Subtle Kaleidoscope

  “it’s okay” “that’s alright” I find her saying this quite a few times; and I wonder how many times and to how many people she has being saying this all her life. To people who somehow screwed her up. You know what is ‘depression’? Naah… not that ‘I’ll die’, hundred pills, sleeplessness, pessimism, hate. Depression is not when you are clearly sad, it’s something that is inside. Sometimes the person is happy, talking, sleeping, loving and still, you know, they don’t seem lively. I don’t know if that is depression but it is surely something next to it. And she feels that. She feels this thing; ‘being absolutely fine and not okay’. I feel it that she feels this. You heard about that half empty and half-filled theory? That pessimist sees it as half empty and optimistic sees it a half full. She is that kind of person to whom if I ask this question, she’ll give me a fifteen minutes long lecture on life philosophy and how we are grateful to have a glass and there is something...

Whelve to bury something deep inside; to hide. the 'He'  (once wanted to say)   "I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger.                                                              I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns, Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I'd write about you a lot more than I should."   I'd write to the point of  suffocation.  -Benedict Smith,        "l want to be a mystery, yet be known I want to be together, yet alone Is it too much to ask, to be famous yet unknown? To be a wanderer, yet have a home?" -Kara Douglas "they say lavender softens anxiety  and i wonder whether i can plant a garden   so dense in your mind that the knots in your chest unravel  and never tighten aga...

  No matter where she looked for love, whose lips she’ll ever touch; no matter how and when she’ll find that one, I’ll still be here. No matter who she shares her happiness with, I know, when she’ll feel sad, hopeless, tired, hurt, painful, lost, doubted or lifeless she will come to me. Yes, me. Not that guy she first met. Not that girl with short hair. But me. And that is enough. It is enough. For me to be there when no one is, is enough. To be able to share her tears is valuable than being the one sharing happiness. I wish to be the one who can make her smile when she is crying. I wonder how all one sided love songs are so wrong and unrealistic. They start with how one loves the other one who is already committed and how they can move mountains and swim oceans for them and then they end with cursing that one because they did not realize their love. This is purely horse shit. It’s just the other way round in real life, man. You hate them, get irritated but when you close you...

S i l l a g e /siːˈjɑːʒ/ Noun                            1.the degree to which a perfume's fragrance lingers in the air when worn.                  2.The faint goodness you feel in memories left when people in those memories are distant.   Before I began, let’s bring it on: I use a lot of metaphors and I use a lot of ‘;’ in my writings. Well, just accept the fact that no one likes a good thing to end; writing to me is an integral part of my mind and heart and to end the sentences I have so very well tried to write down with a full stop (.) scares me. ‘;’ gives me, you, all of us an end and a start just like anything, just like life. It does not end or start; it just pauses and resumes . For metaphors, it’s just my inability to tell the truth the way people want to see it. I am a good human being and I don’t lie or say truth. I am caught between good and bad...

“Choices “ is a smaller word than destination, but “ choices” can ruin or make your destiny.  They took Robert frost to a la la land he kind of hoped for and feebly wanted to be on, but left a forgotten road not taken. It made that aubade, sung by a solitary reaper, well known but left a dying ardent desire in Wordsworth to ask whether the song was for her lover or her solidarity. Choices that made W.E. Henley stand Invictus; made him the master of his soul while everyone was busy conquering the world. .Choices that made the brook to go on forever. Choices that made Sylvia commit suicide even after she saw that clinquant, tinsel-like depth in a simple mirror. Choices that led to the heart wrecking ephemeral of Antony and Cleopatra or the Romeo Juliet. A choice to choose one thought over another that made Wordsworth think he was as lonely as a cloud in the belt of dancing daffodils.  I have also made certain choices; we all make them. The trick of life isn’t in making the right...

The waves were coming back; To the islands of ignorance. To people who count stars on their fingertips...   No, wait Now they retreat Away, To the creeks between the cliffs Through straight bends. Heading towards a wishful land With uncountable moons and countable sand.   The islands of ignorance wait Till the day turns black But for the waves, Well,  They were never coming back.

🍁 The maple story🍁     Someone asked me one day, “Does the maple fall, or does it blossom during the autumn season?” Hearing the word ‘maple’ always brings the image of autumn, the grey skies, fallen leaves, and sunsets. It reminds me of all the elements that are vanishing into stillness as if the very soul in them is slowly dissipating Also, I have been told by my parents and teachers that maple falls when it's autumn. So I answered boldly “Of course it falls” But that someone again asked me, “Well, that’s the standard answer everyone would give, isn’t it? That the maple falls. Try thinking unconventionally.” It’s really hard to change the palace of your conventions and let the pillars of your amassed knowledge, which hold the palace upright, fall to mere facts when an unprecedented, unconventional traveler enters our conventional world. Our conventions bound us to the known, to the grounds of our past experiences because we can feel it beneath us but when t...