Fog

What if, all human beings are projections of everyone else's thoughts, pictures, dreams, imaginations etc. what if they are just projections, and the souls that everyone know is a key..an anagram or jumbled clue to a different reality. What if I am a projection of someone's thoughts..someone somewhere wanted a girl like me, and I, unsure of my reality keep living in dilemma that why can't I understand everything. 

Morning After

Just woke from a four hour sleep, I felt that I've been haunted all night long. I was haunted down to every inch of myself by my words, sounds and incomplete sentences. It feels pukish and empty. All the liquid in my body is gone. I was in a horrifying poem. Sun shone, and all that had been, vaporized into air. Clutter fills my mind or from wherever I choose words. Nothing is fixed, all can be zero and infinite at close quarters. What is there to hang onto? What is there to remember in the morning after? 

So it goes like this...

Sadness always pushes me to write, and that's how I move, with a step ahead and a step back. Alright.
No thoughts yet longing for silence. Longing.
Quiet!

This post is about irony.

In the darkness of meadows,
and in the heat of sun,
In the frosts of a candle,
and in the blues of the shun

In the dusk of the eyes
and in the glow of the dawn
In the sadness of a smile
and in the love of the blown

Uprooted like the grass
feeling of the balded earth
in the rusted brass
in the broken hearth
in torn out trees
dismal and grey sky
wet and cold breeze
twisted wry
and lost stories
a fear prevails
a fear in the deep
proving that I am weak
gazing through my soul
into the deep
leaving, I am leaving
something behind
yet, I am looking for a sign.


Everyone looks sad, when i am.

-knightesS

Missing people is one thing, the other one is 'I don't know'.

Well, thats pretty much I wanted to say.

Dilemma

Knowing everything is a bad sign. I laugh mentally on stupid talks people have when they sit on coffee-tables or at tea-times.

I tend to analyse them as of usual sort, this is the human vicinity I always have, everywhere. I thrive on the idea that is more abstract and of little worldliness, and I can't decide if it is wrong.

I always miss Steadiness of thoughts(between the lines, I avoided the feeling of, if i should write 'steadiness and thoughts').
I rush, rush, rush rush rush rush to the end, sudden and immediate wonderfulness something can bring into my life. Everything real or abstract, wandering in my mind, fumes away. It puts me in a dilemma.

Am I lost or am I keen? I am not.
  

The distinction!

Sometimes I might think about world, more specifically my part of the world. From the very moment when I opened my dry eyes to see the (wet) world, I must have been traumatized or may be surprised. Yeah! my part of the world was always new, brand new, and therefore I was inexperienced and glowing with curiosity, and even yet today its the same. For they are yet to realize that everything is as new as a new moment of time, I am at some other level of thinking. I know I will never get bored of the things around me, there is lot more to know 'on my own', besides my obtained habit of making prejudices.

Even thoughts are never the same, they vary with the passage of time. Now when I put a full stop to the previous line, my thoughts are still lingering (no full stop for them), I now have a question, 'what is time', and more questions like 'is it just a day after night or a night after day', 'how is it passing' , 'is it going to end' for every part of the world or only for few (because I know it will end for me some day, like it began), 'who would know that time has stopped', 'would they have any knowledge of time', these questions might have been repeated in the past, but this present is new combination of time and person and mind, then conclusively its never the same.  

Err of Living

Nothing unusual about this life, comparatively yes and relatively no. I was pondering much over what am I living here, and something that gave me chills is lost...here most of the times I have to lay my ego, respect and morals aside while talking to people..the only reason being I want to be the better person if there is a comparison. It is the same way it was, before I was introduced to it..the err of living. Thought through everything, and I know nobody gives a damn to anyone or anything, even if people like something they don't actually like it, they merely pretend to like a limited number of things that there are and others find interesting..to mention, these "others" are the real people I give a damn to, who have minds and fortunately can use it. Before I move further on this line, it needs to pass a test, a secret test that you'll read in the next post. Till then all you gotta do is get over this hangover.

Adieu!

begging in present; dreaming for future

Mostly I encounter people belonging to opposite ends, but most of the mostly..this title-kind. They are the mediocre, never been able to achieve a thing in life, if you ask them they had been progressive..since, even they don't know when. They have never enjoyed a moment in their life, they've never seen themselves as better, they might just hope for it. Just ask them for advice, they'll give you a lot. Be aware, you can hardly convince them, they are quarrelsome types, bickering over parking places, loud music, government's bad policies, increasing costs, nuisances of the neighborhood, glitches of their childhood, they will tell you what they have learnt so far and make you understand that they are on the right track, self-sufficient, but again beware. Beware of the fact that you are not convinced by their talks, they'll indulge you, make you worry, make you someone of their own kind, they have no vision, just wandering in the dark.

You've got to be yourself. They, as they are, are dangerous. And they will lie about it too, to you and to themselves. 

This Post Is only about rush and madness!!

There is a rush, don't ask me how and why!
It is there, where I am
and books,
words,
mountains,
visible vast blue or purple or yellow or colorless sky,
broad and narrow streets of a faraway land,
breeze from the sea,
touch of first drop of shower,
a cliff near the sunset,
green leaves or withered,
lightening and wind simultaneous,
plum tomatoes and red peaches,
clean and tangled long roads,
tall trees, an uphill hut,
a pond full of birdies,
empty nests,
shafts of log in the barn,
an undone tree house,
a brown and woody garland,
a temple's peak,
a vulture's beak,
 tides drowning the sand,
rocks climbing the hand,
those eyes looking into me and reflecting back something,
red steady light on the tracks of a train in the night,
a dusty coat,
a fir glove,
fire near the face and gown sewed with lace,
curtains made of satin,
a stranger speaking Latin,
just a night rush or a rush night,
blowing whistle in heat of the stadium,
flowing river in cup like formation,
all that eyes see and relate to,
there is a rush, not just human,
I am much more.
I am mad.