Take care, with love...

It is quite easy to be a dreamer, than to live up to the dreams, and then continuously follow them like a pathfinder follicle. Is it a tight ropewalk, to live like the way we want to live? To breathe like the way we want to breathe? To love someone we want to love? Thereby, denying all social ethics and mores. Why do we need to think so much before we actually fall for (the right age, the right person, the so called right bachelor) etc… frame as love is a rational decision!! Why can’t a person simply be in love without thinking of the consequences? Just be in it and yet live rationally without any expectation.

What is there to give and take in love? Why do people commercialize an ecstasy? Why do they always need something in return, as if attending a b’ day party with a return gift. If you like it, you treasure it or else throw it the next morning in the trash box. If thought with a little more prudence, then we’ll be able to shed some of the rational fallacies on the shoulder of love, because love brings in the alluvial coats of expectations with it. Yet, there are people who claim of sacrificing love on the altar of happiness of their partner. Ha! Why don’t people love the smile of his face or the twinkle of his eyes? Why can’t anyone live for that? Treasure it for a lifetime as if you live for a glimpse of those moments. By closing eyes you can feel the person right next to you, touch the fingers, and sleep like a bird in arms.

Precious as a child sheltered in your heart of hearts, yet there is no one to steal them away. But suddenly we are tempted; to acquire more- a selfish, egoist longing to possess a kiss or a night, where a blanket will hold the smell of his skin forever for me. Why can’t we suffice our selves by something small like just a concern? Is it too hard to satiate our heart which hovers on for something more. What is the yardstick of that saturation? Do we believe in that? Which part of our physical self will provide us that answer? A heart, a soul, or the somewhat reasonable mind? Being a rebel, life for me is a kangaroo court, defying every bit of it is not easy. It has always been an uphill climb. Yet the cup of coffee should be rushed through the throat, you like it or not, is simply a different story.

Another tedious word is acceptance. It is the primordial ingredient of etymological liaison. Screamed again by the society or viewed through its skeptical glasses. It cannot consider the philosophy of “let it be” or “wait”. The extreme technicality of the contemporary tide has sucked away all our patience. If you don’t accept it you are a pariah. All Ulysses s have been tagged as escapists, Selkirk’s are welcomed here with open arms. The more you bask in the din and bustle, the more known you turn out to be. Every bit should be rehearsed and, thereby, reconsidered and reframed. Love and acceptance are two sides of the same coin.

One should grant the other space to portray a new vision. The two concepts could never be caged in a watertight compartment. With the growth of a liaison the meshing of the two becomes infallible. It keeps on forming mingle without giving the other a scope to form a distinct individuality. But to the why there cannot be an answer. If we really love someone, then why the ugly question of acceptance raises its head. Loving someone means loving everything about the person. The moment you start accepting, the rational seeds gets the shower of tagore’s “mene neoa (that you accept with reason) and mone neoya” (that you accept from heart). In case of love, mone neoya stages the main character; all other things take a back seat. But the moment duty calls upon; the innocence of the pristine bond evaporates delving in, a sense of insecurity and possession. To prove our love pure, we should let it go. Provide it all the freedom to mature, thereby also putting it in the test of time. Happiness could never be achieved by realizing, but in letting it. Even Donne was cautious of his love, so he took a break to come back to it again and again with more compassion and originality.

To give it a new name each time and add to it a vision of timelessness. I can live with only a small part of you forever, never intruding past through the whole of you. I dare proclaim, yes, I am happy as I can sense you always there around me, even if you are not visually present. Some fools think that when your love is physically around you, it ensures that he is psychologically there too. But, hey! All darlings, have you really shut your eyes wide open? Or else you have decided to reside mirthfully in the jungle of illusion. We make a divine drink of laxity, and offer it to all sensible beings around you. You desperately try to turn them tipsy. And still you are not happy. If they by any way refute you, then you resolve, to move firdaus with all your strength to portray the way you want it to look like. And still you are not happy!!!!!!!!! Why? Have you ever dared to ask yourself? What we are all scared of? Are we alarmed of the inner being or the outer being?

What’s there to lose when nothing is ours? That is all but love. It is the beholder of all trouble, and a dreamer who dreams even when awake. Sleep walking in the mind of mere morsels. It continuously repudiates reality to be free. Suffocates it in the dreams, yet, foresees nothing. So what needs to be taken care of? …The reality, the life within us, the insecurity that grows, or the pain of distancing our selves from the love. Often we think of denying love from our life; a vagueness that provides morality no scope to take a step forward. But again from somewhere we are love struck.

At the phase of fetus, we ignore it. If it ever agrees to overcast our life then, we try to manage some time to ponder on the fact whether it is authentic or just a delusion. Lastly when we think that, it might give a scope to an impossible relation we chuck it off. What makes us so timid? Is it the “us” or the “me”? Why a nameless relation is allowed to feel the heat of the sun? Why an epitaph has to be written even before it starts breathing? What is wrong in loving someone without hope?

I do not believe in wrapping a relation in a glassy sheet of paper keyed placidly in a box to be opened when, the hairs will be grey and fingers will tremble .Even if we tactfully perform that act our heart will not stop beating . It will cry out loud to say, “let me out”. And then things should be again taken care with love! What a mordant being we all are. Self denial is nothing divine. It is an unjustified coercion. So, the best thing for every being is to take care, with love...

Traversing relationships

The moonlight caressed the memoirs, when the train knew its abode. There were thoughts sheltered on one another. The lucid veil of feelings could not give me the warmth I sought. The sharp wind was scorning the unconscious whispers of my decision. I stood at the center of a world’s desire. It’s really cold in the suburbs. My mind lingered for your native lea.

To bid adieu,
That I can never do!

O winter! Stay, to freeze the time clock for me. Let me traverse my relationships. Not to fail this burgeoning life. The crickets of dusk must speak of reality. I stood twice to hear the humdrum of those noise-lings. It was well over ten at night, when the stray dogs were not fastened by the pangs of obligation to protect. I walked, passing by a fallen leaf to traverse relationships.

Why?

It rained from morning,
It poured like words,
Pitter- patting on your window.
To tell a tale,
When you are lost in thoughts,
In work and in harmony;

Twice lost from sight-
Here I found you again.
Memorizing the hands of time,
I have lied for so long now,
That “the true” scares me
When did the truth seeped in me?
I don’t know,

I am waiting for time
To mend the wall for me
To feed the “something” that never liked,
Our walls.

Today and Everyday

Everyday I open my eyes and feel a burden. The burdens of realization that make me guilty even today, and everyday. How unconsciously I have feed them? Now I feel I have intruded, clasped a sigh and groped for words, words, and words.

Constellation

From the Holy Mountains,
The sermons of life rained.
Creating consciousness,
Gifting us the power to confess,

Living was the pale horse,
Born as death,
Men are mere morsels.
Pre-ordained to reach for -
their constellation.

Mortal spirits flew away,
Drinking cider from,
An author’s Holy Grail,
Tainted on their return,

By the powerful persuaders;
Mere souls of decadent consumption,
Relish your illusion,
Now you are at pariah -
from the ethereal.