Feb 2019
this is the nation who loves to write, but the actions are limited to dreams, to thoughts that are not even processed-- this is the nation that hates to be fooled, yet fool ownself again and again by love of things and hatred for people...
i can never attribute to the happenings around me, neither have i any contribution in making and defaming the things that comfort me, people those adore me, and offcourse ppl haters for me. i just am living a life made by someone and still complaining for the distress they are creating when my contribution in making myself is none.....
i used to think of love for love, an ecstatic love that makes u forget everything-- an enigmatic love above all fragrances, since , i saw those little face at 10 pm, sunday night , no shoes, ***** outfits and running infront of fruit shop with juices in their hands being given by that fruit keeper. they had a vibrance on their faces, as if after long hard day begging they have got what they never dreamt of. they were running but with slow pace for fear of spillage of a single drop, and ofcourse din drink it for long for fear of it may not end so quickly--- I UNDERSTOOD THE MEANING OF YEARNING, LOVE AND DESIRES that night. love has too many aspects, i forgot till that night.
i am sharpening my sixth sense with sounds of imaginative broken heart, a dreadful scream, a dream that is shattered, a helpless soul, a bargain with no benefit, a crack in soul, an irtrepairable hurt. i have sharpened my senses, but still i dnt have a courage to face it.
luxuries never play with the sound mind for they give comfort, they pamper insane heart who is in search of so many things that are not even known to him.
i am in process of making and remaking, yet defying my spirit every day with daily activities makes me a better person. does shaping and reshaoing has any role until ur break and re-break urself??
i am finding a beginning in a chapter, first page of a book with remarks of triumph, and last page of this book with words of gain. i read again and again shame, shame and nothing without shame. discomfort dis-arm me everytime i go through the words of book, and i look for peace in silnce of my sleep.
aghast, tired, struck in confusion, i wrap up everyday the left overs, trash them far in dreams in no- land, with hope of new in another day. sleeps make me tired to wake me up to look for same trash i threw a day back with same lethargic breaths. y days go so long for the beginners??
i can never attribute to the happenings around me, neither have i any contribution in making and defaming the things that comfort me, people those adore me, and offcourse ppl haters for me. i just am living a life made by someone and still complaining for the distress they are creating when my contribution in making myself is none.....
i used to think of love for love, an ecstatic love that makes u forget everything-- an enigmatic love above all fragrances, since , i saw those little face at 10 pm, sunday night , no shoes, ***** outfits and running infront of fruit shop with juices in their hands being given by that fruit keeper. they had a vibrance on their faces, as if after long hard day begging they have got what they never dreamt of. they were running but with slow pace for fear of spillage of a single drop, and ofcourse din drink it for long for fear of it may not end so quickly--- I UNDERSTOOD THE MEANING OF YEARNING, LOVE AND DESIRES that night. love has too many aspects, i forgot till that night.
i am sharpening my sixth sense with sounds of imaginative broken heart, a dreadful scream, a dream that is shattered, a helpless soul, a bargain with no benefit, a crack in soul, an irtrepairable hurt. i have sharpened my senses, but still i dnt have a courage to face it.
luxuries never play with the sound mind for they give comfort, they pamper insane heart who is in search of so many things that are not even known to him.
i am in process of making and remaking, yet defying my spirit every day with daily activities makes me a better person. does shaping and reshaoing has any role until ur break and re-break urself??
i am finding a beginning in a chapter, first page of a book with remarks of triumph, and last page of this book with words of gain. i read again and again shame, shame and nothing without shame. discomfort dis-arm me everytime i go through the words of book, and i look for peace in silnce of my sleep.
aghast, tired, struck in confusion, i wrap up everyday the left overs, trash them far in dreams in no- land, with hope of new in another day. sleeps make me tired to wake me up to look for same trash i threw a day back with same lethargic breaths. y days go so long for the beginners??
