It begins in September,
With the rustling of the winds,
A change of weather is felt.
A messages is delivered through the changed course of winds,
Warm summer afternoons are soon going to be replaced with chilly winters sun,
The heat one hates in June will soon be loved in December.
Cold makes us appreciate warmth,
And Chaos - tranquility.
It all begins in September.
The weather of your heart will soon change,
The heat of anguish will soon be disposed of,
The heart which feels lonely will see the green pastures..
Wait, be patient!
For my love December changes to March as well.
Overwhelming is all I can describe the book to be. I finished reading the book few minutes back and I am full of those extremely delicate nuances which not just touched my heart but made my soul sour high. If you haven’t read it yet, you should try savouring this piece of writing with all your might.
Virginia Woolf once said, to keep the flow of words one should indulge in reading . Ironically somehow I have lost words to describe how do I feel.
Have you read something similar to this book? If yes , please do suggest!
The regret linger , longer than it should have
Seeping into your bones
Amalgamation of your physical and mental pain.
It sticks , dries out
When left unattended.
Entering your soul
Making you miserable anyways.
What happen when people die?
I am intrigued with the question.
It has haunted my loving spirit, breached the walls I kept solid all these years.
Why should I care what happens when people die until I am alive.
Why do we need to be associated with anyone?
Why can't we not be alone and sufficient?
Why can't alone be happy?
To be true , I am angry today.
I want to die.
Not die literally but I want to kill all my thoughts which constitutes me . Metaphorical death is what I want.
Safe. Secured. No one will know that someone died.
Remember Augustus Water's cigarette, the high metaphor!
I want my thoughts to die that death.
I want to know how does it feel to cut all the strings. The chain of thoughts killing all your instincts.
Don't worry ,I won't do any self-harm.
I am not that brave neither I have that grace to cover it.
But seriously tell me what happens when the thoughts die?
Does it hurt as much as it hurts to lose people? Is death worse than sudden disappearance?
I hope so it is.
Well. Lets. Just . Stop. Here.
Even after trying for ten years ,
Giving your heart, sweat and commitment
Sometimes it's just not meant to happen...
So, what to do next?
Weep and lament over the lost love which you never received?
All you can do is to just let it go...
I understand ot looks difficult and you are afraid whether you are truly capable enough to do it!
Doubt sure is welcomed.
But believe me, then one day , it all comes to you.
The courage to let go of everything that you had buried in your heart- wrapped feelings, discouraged ethics, uncertain signs and the soil you wanted to mix with theirs.
Above all you dig the courage of deleting 90747 messages of last one year which you read all those nights when the day was damp with the unwanted rain and night was dark with unwelcomed clouds.
The courage of deleting the number which was once your ocean and wiping the media and unstarring the messages on your whatsapp chat..
You know, it just happens.
It just happens like it just happened, a matter of second...
No questions asked, no queries put forth.
You give away the part,
Afterall what would you do with a tree which is neither blooming nor withering ?
You do nothing with such tree.
you just let uourself know that it's okay for it to be as it is..
You simply walk away because there is nothing you can do about it...
Now,I want to embrace you really tight this time,
To cheer you up and to tell you that it's fine to feel light , it's okay to breathe light.
It's okay to not to be okay for sometime ..
It's okay to recenter the location of your heart towards your new aspirations and begin again.
So, love ..try again, love again. okay ?
This body is like a frame
Our souls are the paintings
Like the one we see In the art gallery,
The frames are usually made of glass, wood, or maybe cheap plastic
Yet handling the soul made of soil
With depth of honey and
Burning sensation of coal.
our soul fights everyday to come out of the frame, almost everyday to scream and breath and lie down on the green grass of our lawn and gaze at the open sky,
Only to realise, Maybe the frame is not just a frame but a maze of karmic connections.
There are endless reasons for us to remain in the maze
Yet we need just one to be out of this world...
Eventually the body is yet again just a frame within the frame.
What am I?
I thought for a while,
So,when people started detaching, I started attaching myself to them.
When people talked of love as pain and loneliness as treasure, I started cheering for love loudly.
When people stopped trusting , I started putting my trust in everyone.
When everyone believed in irrationality, I vowed to maintain my sanity.
What is normal to you is normal to me except what's abnormal to you is also normal for me.
I ain't a saint or a sinner. I am not divinity , just a human.
At last if you ask
Who am I ?
A paradox is what I conclude.
I want to copy the lines of the pinterest poet here,
As he is the one who romanticized the world for me,
For he told me it's good to be awake late nights,
To write my thoughts, inappropriate yet thoughts here.
What he forgot to tell me that romance is nature ,
A movement of early 19th century curated by poets like PB Shelly, John Keats and ofcourse Lord Tennyson .
My trembling fingers touched the 'Ode to the west wind','Ode to the Autumn'.
Oh! How could I forget Porphyria's lover.
Words should flow as Woolf has said,
Yet Mine are reluctant to come out .
Is it that difficult to utter the word,'Stay' , at 4.30am ?
It’s 3 am, you are asleep but I can’t close my eyes.
Woken up for a long time, what should I do?
I thought for a while and then a thought sprouted and
I imagine you talking to me,
How many days has it been since we last talked? Had a conversation?
Well, we have been avoiding “The Conversation” since 2019.
Yet you are peacefully asleep in other Country, other state, other city and
I am wondering when the sun rays will strike the window panes and I won’t regret that all the metaphors, similes, and imageries elude me at this time of night when I hold my pen to write to you of my loneliness, sorrow I feel each day spiralling round and round engulfing my heart and soul in its loop deep.
Before I am stuck in the loop, I got up and drenched my hair in cold water, searched about the hair care remedy, read poems and yet it’s just 3.20 am.
Overthinking? No! No! No!
I have learnt a trick of wearing the elastic band on my wrist,
Already pulled it twice.
Ah! It’s going to be a long and tiring night.