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