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The start is always the most beautiful. The security, strength and power that you draw from your loved ones is unparalleled. You want to reach out and protect them, care for them, so that they never need to care for themselves. But somehow, over time, things start falling apart. You start drifting away, and it doesn't feel right, so you start flapping around like a fish out of water.

And the more you thrash about, the more ripples you create. And the further away you drift. And your heart aches at the loss. But you pull yourself together. Walk out of the water dry yourself and sit on the banks. The sun is setting and maybe there's more meaning to these things that we take for granted. Who knows.

Alone is probably still the best.

Time-Space Continuum

If you look at it really, it's pretty evident. The deepest of gashes heal with time. The strongest emotions mellow with space. Its a wonder then, why people keep fighting this. (Yes I know what's coming my way).

But like euclid said, the best healer is the time space continuum.

Cheers to life.

Despair

The sense of relief that accompanies the falling of a pretence is so overwhelming that it takes an entire sentence to express that joy, when a yay would have sufficed.

The road to perdition is surprisingly short. But then the human mind is so inflammed with suffering that perdition seems to be a better option than alleviating it. And the despair that the effort of eternal damnation brings is much akin to that what suffering brings. One is thus left wondering whether the fall to the depths and dwelling there is better than burning the insides hollow. And much of the despair lies in the fact that our journey here has been short. What awaits us is much longer. The end always seems near, but its long drawn out, and hell its not even funny.

And that journey I have taken, to the brink and back, and have survived to tell the tale. And this piece, which should have been condemned, now finds its way into the mind of another. Where ponder the reader shall, why indeed has this not been condemned.

There is hardly any joy left, except those that are short lived. Going away is an option. Coming back, I really dont know. Going away from what, and going away to what. 2 things that keeps me firmly planted. I know that over time, everything fades away into insignificance, how soon and how much are pretty much a function of how we choose to conduct ourselves that point forward.

And I know that this conflict that should have gone away, reflects somewhere on my balding countenance. It has found a friend in sarcasm. Perhaps a reflection of the traquility that is missing.

Irunny

Such is the tragedy of life that the closer you get, the further everything seems. Looks like god designed this life like a treadmill, always keeping you moving, sometimes faster, sometimes slow, your heartbeat always up, you're always on the edge of exhaustion, but the sight of the target keeps you going. But you never get there. and you tire. tire beyond what you can endure.

Then you hope that either the treadmill changes direction so that you cant see where you're going, or it just stops.

But it doesn't, and by now, your legs have grown strong, you can run faster, stronger without tiring, but you're still rooted to where you are. And the futility of the whole thing is beginning to wear your nerves thin. And you realise that hey, I'm old. And there's nothing you can do about that either. And you see this happening to the next generation. But you don't warn them. You think that this is good exercise. What for ? Whatever the hell for ?

Irony, the closer you get, the further away you seem.

The curse of intelligence

For a lot of us, our intelligence is the only thing we have going for us. To keep us out of trouble, to make sure that we don't do things that we don't expect of ourselves. But brief periods of insanity are bound to hit rational thinking. And when that does happen, the collateral damage that ensues is not funny.

But thank god for those rudders. Mighty useful when you haven't got a grip on things yourself.

Simple Pleasures

Getting up late

Feeling rested and lazy

Firecrack Chicken

Not taking a bath, Reading in bed

A cup of Hot Coffee

Dark Knight Donut

Drinking out of the juice carton

Super soft superman boxers

Cold Shower at 12.30

My Pa's saracasm

Knowing that I can most of this on most days

Covenant

No one acts more foolishly than a wise man in love
The joy that washes over seems like sparrow found his trove
But bereft of that simple pleasure
Man is but a vagabond searching for treasure

So steeply entwined in his misery he gets begotten
The pleasures of life are best forgotten
For eve shall be my aid in this pome
She bit that forbidden apple
And burdended forever was this dome

What escapes bounded rationality
Is that this pome is penned in humility
What shudders the protagonist
Is that love he's not in, and that is alarmist

With God he had made a pact a while ago
And God had promised not to meddle with his ego
But God went back on his promise
Ergo God shall repair the covenant and return the solace

Love and such

Silence is a beautiful language,
there so much to say, but this provides assuage
there are times when things are best left unsaid
even though the heart feels heavy like lead

And the ensuing calm that descends is temporary
but the storm that brews within seems legendary
Surface it cannot, and I know it
for once it shows, nothing remains legit
after all there are laws that guide us
so what if it fucks our head like a sinus

And that love fills up the heart like ivy,
slowly growing in the confines of privity
but said one soul in great wisdom
if it cannot be shown, it might lessen,
for love is not flubber or as lissome

But the heart hopes and waits
It thinks that I'm probably just late
I look hard and try and figure
and the more I look, the more I ponder

And so I saw myself as a sorry young chap
sitting in his room alone enjoying a night cap
And down my cup I saw frowning,
why the hell was the sorrow not drowning,
And it was then that it hit me
All I was drinking was coffee ;)

My window

The scenic beauty fades
Deep into the recess of the eerie silence
The rumbling above indicates none within
Reason dims into insignificance

The draw of water and the mist
remain unparalleled to all on the list
as it parches the thirst of the earth
the insomniac revels beneath

Sleep is afterall a fickle fiend
Here one day, then gone for a week
But awakeness never looked better before
After all there never was such beauty and splendor