. He believed it was because of his hope, he survived all those years. So started betting on his hopes. He believed he was the chosen one, the one made to do things, the one made to have things. He was in a dream world of hopes, if he hope… he will get it. He was hope struck. When ever he talked to me, he used to tell me about a simple hope but a complex outcome. He never wanted anyone to know about it till the outcome. Since he hoped the outcome will be always in his favor, he never bothered about the negative outcome. So he always was adamant and want to surprise everyone. But he was hopeless this time. It struck him so badly that he forgot himself. He forgot what hope was. He forgot what he hoped for. Never mentioned, never noticed… he realized.. he was nothing.
its really good