Posts Tagged ‘write’

The Perpendicular Universe Type Already

It is these moments I feel, kind of empty, when I sit with my laptop and feed my fingers the stiff of the keys, when I have nothing to do, and no clue what to type. There is nothing going on. But I still want to write. Because I love spreading my thoughts somewhere, If not to a keen listener, then to a keen paper. And when I do, it gives me the comfort of a feeling, as if I was able to complete something unfinished. That I just completed a circle. That I am not just half. That I brim with the remaining.

It is one of those hours of the day when I am surrounded with myself. Locked up with my own thoughts, and when I talk to myself through a screen, a keyboard and a paper. I don’t get much of those. Moments alone. Probably because I am always in a company. But sometimes I would like to be alone without hurting people around me. It is not that I don’t want them, but sometimes I want me. It is hard to make people comprehend that I would like some time alone. An hour of solitude is worth an hour of creativity.

May be it is me time. When I talk to myself about how I feel. Even if the feeling reeks of naught. I want to make myself understand, probably put words in my mouth, for an imminent inking, the meaning of life. To put words to a feeling. To put words to things that are mundane and that happen anyhow without me trying. All voluntary acts that we can’t live without. From walking, to talking, to sleeping, to eating, to watching, to hearing, to shitting. Nothing changes. Nothing goes out of the line. The same old routine: to feed the hunger, to scavenge for a livelihood, then at one point populate the earth and fade away. Every single bit we do, we do for survival. That is it. Forage for the extant. Why do we do, what we do? Can’t the world just pass by us while we are lying on the bed? Oh Wait! That happens! It is called dreaming. Then again why can’t it happen when we are awake?

I wish to explore the crazy areas of my head. Where I get ideas that don’t make it. Wish to put them past the finish line. I like the stream of propositions when they go unhindered, in a flow, undeterred by anything living.

This moment I feel free. My thoughts are. I have seen people chained in their mental manacles of thoughts that are mundane, that are either dependent to a person, an outcome of an event, of a situation, of apprehension, of a popular notion, or a wasted reflection of the past. I have nothing to worry about. I wish to stay this way. Wavered by nothing. Don’t wish to create the chain reaction of worldly woes. I would like my ‘me’ time, where there is nothing to write and yet everything to say.

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Limo

I remember the time I wrote this. Reclining in a not-so-comfy office chair in Chennai. Had plenty of time then, primarily because there was no work, also no one around because of the night shifts I was stuffed into. My mind would occasionally fleet to horizons of introspection and quite frequently to dismay. As I tried to linger on the same old sweet grief from the past of a body I couldn’t put a face to, I fell into the pits of cogitation. I wondered how all this time I was just by myself. Was life supposed to be like this? Am I going to find the one? Do I have someone written for me?

I have this bizarre emotional side to me that I am not that proud of, yet at times I am, probably because it emanates some brilliant streams of thoughts that bring life to a dead page. Read this beauty, drenched in simplicity, that I had penned going into that powerful yet innocent zone of sentience that brought tears to my eyes with its veritable surge. I am asking for my soul-mate to apparate into my life:

You are right there in the corner

I feel your presence.
I know you exist.
Am sure you are there,
Just out of my reach.

You lie in creation.
Without a face, without a body.
Yet I know,
You are right there.

Just within a hand’s reach,
Wish I had longer arms
I would hold you tight
And never let go.

Tired as I am,
To see you in the mist,
Wish I had vision, more clearer,
To see through, what lies yonder.

Wish I had a mouth,
That actually spake,
Every once in a while,
Words that’d bring you to reality.

Aware as I am,
Of your vibes around me,
Wish I could feel your skin
Against mine.

Wish I had that profound a heart
That would sense your presence,
And tell me,
You are around.

Wish I had at least,
Those wary ears
To hear your voice
That would assure me of your arrival.

You are not distant.
Close as you are,
I can sense your scent.
Wish I had better olfaction.

Oh my other half!
My precious reflection!
Wherever you are,
Just find me

Or knit me at least,
A path
That would guide me,
To you.

Tell me!
With words of love
Where do I look,
With these blind eyes?

Or hark with heed,
At my screeching door,
For your chiming bell.
Just tell!

I know you are perfect,
In every dimension,
In every world
Just built for me.

Oh my Yin!
I am empty without you.
Come to me soon!
And resurrect this dead.

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I write pain. Does that mean, I am a sad soul?

Life is a tragedy. I have said it so many times, that tragedy knows me now. If I stop thinking about it, it doesn’t become less justified. The fact remains. The truth stands.

Today, I listened to a story so tragic I wish I didn’t have the power to empathize. I listened to death. Believe me – His voice is shaky, dark, dreadful and unforgiving.

Two people. Mad in love. One is taken. In a poof. One survives. While death, void of emotions, watched her weep.

I see the survivor every day. Her face talks death. I know those smiles are fake. I know that ecstasy is compelled through prolonged weariness. I know the happiness on the face of my survivor has nothing to do with this mundane earth. Yet my survivor is always there, making the world happy, making the world a better place to live in and making amends to this pointless life.

Have you ever witnessed an accident? Have you ever been a part of it? She witnessed an accident so tragic it makes my heart weep. I can’t imagine the horror she had to go through. Walls of the car painted red. Limbs cut. What not.

She watched ‘him’ go. In seconds. Poof! Just like that. He was there with her a minute ago laughing and having fun. She was having the time of her life with her to-be-soulmate. But fate had other plans for her. I have never really liked fate. That dumb old bastard! I have never really liked death as well. He screws life.

I have observed. Her face always wears a smile. She hides her emotions so well! People get duped all the time. But now I know. Now her eyes tell a different story to me. She is scared of this world. She is scared of accidents. She is scared of death. Yet she is brave like a lion. Funny like a clown. Lovely like a rose though living like a zombie. There is tragedy, right there. Sitting silently in the corner, her eyes full of tears.

I don’t know how I would have taken it. I whine at a mere heart-break. She just watched him leave this world. My angst feels so trivial now. She watched him leave her alone, involuntarily. He wished to stay. They were meant to be together. They could have had a great life. This happy-ending leaflet was simply plucked out. At least, I found out what happened to my relationship. She never even got the chance.

Death is a tragedy. So is living, after you have seen death.

I picture the hurt. I empathize for people. I make it mine. I will write for them. If they have words, I know how to put them on a paper. If they wish to be heard, I will listen. If possible I might alleviate them. If not then I will cry with them.

Yes! I am a sad soul. I am an emotional wreck. I feel for the suffering out there. Gazillions of dusky souls with their zillions of problems. I wish to write, if not to them, then for them.

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I have been meaning to write this for so long. I have been watching ‘creation’ closely. How it pleasures me! How it rejuvenates me! How I feel, I have done something meaningful after an act of creation. Don’t we all jump with joy when we ‘create’?

There is something about creation that enthuses us. While we are in the process, it brings smile to our faces. It is one of the most beautiful feelings on this mundane planet. Glad we never run out of reasons to smile.

Just rein your thought-horses for a while and ask this question, “Why do you think we are here?” There’s gotta be something, that someone wants of us. We are placed deliberately like pawns in a board of chess. We are supposed to move as our master commands. We must follow something. Also our movements are confined. We can’t barge like a rook or gallop like a knight. We are being watched. We can’t escape the chess-pod. There is nothing out there, just death!

What if there is no master up there? What if nobody is playing us? Are we bereft? Are we dropped just because our superiors wish to see us how we behave, without a fixed purpose?

There has to be something remarkable and useful that we are supposed to do. We have been conferred all those Lego blocks (here matter) that we are supposed to play with, who knows what for, could be just to impress our FATHER.

Okay, carrying out a proper introspection of ourselves, we gather the following facts. Here I’ll quickly rant about some of the major body parts meant to incite creation.

  • We have been given hands. Alright! Bam! That’s for creation. Let us use them to build, create and adorn new things.
  • Then there are eyes, which could definitely be meant for perceiving our creation and of course marvel.
  • Ears and mouth would aid a team to communicate while they create, so they share work and eschew burdens.
  • Legs are accorded so that we could move and create things at different locations all across the globe. Just imagine, without legs, how our compilations would pile up and we would fail to acknowledge creation of others.
  • A brain full of thoughts permeates us, so that we never run out of ideas. So far, we have been successful in thinking every possible thought there is. Our ideas will never cease to exist. Our still waters still run deep.
  • Nose to inhale the invigorating fragrance of our artifacts. Also to breathe wonderful aroma of nature’s creation. Don’t we love inhaling the awesome scent of food getting cooked?
  • The act of savoring our creation is taken care of by our rapacious tongue. Let us chew our food properly with our teeth to extract the gist from a morsel and then relish it with the bounty hunter.

If we are here, I am sure it is not just for eating, drinking and sleeping. We are bestowed with hands not just for wiping our ass when we are done.

When I give a good look at my activities, I come up with creation at every step. (Remember this! I am mentioning this not coz of vanity but just to slip you an instance.)

I write.
I cook.
I imagine.
I draw.
I animate.
I paint.
I review.
I code.
I earn.
I learn and produce.
I compose.
I rhyme.
I think.
I fantasize.
I doodle.
I picture.

All of the above mentioned activities are dipped in creation. I love doing them all. Even while you read a book, you create instances and make them happen in your thoughts. You imagine them. It is always the first time with you. It is your thought. It is your creation. Your thoughts might come into synchronization with thoughts of others, but they would still remain yours.

We create at every step. Even if you don’t have any talents, you still create ‘events’. Every day, new events happen. None of the events have ever reiterated. If they have, then you have defeated time.

There is a reason why we are here. Whenever I ask myself the question why, I always end up with one and only one solution : CREATION