Disguised Dreams

You spice them up with the tobasco and chilli,
Only to conceal the blandness.
You put on layers and layers of clothes,
Only to hide their bareness.

The truths that lie in their depth-
A depth that is unknown.
Without the facts and figures,
The dreams are never truly seen.

Disguised in different hues and shades,
Perceived with the strangest tints,
Disguised dreams shall forever be
A dream within a dream.

(The phrase 'Disguised Dreams' isn't something I came up with. Credits to Mr Mehra, who came up with it and didn't even realize how nice a phrase it is!)

Conversations over texts

*Phone vibrating*
One Message Received.
She wakes up from her half-awake state and pulls out the phone from under her pillow.
Who could be messaging her at 4 in the morning? And why?
She smiled.
She didn't really need to think who it was.
She knew very well as to who it was that would not think twice about the time and just text her even if he didn't get a reply back at that hour. He just needed to get whatever thought was on his mind into that text.
He did.
He told her what he had been dying to tell her for the last few weeks.
She had to know.
He could not bear to keep her in the shadows about this any longer.
The message declared his feelings.
He had hated the pasta she had made.
He had lied to her to keep her happy.
But if he had to force down that half-cooked, half-burnt inedible dish ever again, he would have to stop meeting her for home-cooked meals.
She replied.
He would be rewarded for his honesty.

Dear Shit,
You truly are a pain in the ass.
Sincerely, Constipated.

Of big bums & double meanings

Guys are like asses in one way, of course, taking the ass is asshole meaning.
However, if we take the ass is butt meaning, then guys are like asses: the ones you want to stay, don't stay; the ones you want to go don't go. (taking the ass to be big)

Dealing

There are those rough days when strangling someone seems like a good idea, even if the 'someone' has to be yourself. Everything annoys you and everything seems to be going wrong and you seem to be losing control over the situation. What is worse that no one seems to get what you feel and you don't want to bother anyone about the problem because it's your own to deal with.
Well, you have two options:
1) Face it.
2) Run.

Now let us consider both options:
1) Face it-This may not seem like the better option for the weak at heart but if one can make themselves accept that there is a problem to be dealt with maturely, sit down and think it through, take responsibility for one's actions/choices, and act upon the solution, be it seemingly workable or not, then the person can be given a pat on their back. If nothing, at least he/she tried! Give the kid some candy for that! C'mon, people!

2) Run- This is easy, tempting and the absolutely wrong way to go. Run to the kingdom of Far,Far, Away in your mind. Make yourself believe that the problem is not a problem and that it will go away on its own. Try and vent through words, tears, or whatever it takes to get it out of your system (you'd like to believe it's gone for good!) and refuse to think about it once the venting is apparently done. To me, it doesn't seem like the best idea. But then again, I'm not even sure I'm aware of which option I'm considering half the time. (I'm a little lost in my thoughts a little too often)

But the fact remains that when the going gets tough, the tough gets going! And hopefully, everyone will indeed have the strength to deal, to accept, to overcome, when the need may arise.

Reliving Asthachal

Anxious to get there before the rest,
The hills, the trees, the sky awaits.
Displaying their brilliant spectacle of sights,
Lacking an audience.
..................................................................
Amidst the lone trees, she sat,
Calling unto herself the spirits of Nature.
The came from the most strange places,
Revealing themselves in their true form
With their hazy silhouettes,
Emerging with the setting Sun.

Conversations over songs from the past.

A-The woman. G-The man.

A: (singing Simon and Garfunkle’s song) I am a rock. I am an island.

G: Every man is an island!

A: Uh, it’s NO man is an island, which goes to say that none of us can survive alone. Human beings are not meant to be isolated creatures but in fact, supposed to practise community living. There is a society and societal norms for a reason.

G: I was just trying to contribute to the...

A: John Donne was the one to use the line first, if I not mistaken. (pauses) Yes. It was in his poem, For whom the bell tolls that the line was used it. No man is an island, Entire of itself. (delighted)

G: (astonished) You see, THIS is exactly why I am in love with you. Because you can actually shut me up and get me fascinated by the poetry and lyrics that you live your life by.

A: (unresponsive) That’s real sweet of you, Georgie. I’m a singer/song-writer. I live by my words and those of others. That’s all I can relate to. But right now, I need you to not utter another word while you’re in this room so that I can finish listening to this song in peace.

G: (annoyed) You know how I hate it when you call me that! Will you kiss me if I shut up for five minutes?

A: Fifteen, not five. And then a nice, wet one for you, Georgie. No negotiations now. Trot along, now.

G: Woman! You drive me crazy. But I do love you.

A: I love you, too. Now...

G: I’m out before you have to say it. (shuts door of room as he walks out)

A: (smiles to herself) I love you, you mad mutt!

G: (from the other room) You’ve no idea how much I love you, you bitch!

Home

It was more than the space within the four walls, floor and roof. It was more than an abode for those who lived in it. It was more than a concept, with a reason for being what it was. It was what is was-Home. The nest to the bird, the igloo to the Eskimo, the burrow to the rabbit...

Merely a means of housing or is it more? Is it conventional wisdom that a home is what you make of it, key word here being 'you'. The 'you' is the family who makes their house into their home, be it a family of two, four or even, ten! Size does not matter when the pleasure of sharing a space, however big or small, with a loved one comes into play. Memories, good and bad, make the home what it is and the cherishable memories with family that one has is directly proportionate to the happiness in a home.

The Good Ol' School Days

At the back of the class,
Fleeing the eyes of the teacher,
A panic-stricken boy works.
Tense muscles.
Eyebrows raised.
A stern frown.
He jots down whatever he can as quickly as he can.
He knows that time is fleeting,
And that the angry voice of the teacher will loom over him soon.
His eyes do not falter,
Steps emerging from the front desk towards him.
A quick change in the page but it is too late.

Light and Death

A dark and damp room,
Closed from the outside world by a singly door.
The light from the next room which falls into the room through the keyhole
And the gap between the floor and the door
Is switched off.
The lean man, reduced to a creature of the dark feels choked.
The same feeling he gets everyday when the lights go off.
Knowing there is no way to escape but a slow, painful death.
He curls up in a corner and waits.

Luna

She bathes the sky with her gentle glow,
Crawling across the sky
Like a baby standing on its own two feet.
She rises slowly, out of the cradle:
The cradle of stars, with their brilliant light,
Amidst the leafless trees
Amidst the hills
Amidst the memories.

And I love her so
I wouldn't trade her for gold
-Once OST


Funny hearing these lines when you feel like you have no value. At least no value to the ones you want to be worth something to. 
Life. 
Makes me laugh to the point that it hurts.

False Pride for Winning The Race

There he stood victorious,
A grin lit his triumphant face;
A statue of him constructed beside,
False pride for winning the race.

He won both ways- reputation and love;
Too much for him to accept.
But slow and steady, grew used to it all,
To false pride for winning the race.

Villages he had vanquished, looted them clean
Without looking back even once.
When he did look back, he had to move on,
With false pride for winning the race.

The good ones comes, the good ones go,
No one ever bothers holding on.
He knew what he could win with his might,
But his ability to think was long gone.

Holding Back

Holding yourself back is possibly the worst thing one can do to themselves. Holding back emotions, tears, thoughts is like forcing yourself to live a contradiction. Where one part of you tells you that something is wrong, there is another which prompts you to go ahead saying that it is right under that circumstance.There are many stories heard about wrong choices, about phone calls not made to loved ones and losing them, about unrequited love that could have actually grown to become something if someone had just said what they felt rather than think of the consequences of their words. This is not to say that I am advocating a vile society, where people act without thinking of consequences. It's just that when one feels strongly about something, they should act upon it if there is even a small part of them that wants to act.

There was a theatre actor who used to be too afraid of the stage and what people would think of him. In an attempt to overcome his fear of being judged and criticized, he auditioned for the school play. He got the lead role. His talents finally came out. The plunge he had taken had been rewarded.

There was a poet who would write everything on her mind in verse, on paper. This helped her record her life and thoughts as it passed for she had noone to hear her out. Nobody cared enough to do that. She died, unloved, leaving her words behind for the world to read, though with no takers. 

A little girl got a phone call from her brother at 6 a.m on a Sunday morning. He had had a bad dream in which something terrible happened to her. He was worried about his little sister. He called her up to reassure himself that she was alive. He reminded her that he loved her and would always be there if she needed him. Even if she didn't need him, he was there for her. He cared about her immensely, though he could not always show it. That day, the little girl was reminded of the love of family members. Her mother could not understand why she  was woken up by a tight hug from her daughter.

It is human to want to vent, to want to be told that somebody misses them. It is human to want to tell the boy you like how much you like being held by him, to want to receive a call from your mother every night before she sleeps in another city far away from you. It is human to want to play Snakes & Ladders or to just go crazy roller-blading to relive your childhood. It is human to want to express, feel, love, show, tell, speak. 

Holding back and suppressing your instinct is against human nature. It is pointless. If you want to remind your ex-flame that you are alive and that the two of you used to be best friends once, it is okay to make the call. If you want to spend four months' savings for a plane ticket to go surprise your Ma on her birthday, it is good to not let money matters hold you back. If a close friend or family member is critically ill, Time should not hold one back from making each living moment for the person as beautiful as one could possibly make it.

There are already too many restrictions imposed by the society we live in. To impose more constraints on one's natural self and curb the natural flow of things would just be plain foolish. Go live your own life today. For once?

Entry for Indiblogger and Close Up.

Drained

She stands at the edge of the hill, feeling an eerie calm settle over her.

There are no movements visible to the eye, but she can feel the blood in her veins flowing.

She knows that she is alive and standing, in control of her body. 

Yet she feels decapitated-headless, without a mind.

There is no clarity, no thoughts. 

There is an inner voice, stifled by the silence.

The silence of Life.

A life given by a mother whose face she cannot recollect.

She is far moved from reality, from compassion.

She is cold.

Physically, Mentally, Emotionally.

Drained.

Molten

There is a world where everything is in the molten state. Time is fluid. Life and Death are free to move. Feelings and actions can be moulded at the convenience of the moulder. In that same world, my candle burns at both ends. Almost as if I am in the middle of the candle, swimming towards the flame but knowing not which side I am swimming to. The candle is like the life bestowed on me. There will be a day when the flame reaches me and when it does, I would be prepared to let it touch me, take me into its warmth. One can live in the hope that that day is not the last day they are living out. But there is no assurance that it isn't. There can never be any assurance, given the fluidity of Life and Death. 

People on their death bed are sometimes granted an extra day, a few extra hours. The healthiest of people can be on the walk of life and suddenly be forced to leave the comfort of living because of no apparent fault of theirs. Death can come so close as to ruffle your hair and walk away. There is a life in the apparently secure amniotic fluid of a mother's womb and Death enters and pulls it out of the burning flames, letting the ashes flow in the womb, now devoid of life.