Chaos… let it be. A plea for harmony…

The movie screen reels the images of many a moment…

The sound of the pictures reeling…

Some watching them laugh, others sneer, some cry and some just sit with no sentiment…

And then the reel cuts with the audience squawking at the display anticipating retribution, left in solitude with a cold indifference.

I sit back in the dreary darkness, gazing at the exiting shadows, with meek solitude to accompany me.

Oh harmony, where did you go?

So rare do you manifest that human kind forgot to stop and went on with the world, knowing not the end.

Forgotten their purpose, mixed into everything that is ordinary and no struggle to call their own… Chaos, let it be, you won.

Now let the muted awareness stay, because only a moment can bring an eternity of prudence.

So, harmony, implore you to deliberate and grace us with your bearing.

Perfection... Bye

I've thought I've never loved chaos...
I love perfection...
I've always worn silent colours...
No one saw me standing there...
And I told them world, I love the invisibility...
I teared up many a nights in my lonely apathy, while the breeze dried the sleepy dews away... Wishing perfection was my only prayer in my world of commotions...

And there it was, no date set, no reason I could guess... Perfection stood, awaiting my embrace...
I just stood, and then it dawned...
I just was not who I told I was...
I was the misguided imperfection.

The reds, blues and greens I love...
The dusty cozyness was where my heart dwelt...
The greys made me dizzy and the whites erroded my soul...
The cleanliness ripped the realism in me...
Oh you impudent perfection... I never would have known my love, if not for your spur of presence...
I turn back, I bid my good bye and chose to live chaos, with my perfect imperfections...

It just stopped...

Endless lethargy as seconds ceaselessly passed...

Moments of glory remain like yesterdays story...

What is left, cannot be said...

Yet no curiosity outlives the passing instance...

Dark curtains swayed, cloaking the grime of stagnation...

No tale to tell...

Just an empty smile, veiling the treacherous withdrawal...

Directions lost, one cannot tell, but the lapse of receptivity itself seems futile...

All for sure there is nothing more to tell... it just stopped...

Silent sighs...

I sit under the shadows...
Dark as the world could get...
Hopelessness is all I forsee as the cold dead breeze sets in...
Positivity is the fools story of cowardice...
Negativity is mere selfishness...
And so I am unsure, what do I choose?
A mortal life tamed and manipulated to be less animal and more human, positive life they call it... And the result, I feel emotions that control me and the truth that dawn's on me that I'm merely a weak speck that can make no difference, oh hell, that's just negetive.
No one's listening... No one's here to hold hands or reassure. They are just stories for the fools.
Oh what I would give to feel nothing and be invisible.
I wish I was not so utterly pressed to assure life is a positive choice over the utterly negetive twists that I repel from.
In silence I set back to the monotony... Sigh...

The Narcissistic Nobles.

Why do we blow our own trumpets?

It’s always a question that concerns me because either most of us are so insecure within our own skin or we are constantly fixating too much on ourselves that we need to assert our prominence.

Whatever the reason be, we really need to listen to us speak or see us in the act of this impeccable display of pretension which I call callous and preposterous. The beauty of a task can be experienced when the result is accomplished not with pomp and show, but with the consequence that now exists because of this triumph.

Although, it has become customary to broadcast even the subtlest of feats, so that the world may know what universal egotists we have grown to be.

In a movie I recently watched, the main protagonist educates how important it is to complete undertakings and not announce it, because the recipient should not feel obligated towards us, for whatever service or support made available. Our parents never made us feel obligated for the number of diapers changed, sleepless nights wasted and an infinite number of other labor that they took upon themselves for our benefit.

Nonetheless, how much of this offence can we burden ourselves with? The culture that we are so close to, teaches us to exhibit ourselves as the most perfect art of narcissism. Our corporate and bureaucratic realms are mostly enslaved by the idea to display and sell people like objects meant for bidding which is a charade, that ironically we are tolerant about and play significant roles in.

Our actions should be applauded, not the hype created about it. And actions that may never be known should construct us as humans that can experience and blossom in the authenticity of new encounters.

As the novelist Graham Greene quoted in the book ‘Doctor Fischer of Geneva or the Bomb Party’ - “He's satisfied with himself. If you have a soul you can't be satisfied.”. So a soul is what we seek for, a Narcissistic Noble is not what we would call upon to be!

The unsaid retreat!

I wish I'd say goodbye!
Another set of reasonings with sigh!
I'd rather just retreat,
Unspoken and unknown why...
It's better to be ignorant,
Neither would know why...
Let's save the farewell,
Lets toast to another travel...
Adieus amigo, for now and forever...

The tree by my window

The time just ticks by...

Rising with the dawn, I set about my routine... accomplish the mundane chores that I embark upon, with no surprise to stir my curious senses. 

And the tree stood still...

A couple of years back, my family lived in a rented outlet that was ideally a warehouse for metals used in construction. Though a small dwelling and mostly over full with company during weekends, we endeared our stay in this very house because of the pleasing garden that my mom had meticulously planned and tended. Succulents to the Australian silver oaks, anything that found the will to grow with mums love and water found its roots within our orchard, which I call with all regard.  

It was time to say goodbye as the small home was to be crumbled down for a more elegant concrete structure, that not only sheltered many more people but filled in the pockets of the rich landlord, who we once shared the custards and tapiocas from the yard. With tears in our eyes and heavy hearts, we moved to our new abode, this time we chose the convenient 'flat'. The only reminder we had of 'our days in the wild' as I call it with fondness, was the tree by my window.   

But we moved on, and eventually we even forgot about the tree by the window. I forgot to listen to the birds chirping, the squirrels noisily scampering about and the whispers from the tree as the breeze swept through the leaves...

It was a warm afternoon, I sat by my bed and looked out. There stood the tree with no movement and just an eerie silence that remained. I saw a tired being right outside my window. 

Around the tree was a deserted space; a small breeze blew by carrying away the dust that lazed around unattached to the earth; there was not a bird that even dared to ruffle its feathers. Around the tree a number of concrete mementoes had been built, with money which was the only pride men understood, masking away the simplified beauty of the once graceful tree that now reduced to a dusty and exhausted trophy of development. 

I wonder why I am turning my back on this friend? I wonder why knowing that I am setting my grave ready with my ignorance does not petrify me? I wonder why the change does not overwhelm me anymore? I wonder why any of this does not bother me at all?

The tree stands still and I move on...