Letter to Grave

My heart out I tell story of the two beleaguered souls
Grandma, 

He teased you fought with you and even left you in tears many times. But when you left ,taking golden strait to the other side. He weeped, sobbed, cried and yearned for you. My lap was his pillow and my arms were for consoling. However nothing mattered as he lay shaking calling you a traitor for leaving him. He looked like a baby and cried uncontrollably. You left and he felt the shadows creeping over him. I tried to make him laugh but even a solitary smile was a big task. Could it be he really loved you? or Was he just missing a piece of puzzle which before was always in place. He was fighting death not to save himself but to take him to the place where you are. Nothing mattered to him i guess, not his family ,friends and even the wretched daily newspaper. After you left, over time he even stopped reading it. The wall between you and him crumbled to pieces but you were not there. In his last days he forgot his Jester who like a loyal servant was always trying to make him laugh. He knew only you, that you betrayed and left him. The day he died Grandma I felt sad but no remorse of his death because he finally got his wish. Grandma forgive him he didn’t knew how to love. He felt emotions but never could place them as love and express. 

Grandma I was scared if I’m like him but one thing is certain I learned to love and not let emotion run loose. I will not be pessimistic and celebrate my feelings and love towards other. 
P.s. Grandma you loved him too right?

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Serendipity 

When sound of pitter patter on the window. She knew it is rhythm of rain cleansing dust and chemical mangled with air. The environment is in tiff circulating between guns and roses. Heady from wildness of social life where everyone licks their fur to look pretty or changes colours to blend in. Her mind was at peace she had found her destiny.In night a dream whisperer, spoke softly in her ears. Speaking sweet nothings he would always take away her fear. The dreams were vivid like reality into play. They convinced her they would be her reality some day.Constellations she had seen , people she had met were similar in many ways. In those moments, she was sure the line between dream and reality can be crossed. So she convinced herself to be fearless to face reality head on and wait for dreams to become her serendipity.

I Know A Man Who Wants To Die

I know a man who wants to die. A man who spent his entire life in a vague mist of daily chores. Never was he interested in what life has to offer. Never had I seen such a waste of talent.

He didn’t put much thought to others around him. As if concentrating only on his own welfare can keep the equilibrium of the world. To him written words are sense of understanding; work an ethical drama in which he played the lead and to raise a family, mandatory convention of society. So he earned an honest meagre piece of bread and never took a bribe or holiday. Also, he never tried to better his life as he was content,

He married a woman no less then a princess with her beauty, intelligence and haughty behaviour. Not because he fell in love with her but because their family arranged the match. The princess was supposed to be an ideal woman to raise a family with. But his dream actually did not extent to raising a family. You see he was pampered spoilt beyond comparisons while his dreams shattered because his parents were scared they would loose him. Just like Rapunzel not allowed to venture into unknown territories for one’s selfish reason; or like Sleeping Beauty not to get his finger pricked by a needle as he will fall into infinite slumber.

In his old age he speaks of death in respite. A relief from pain in which he lived for half of his life. The pain always alluded in his stomach troubling him sometimes he said for a day, then days to months but never this pain receded. Why didn’t the pain  receded if he took all his medications on time and with proper diet? And as he walked many his age looked at him in envy for the old man could walk. Still it was not and could never be enough for him but why? Maybe the pain which alluded him was not in his stomach but in his mind. He seemed uneasy in company always preferring the old kins over new chums and sometimes old kins were too much. In large gathering you could see his lined-face in anxiety. His hands moving along from his head to cheeks in wonder. And it is then he actually seemed in pain. People were loud with their pleasantries, questions, and raucous laughter. He never felt alive in anybody’s company not even in the princess company. So, he wants to die.

Envy

Envy is a sign of sin. To envy is to have insatiable desire and discontent towards others happiness but does one have to be discontent when another is happy? I envy; I sin everyday. I envy my mother of having a beautiful family. I envy my friends who are moving ahead in their life. I envy the stranger who is smiling over an ice cream cone. I envy the ease with which people go on with their life knowing their path. And I felt sorry for myself because I lack the courage which people are so used to and apt with. Though I know it doesn’t have to be this way. Somewhere in me this courage is inhabited. Yet I don’t let my courage be free as if I will loose something if I let it soar. So, I envy my mother, the stranger, the child and the people. My treacherous mind lives in discontent unable to sleep in night and unable to open my eyes to morning light. This discontent of mind somehow doesn’t extent to  other’s happiness but to my owns. My envy is of the others but my discontent is totally on my own person. And it is totally upto me how I proceed with this enlightenment. Should I let this envy be the one which breaks me and make me into a green eyed monster? Or should I use this envy to better myself and built my envy into curiosity? Curiosity of how the stranger can smile over a simple cone of ice-cream.

If I know I have caged my courage unable to let it go like a child holding onto his favourite toy. I should maybe take baby steps build my confidence, take my own time but keep moving ahead until I can smile so easily as that stranger did (my insatiable desire). After all envy is just a mere word and it is upto me how I define it and myself.

Lifecycle

Tattoo

What I’m living nowadays is not life but a routine. A cycle of sleeping, waking, eating, working, searching and sleeping. When a young kid, I never expected to fall into zombie state of mind always believing in overture of adults leaving home to find their destiny or adventure. Though it all seem like a sham now when i cannot even understand what home is. It certainly is not four walls or protection received and not even love of your kin’s which you are utterly grateful for. Their love sometimes can be a gilded prison, seductive to your inhibitions coaxing you to not let go of warm blanket in a winter morning. Though what if the cold prickly breeze is all you need to make your senses alive (where mind is churning, eyes feel the miracle in morning light and your heart beat as hard as a drum). No, a home cannot be a frivolous care of your body while leaving your soul in turmoil. And still we stay back in hopes of self-preservation and stability not realising sooner or later the scars on soul will stretch into the skin like tattoo.

An adult now I never expected to change my naïveté thoughts of our path being drawn very early in life and every destiny being a relative to our dream. I always kept making an ardent effort to wish and though I did made an effort to work hard but not as ardently as I wished. I let my apprehensions rule over my nerves occluding any hazards by closing my eyes. Trusting in patience of time i never stirred from my comfort zone to try and pop the bubble. Maybe I was afraid by the sound made when it bursts. If I speak the truth I don’t know. The only thing I know is you cannot live life in pigeonhole, you have to diversify your spheres. And only way I see it happening is through trying new things and  to travel.

Dear Reality

“The cloud will always be white and not cotton candies.

The grass will always be the colour of green and not bubble gum pink

And  the man will always have to be rational and  real

But dreams can be sanctuary where men and women can be true”

 

Dear Reality,

In the midst of all confusion (created by you), I hope you are sound and doing practically well. From the beginning of our relationship things have been quiet ambiguous and filled with torment. To be precise you have acted like a total nincompoop and as always you were the party-pooper. The person had a vision and you had to be smartest conscience in the room. Though you may think your logical influence was impeccably correct and successful. What you are forgetting while lifting those rose colored glasses off is that maybe your light is too harsh. Maybe sometimes rose-colored glasses are there so we can avoid your centre of galaxy persona.

Why is it such a big deal with you that the one lives under your limit? Hey! Sometimes you don’t have to act like an uptight high street jerk. You need to loosen up a bit and let yourself be charmed when a little child believes in magic and fairies. Think..what you and i can do if you stop with the lone crusade of making world safe and dreary. People need logic and sensibility to moved ahead in life without making a bad choice, I accept that.  All i say if they do not dare, be creative and let their imagination run wild, I cannot see them building an Eiffel tower, or coming up with the theory of relativity. After all to make this work all  you have to do is letthe wheels of your mind churn beyond your comfort zone. Even if i wanted to stop I cannot stop dreaming and hoping against all rationale thought will still not help my case because i have seen men fly. I have stepped on the moon. And I have even fall to the ground bruised and scarred terrified. But i still wish upon a shooting star. I still have seen the comet.

 

 

Hope you understand my need to vent and sabotage you from time to time.

 

Yours Sincerely,

Not so important Dreamer

Empty Room

 

She was livid with her anxiety and things surrounding her. The culpable silence was limitless and echo of her thoughts made her cringe as if it sounded of high-pitched noise mic and not her own the mind tormenting her.  She cupped her ears and pressed her lips together still a stray tear made the way down length of her cheek and to the tip of her mouth. For once she didn’t want to feel and suffer as either the one in wrong or the one wronged. A perfect balance of karma and conscience are the only things she wants to suffer from but life cannot be lived in perfect balance. Like a soul never enters a body with a purpose to serve until it goes through series of event and choices in life that soul creates its destiny. People will only know what they think is true. Through life experiences it is really difficult to not hold on to one’s prejudice especially when it’s convenient. She needs to stop with self-pity as once a loved one gruffly and bluntly told so she did. And she knew they were right it will not help her if she keeps feeling sorry for herself and not look beyond torment  empty room. The heart will sting and be squished but she has to open her conscience. The hurt will subside and memory will live afterwards. You will always be remembered as the other person will want to remember you. Life is big glob of grey area and choosing sides (black or white) is difficult and somewhat tad impossible. As she wiped away stray tears she realised she can just try to give her best. If people think she did something wrong she could either work her whole life begging them to see her point and try make amends or she could learn from the situation ,deal with it and live right.