Incomplete

It's amazing to see how whimsical emotions are. A device of pure unadulterated expression. And more am I awed to see how they closely vanguard the very nature of your character, your being. From being explosive, vicious and vindictive, a spur of spontaneity, guilty wrath to a shower of pearls, cleaved to pain, embarrassment, mourning, a blank visage to stare; from being a surreptitious smile trying to hide under the chasms of innocence, to a pot of joy waiting to explode, and thank the world for adorning life.

Endless.

But even then I sometimes feel they can prove short, or they are unable to describe the beauty of some things to the optimum level. That they are the perpetrators of only the strong emotions, a highly viscous fluid. Which somehow cease to flow. Thick like honey, tingling only the strongest of the senses. Friend of the mighty, the strong, those who can withstand. They can't hope to portray normalcy, daily monotonous lives, or the little joys and sorrows that somehow keep it from falling apart. It is one void for which their are no tears, a tussle for which there is no anger, a drizzle for which their is no love, a sunlit day for which there are no placid smiles..

I shall pay for every lie that I have uttered, for every moment I have spent in deception. I know. And I shall pay in good measure.

I am incorrigible and have never been able to figure out why. A very weak will power at work. Which can't put together itself. Thus I shall pay for the course of my actions.

When I stand at His gates, crying for mercy, begging and pleading, like every weak, corrupt person does, a pathetic sight, I hope not to be spared, to be lashed, to be burnt in the ires of hell.

I won't be able to stand, I know, it shall be disgusting.

I have started referring to Him a lot suddenly. It's not because I have had a change of heart or have turned into a believer. It's because with time you learn to accept that you can't escape the confines of society. You have to live with them. Like you can't escape air, even though you might want to. Moreover the idea, the whole concept is so fascinating, so luring, so lucrative to think about and mock or create a facade that you relate to it, just because others relate, it makes you stay and get wrapped in boundaries of the concurring irrationalities.

Er I guess I am just not in the mood.. pissed off I suppose.. I suppose it's not easy as people say to pen down your thoughts when you're experiencing a strong mixture of emotions.. I guess you're pre-occupied more with the current ordeal.. I don't know if it's better when they're induced through careful prudent thoughts.. Anyways..

A sagacious silence over the charred scene prevails

Where countless shadows hath rift apart

A deceitful sight, worthy of contempt

Image of a tearful girl, it imparts

Signing off once again, parting with time, just to meet, like old friends, some lonely path.

Dreams are too common for love. Makes them less valuable.

They can only fuel passion for other things.

And love is too rare to be reciprocated.

The verbose of my feelings can only deceive It lures the mind into a quagmire of emotions And beneath those thick layers of impetuous, credulous thoughts Lie sapphires to unravel from the oceans of commotion

Teasing the very fabric of nature Creating ripples, the wind glides along And within this air of flirt, rain materialises Returns into the inviting womb, to the earth where it belongs

People who have facades of happiness glittering on their faces

Have dark black sadness smouldering between them

Excerpts

I know its not a thing to be mad about.. I am seriously starting to think of going to the school counselor.. Nobody is able to help me.. I now hate being social.. to talk.. I want to sink in the memories.. the songs.. the "real world".. I know I am bugging you for so long.. I know I have been acting highly stupid and childish.. I know people take me now as a dying creature.. maybe as an actor.. but I can't help it.. I have tried.. put in my best efforts.. but now I am starting to love this.. and hating it immensely at the same time.. Its beyond understanding.. beyond anything I have encountered so far.. Its alien.. and addictive.. I don't write this to be comforted.. to be pitied upon.. to be advised.. or to be shown a greater light.. Because I know they are failed causes.. But as a personal diary.. to relieve me.. I like this virtual world with confined places.. with greater boundaries than possible in the human world.. the power of the pen.. the realism in the atmosphere..

I see a light in the distance
I reach out and it seems so far
I crave for a friend in the circumference
To relieve me soul, my heart marred

Snippets

I am in between some happy and sad mood. Well and I am trying to hold on to the good one. Evading the urge to write another poem, to introspect. Awkward situation. Well you could say I am escaping, hiding. Even if confronting it produces better results or the satisfaction or rather it's the illusion, the addiction, the veil, it holds in store too much pain. Pain which only you get addicted to over time. A world which you can only abhor and equally crave for it at the same time. Pure lucrative veneer of promises which although hollow provide you with a haven to fuel your untamed world. A virgin place just for your eyes; of explosive, ferocious emotions, waiting to tell its miseries but even then content in itself. Bound by flesh, fueled by blood and lighted by the metal. Self-sufficient. It requires all your mental restraint to get consumed by this ethereal beauty that every mind is capable of delivering. True isn't it? We fail to see what lies in front of us. Hear the lullabies that we have been listening to since when we were toothless wonders. Unaware of the very existence of this immense power that lies in each of us.

Standing on the edge of this insatiable void
The heart reverberates across the boundless sea
Craving for a decision that shall decide its fate
Light or its nemesis it shall breathe.


Btw, I guess I just wanted to write something so thanks for bearing me.

Convulsion

Searching in the deep labyrinths of your mind for a thought to focus upon at the moment.. There's something woefully wrong not having some ferocious emotion lashing at you from every corner, torturing your mind to be submissive to a higher power, inescapable. And the lack of which is anguishing to the highest grade.

When a lot passes through you, there exists a saturation point, beyond which you can't decipher, and simply become immune to it.. You return to your usual state, with a slight hint of trouble lurking in the dark, bugging you, waiting to strike.. you're wary of it, but still helpless. You let it manifest its own course.. a deep, dark one, claret bound, mostly that directly affects your brain, its constructive nature or its nemesis is decided by a person's languidness..

I think the course of your actions are reminiscent of the practices that you develop over time.. the cowardliness that evolves, impeccable paradigm of your downfall.. And the ironically funny part is, that you fail to twitch a single muscle even when it hits you in the face..because you've become so used to your defeat, to your insensitiveness, to your degradation.. Dad was always right about such stuff I guess..

So much happened during this short span of time.. I stood gaping, blank, at the blackness engulfing me.. To fight was never a thought.. A rebel without a cause seemed more prudent.. To be utterly foolish, to shed away the truth and open the doors to skies of a vindaloo of lies spattered across, to be admired and followed..

I have understood this thing in these 16 long years of an association I have had with with myself.. I am just a man of words.. a coward, constantly complaining.. one who fails to deliver, who can aspire, but can never inspire himself, because he dreams, but just to be shed away when the first rays of sunlight tease the eyes.. because I am prone to be distracted by the more transient pleasures of the world.. unwary of what goals have to be achieved.. the stones that must be broken.. and so I can't survive, I am one of the weak, from mind, heart to the core..

I also understood one important thing, friends are one of the biggest distractions you could find. I shall not like to elaborate more on that.. I guess everyone has experienced that at some or the other time of their lives..

I wish that emotions were one thing that I could have experienced later in life.. It really would have helped, a Lot..

I regret many things.. but the most fresh one in mind is that I shouldn't have had loved, or whatever that is, a person that is not an asshole, not rude, doesn't even care to talk, is a great friend, and the most beautiful person I have ever known at heart.. Because it encourages my stupid inconsiderate heart, to take such bold steps that anyone would be ashamed of, of being repetitive in the fatuous acts.. and crying your heart to the same person.. It's a serendipity that anyone would loathe and crave equally at the same time..

Anyways, this post has mostly been consortium of different thoughts at different spans of time, of mostly stupid cogitations that I should have penned a long time ago, so they wouldn't have turned out so bad, and so subtle..

Signing off again, hoping to renew our bonds when fate permits..

Untamed Explosion

Hmm, so well today, I guess shall be a new start. An internet diary of sorts because I am lazy to pick up a pen and write. Shall I celebrate? Maybe yeah, after the poor kid in Afirca dies of starvation that is..
Sorry, just a little pissed off I guess.
Actually it's something like a blank mood of sorts.. Some forced emotions pounding upon you for you to exhibit them and some that are natural in their temperament and manifestation.. Weird thoughts, ranging from corruption to politics.. to Africa, to a woman being raped, to history.. school, adolescent angst.. love etc.
Can't channelize, focus upon one thing and get bored again. It's kinda irritating but anyways.
And as I see the greyish-white pages of my cheap register.. soaked with sweat, have lost their crispiness.. trembling and pleading for the marks shall forever remain. Some strange air fills my nostrils. No distinct smell as such but sure does.. Does everything that there is, have to have a meaning?
Jealousy is a strange thing isn't it? I was just wondering about the course of my actions, mostly affected by the mentioned emotion. I, for one am not participating in anything, want to go into some reclusive state..mostly because I think acting weird and strange shall in some way help me out.. Maybe I gain respect or something.. or somebody talks to me =S
So pondering about it, I can only think of this, I am going to ruin my life. I know it. I have always known. And I have always been a coward and shameless. I could participate in things, show my full potential and not just be the "potential".. I think others are non-deserving for things that they do..well there is nobody to prove them wrong is there? I am the typical hypocritical... good for nothing Indian of sorts.. and you know what happens to him anyways.. He features on the cover for RK Laxman..
The emotion has diverse effects.. Digressing a little.. This stupid plethora of nothingness makes it hard to think of something for a long time. So..Thinking that you're losing out on a person that was never yours..Acting in a weird way to gain attention.. Like now I was thinking someone might read this .. LOL.. as if people have no better work to do..
The metal twists inside when you face the truth, when it is flung directly at you and you have nothing to shield from it as you have been doing on for so much time now. It all depend upon the abruptness of the act. The suspense of not knowing the inevitable..That is what makes it so difficult in the first place. And then comes the pain, then the addiction to your feeling of hopelessness.. And it's not that realizing that makes it any better. It hasn't ever for me has it? However I may pretend to, however much I may give advices on it, you remain the same being who can't handle it. It sucks. Something like 11th class Lol.. You can't escape it, and it sucks big time too..

Well, I guess it's pretty late, so I gotta be going. Well diaries do not let you do anything about your emotions but well you turn your cogitations into something of use, so well I guess it's worth it, plus it improves your typing speed too.. I don't know if any more posts will come, or how sporadic their occurence will be. I do hope sincerely it remains like this, at least it's productive in a way. But you can't escape what is to be. I will have a change of mood,that is for sure, but well it won't hurt if the posts keep coming.

Signing off

Ps- The Dear Diary, "How have you been?" shit seems so girly.

Mortality Transcended

Staging the abyss of an impending cessation

The dark expanse lays stretched across

And beneath, in its surreptitious labyrinths

Lay white dreams to unravel, in time, lost

Under this glittering montage of departed souls

Lies a troubled night, in hand, a palette it bears

Whether a plaintive hue should grace the occasion

Or an ebullient serenade, the birds shall hear

The very earth, where countless crimson streams hath flowed

Withholds a pungent smell, which the rains shall release

And it gazes impassive, into the void

Awaiting the faltering steps that shall forever cease

And vestiges of times, the trees, they sway

Casting queer shadows in the placid waters below

And the ghostly gushes, the leaves, they tug

Reverring the end, bow in a vaudevillian show

And silence reverberates across the woods

Strings of the harp, wildly they swing

And the invisible hand twitches them to its insatiable thirst

Into the endless night, silent melodies it sings

Dancing to the minstrelsy exhibition

Struck by the virulent, a red leaf alone it spins

The dampened wind materializes, glides along

With a picturesque elegance, to its deathbed, it brings

And with this servitude of wind, nature has toyed around

Of countless summers with it, had dreamt

And though it lies in its cold, wintry grave

For a vivifying spring, the duel begins

And as it lies trampled, a votive

Cherishing the last marks of the wind it shall entail

A man, none brighter than the mist around

Dawdles forward, facing the vestibule of his mundane fate

With a perpetual stoop, the timeless wonder

A paradigm of an immaculate creation perfected by age

And this derelict entity, with dipping eyebrows

Limps along into the ubiquitous haze

And this crude parody of child

Moulded and crafted by the sands of time

Marks the finale of His greatest creation

As the crying infant rings the opening chime

The few strands of hair, they humble the infanceness

The folds of skin hang loose

And the staff handles his feathery weight

Boundless patience, with prudent steps he moves

Sans tooth and blind, deprived of sounds he is

He craves for the innocent chuckle of a newborn

And its ethereal touch that shall span generations

Shall light the moribund, for the new morn

The weight of his past closes his eyes, tears glisten

He remembers the touch of his mother's bosom

And the lullabies she sang, sleepless nights

Pages of his memoirs lay blotten

And the feel of the grass, on the verdant landscape

The sun gliding upon the waters, sweet summer afternoon

And the open seas mocking it with a ripple

And the shrubs wave beside some kingdom's ruins

The birds romancing their way through the canopies

The butterflies find their way through flowery drowsiness

And the eyes of his love that he used to behold

And her hand on top of his that used to rest

His decrepit limbs, he trudges along

The stars shimmer above, light up the way

Fulfilling the tryst, with open arms, he embraces Death

The sweet memory of her love fades

And far away, into the distance

A dawn blossoms, rises up the shores

And a young one laughs, greets the despondent night

Shaking his clenched fists, catches the dreams that soar

-Archit

The Tenacity of Hope

Whisperings of a morbid night foretell

Of a humble visitor that the velvet shall grace

Hope sears through the indolent air

Mutterings of a sweet dream it lays.

And its wispy arms, it spreads

Turned crystal white with its eternal age

With clandestine diligency it works around

A heavenly glow kindling from its face

It leaps across with its companion

On amethyst streams, through its sprays

The curved drops of life falling with a time-less reflection

Vivifying the wind in the boundless chase

And it blankets the forests in its spell

It plummets meticulously into the dark

Veering down the crevices unwelcome

Effacing the veneer of darkness, on a journey it embarks

It's gentle in its temperament

But of sturdy shoulders it boasts

With an unfaltering expression it entails

With a vivacious drive, all, it endures

Somewhere across a strewn landscape

An irrational vindictiveness comes to work

A carpet of bullets laid across

Sprays the emblazoning red across in its mirth

Fulfilling a painter's dream

The lewd red glistens on the grass

A town awakened to a carnage of dreams

The stars flicker, frightened, the night they grasp

And a clarion mingled with the mud beside

A crestfallen spectacle it boasts

This verbose only euphemising the sight

Knitting the strands of malice, the blood flows

Cries of agony and pain resound through the stench

Corpses of infants clinching their mother's

And the face of a young girl clinging to a pole

Whimpering at the face, numbness inside, it bursts

And this despondent night, the visitor visits

Sweeps across the blown landscape, dispassionate

Stops beside the girl and in its soothing elegy

Tells tales of the battles of happiness lost in time's chase

And Hope, it lingers on

With ardent belief and patience to reap

And the girl weeping with blank, black eyes

The memories that shall never be cast, the mother she shall never see

The young ones of a bird remain

Stranded in their nest, their stomachs inviting

Squeaking and gnawing with their tiny beaks

Oblivious, their mother shall never appear, suffice in this cold, biting

A mother in a furtive torment

Fruits of whose shall have been sweet

A life that may have spawned, laughing with clenched fists

Unknowing, what the vicissitudes shall entail, what fate it shall meet

A boy with a kite in his hand

And a euphoric smile on his face

With dreams of racing with the wind

And mists of clouds that he shall chase

Hope casts an omnipresent shadow, moves along

With a passive effect binding them all together

Harbringing life, sweeps off the tears

Lifts them up to the zenith in its calm, dependent clutches

Kingdoms fall and statues wither away

The tide of time takes its toll on all, in the unduelled race

But Hope suffices, clings on to the little crevices

Gives little flocks of dreams for the girl to chase

-Archit

Smile..

Some comments that I decided to extend out of sheer boredom..
Warning - It sucks, and it is amateurish at its best and not a serious work at all..
Just plain past time..

"Smile!!!"
"Hope it goes to miles and miles......
just like river nile:-)"

So I guess it's something that rhymes
Maybe, expressions that aren't mimed
If I could be bold enough to bore you out
And to suffer some bruises, some screams and shouts
I wouldn't be an empty vessel of thoughts waiting to flow
Some emotions, some truths that I need to show..
I would be an incorrigible being, a recalcitrant entity
An expression of hate, of fear, of misery
But that would be when things would be
When a dove was an evil war-god, goodness- history
Where tunnels led you to darkness, the soft earth was a bloodied mixture
Where mutilated remains were a treat to the eyes, a permanent fixture
Where the crimson draped the glistening dew of the leaves
When the pallor of the rain, despondent hopes it heaved
Where men toiled to reap death weapons
War gongs and hoofs clanked from the Heavens
When the dichotomy of the rubied swords and gore was subtle
Charred, indistinguishable remains of a face, smeared into the rubble
When the scream of a woman, resonated through the air
Men who fought to have their share
And her blank dark eyes, quiet
A hopeless existence, product of a riot
When the skeleton contour roamed every street
Deprived, diseased infants searching for a hand to feed
When homes were built on crushed bones
And the claret that dripped, binded it, its strength it honed

All would be If the world was such a tinted hue of red
But tell me, is this not the news we hear when we eat our daily bread?

Leaving behind all that is to be
A change that could change, maybe one we can see
A contagious disease, that one never regrets
Unique in its own, with no ill effects

I leave you with an apology for this extreme verbose
A smile for the world profound, and the smell of a scented rose

A Tale Unheard

Of twinkling stars far away

Of crimson leaves that shed and lay

And of glimpses remembered, the demented one tells

And memories, old and frail he sells

Unlike his contour, in his sturdy utterance

He speaks his dirge, of his remembrance :

'A world there was, long before

Bounded by its thousand seas, a thousand shores

A surreal place, so magnificent

A divine aura in its ambience

And it spake of glorious battles fought

Of kingdoms conquered and riches bought

And innocuous inhabitants of pure hearts

Of valiant warriors, well-wrought

Of the birds that sang and the lions that roared

And artisans who toiled and diligently worked

The trees that grew on the dunes of sand

And the river that flowed on the parched lands

And a king there was, proud and fierce

Of a heart warm, a mind clear

And a lass there was, by him was treasured

Loved and adored in quantities unmeasured

Of beauty unworldly, unreal she possessed

And flowers sprung out, where her foot did rest

And ripples in sound minds she created

Pure flowed the water from which she bathed

The heavens showered flowers up on her head

And in her presence, the sun came up on wintry beds

Warmth grew out of her smile

And even time stopped to glance for a while

She, a ruler of his dreams, of his day

An inexplicable solution of his maze

And a paradise together they had seen

In love intertwined they had been

But then she had betrayed, fled away

To a man in whose love she had caved

A fragmented soul struck with torment and grief

And silence answered to his pleads

And then his rage had unraveled upon this earth

Terrorized by him, of his insane mirth

Then his sword had spoken, his rave unleashed

And skies had come down, before him they kneeled

Subjected to his anger, to his wrath

Feared by his vengeance, the fury he cast

And from the colors of gore, the landscape was painted

He, ruler of a satanic world, he had created

The shards of his wounds, of his heart

He plunged them into the earth, devastation he marked

And then, his madness had subdued

Aghast of himself, his soul lay nude

And years hence, this letter to her grave

He had kept it with his heart, with a rose he had laid.'

And the lunatic looks up, grey and old

Exhausted from his ordeal, the tale that he has told

And a tear rolls down his wrinkled cheek

His wounds remain, his heart lays weak

In the backdrop, a violin plays

And with a stride slow, into the distance he fades

-Archit

Carnage through a Terrorist's eyes

It’s a cold, windy night

Its eerie whispers sound

Escaping from the crevices of the metal clanking beside

Into the air, the anarchist blankets the town

It plummets meticulously into the streets

Foretelling the horrors near

In its rasp, harsh voice

The stench of which it shall bear

And as it falls upon his face

Its companion it does meet

It sweeps away the cold sweat

From the hazed figure it shall last see

Enraptured by the hellish glow

Whipping around, the figure it does embrace

Lured by the ambitions profound,

Quenching its thirst, the corpses it shall grace

Oblivious of the visitor beside

Determined, he strides forward

Minusculed by the hardened look, the steady hands

Swaying wildly, his shadow follows

The velvety night stretched across

Harbouring the shimmering jewels beneath

Its craft unduelled lays in the dunes of time

Faithfully reflected upon its sheen

And though into its dreary depths

Lay treasures, mysteries to uncover

Envisaging the satanic glow below

Grabbing the night beside, the jewels quiver

The white sphere coruscates, fills the sky

A heavenly glow emanates

The rays rivet down, searing through the misty night

Kissing themselves, lay dazed

Like the others, nor the water's at peace

Still visions it faithfully reflects

Trying to behold her lover's image inside

The sphere dissipates, the morbid night left

And he trudges along, a fixed purpose

His hollow thoughts, him they guide

Like darkness to a blind man

Driving the dead soul, his malice

Lighting the remnants of his bitter past

He treads upon the carpet of emotions laid

Each strand captivates, to avenge

Each strand a woeful tale it says

Some forlorn iridescent strands of the carpet

Of fragile memories prized, of bliss

Of the trance of her charm, the vista unbound

The touch of her lips, the emblazoned kiss

Their contact, it frightens him

Onto the winding path he carries on

And the destination nears, illuminated

By the ire of vengeance, of the armour he dons

Without hesitation or conscientious thought

He opens fire on the innocuous crowd

His sadist bloodshot eyes staring into the void

And with each drop spilled, for more the metal growls

Cries of agony awake the night

Mangled bodies strewn across

And pleas of mercy and help muffled

Of wind's insane mirth, from the present it had sought

The crimson hue of the landscape

The glistening red it boasts

Fulfilling a painter's dreams, the mound of bodies

Seeds of death plants it has sown

Mingled with gore, the mud beside

And marred bodies within it trapped

And the dreams that shall never be fulfilled

And memories that shall never be cast

A spectacle of plight of men and women he witnesses

A greater good he achieves

Corpses of dead infants clinging to their mothers

He fulfills the dream of his creed

Remorse and anguish dawns

He gazes the eyes of a lifeless girl

And the troubled memories again hit

And onto his feet the carpet unfurls

Tears trickle down, his features soften

Picking the metal that has long been part of his

He looks up, announcing his arrival

Falls with a mundane finality as it hits

-Archit

Random thoughts

"Depression is a funny thing. It is addictive, dangerous but when you are out of it seems so foolish... "

"Smile is a boomerang, You always get it back."

"There is no greater friend of you than yourself.. All others are merely mirages"

"There's a thin line between extinction and survival in evolution... Its applicable for humans as well.. Be it physical or mental evolution... Its just that in humans.... extinction at mental evolution means physical extinction as well...."

"Success is like wine. It gets tastier as it gets older. Also its absence can also make you mad." "I just need a splinter, one little spark Believe me, I'll get out of the dark."

"Emotions are very delicate things.. They can prove dangerous if given to untamed, immature hands.."

"It is so pure.. so divine.. makes all emotions come to life.. It can make you smile..make you cry.. It makes you see reality.. takes you away from the virtual world.. of pretentious emotions.. of veiled faces.. It makes you see life.. It is music. My repose.."

"I see a light in the distance.. I reach out and it seems so far.. I crave for a friend in the circumference.. To relieve me soul, my heart that is marred"

"You just need a spark, your mind will be the fuel, your soul will be the wood"

"Success is not ambition but the journey"

Crimson

Depressed maniacs, demented souls, drug addicts, People who slit their hands. They don't do it to be pretentious. Its the pain that relieves them, Its the pleasure that they get, Its silence that they can hear. And it may be mad for the other world but its solace for them. Bonding of flesh and metal, A bond that is complete and unconditional, An existence of their insanity, A feeling of being alive.

Its when insanity reaches a level, when reason vanishes, its you and the wall, the knife. A marriage between you and pain. A bond that is unconditional, pure and born out of pure thirst, of addiction. The worldly perspective vanishes, its when you have been inflicted by so much of pain, a plethora of emotions pounding upon you, leaving you out of space in your mind to look into happiness, that you become numb, immune to it and start enjoying it rather, become addicted to the lucrative sheen on the metal. Its a whole new world of trapped explosive, ferocious emotions, carefully preserved and tamed by the touch of the metal, the satisfaction of the stream of blood trickling down your arm. Its an undiscovered world present in a small space, waiting to explode to tell its miseries, but even then still content in itself. Its a dangerous world capable of many horrors as well as great deeds. Its one of the greatest wonders and mysteries present in each soul in this earth. It is Beautiful.