tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66419435381460754302024-03-19T09:22:55.018+05:30Yellow Eyed DelusionP i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-85639941537319225542014-05-30T04:20:00.000+05:302019-04-07T02:02:09.874+05:30Clueless 20s<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As I sit here eating my midnight bread</div>
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And wondering what life might be like five years down the line,</div>
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I am clueless.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t even make a proper fluffy pancake, or write a
properly punctuated article yet, and I am supposed to be shaping my life right
now? I mean whatever decisions I take, they are going to decide almost how my
life is going to be like when I am older. </div>
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But I guess my incongruity is pretty much vivid before me at
this moment as I decided to write this instead of studying for my final exams.
I am going to be a graduate. Hah. That really does not mean anything. That is
not even going to get me a decent job. It would only mean that I have read a pile of books, essays, and pages, some I have hated and some I have loved. But Comparative Literature, my discipline, gave me a lot of things, and one of them is a different perspective in life and new lenses to look through and see this world of ours. How snobbish we are, claiming this world as "ours", whereas we are just a little part of it and might just disappear in time.</div>
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I should go back to study instead of typing this. Really.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-18549048067983563672014-02-16T15:34:00.000+05:302014-02-16T23:58:40.359+05:30For her.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She walked down the lane<br />
with sorrow dripping from her hair<br />
that flew against the wind like<br />
a rebel child of broken love and<br />
she grew older with each passing moment<br />
as her face became accumulation of mismatched fabric patches<br />
of uncountable days that she lived in the truest sense<br />
of a life she fathomed to be real and absurd together<br />
and felt it like the desert earth feels each drop of first rain of seasons.<br />
<br /></div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-59060273275008881022014-02-16T15:16:00.000+05:302014-02-16T15:16:22.844+05:30I don't know what I was thinking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I wanted to love you like the beautiful paintbrush</div>
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That I stole from my mother in my young days</div>
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Of colours and weirdest thoughts;</div>
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And the brush had
a little crack at the end,<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
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And it became my favourite thing,</div>
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Even at times when the lines and colours</div>
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Betrayed my imagination and I spilled everything around</div>
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Like a completely disoriented mad woman.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There’s a rupture in my reality.</div>
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I saw it first when the brush died;</div>
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The pests of the old house ate the bristles, I guess.</div>
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You who come with the messiness of the palette</div>
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But I have forgotten how it felt to hold my brush,</div>
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And now I’ve forgotten how it felt to hold you!</div>
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Well I don’t know how to love,</div>
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‘Cause I don’t know what love is.</div>
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But today is the first rainy day</div>
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Punctuating the end of our winter.</div>
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Won’t you wait till spring, before you leave?</div>
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<br /></div>
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P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-34658740387586383552013-12-16T02:29:00.002+05:302013-12-16T03:07:45.146+05:30Winter stories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Feasting coldly on my marrow,<br />
Waking the past, the sorrows tucked within</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">… </span><span style="font-family: "Remington Noiseless"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Remington Noiseless"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><br />
My tresses gone, my skin harsher<br />
Than my broken voice now.<br />
The leaves fall in a serene brace of unsounded endings<br />
As the trees frame the olden boulevards in a ghostly manner;<br />
I wake up into weary grey mornings of dead fauvists<br />
Or sometimes facing blue windows fading into the night;<br />
My feet cold, my bed smelling of stale coffee n’ liquor<br />
And your somber absence, an empty space, within and without.<br />
You said you’d love me to my filthiest core;<br />
Well, my scent has vanished in ashes of years-<br />
Years of illicit fucking, crying and drunk wanderings<br />
At neon-lit wastelands of crammed up third world cities<br />
And decaying bridges between lucid dreams and needs for a fix.<br />
And heaps of those years had left me<br />
With something borrowed but fused in me;<br />
I have lost all my abstract limbs, but the everlasting murkiness;<br />
A shadow clinging on my back; a shadow of a strange past-<br />
A past of twisted sorrows which I hid in my bones.<br />
Would you still give me the warmth that you promised?<br />
The warmth that you bear in the palms of your hands<br />
And the cracks of your lips turned bitter<br />
By the dead yellow cigarette butts;<br />
The warmth born of cold, in your pausing breath,<br />
A cold my insides have long been diseased by</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">…</span><span style="font-family: "Remington Noiseless"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><br />
The voiceless mouth of a void in time<br />
Kisses the memories mislaid in the dark of my hair;<br />
I see you now on a distant ship suspended near the northern sky,<br />
While life seeps away slowly, facilely<br />
From the corners of my quieter eyes.</span></div>
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P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-62196145293404651572013-12-11T03:14:00.000+05:302013-12-11T21:29:39.015+05:30You.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You my love<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A faceless man</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Standing with your smoke</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And madness</div>
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And a box of magic</div>
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Across time and space</div>
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In every lifetime</div>
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Of my soul</div>
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Over thousands of years</div>
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Through thousands of bodies</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Changing facades</div>
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Crumbling inside</div>
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And I - live and die</div>
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Time and again</div>
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Waking up</div>
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With half-forgotten dreams</div>
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Of a faceless man</div>
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A rugged being</div>
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With his timeless spirit </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And captivating words</div>
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Haunting my aging heart</div>
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At every forlorn dawn</div>
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That rises in the sky</div>
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At the end of ever shifting </div>
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Strangest hallucinations</div>
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While voices sleep in stupor </div>
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And eyes come round</div>
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From a faraway trance</div>
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To grasp within </div>
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A mundane reality</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That never quite got over</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The silence of the hearts.</div>
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P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-20959004802638283542013-09-21T16:40:00.000+05:302013-09-21T23:21:59.719+05:30He died on a Saturday, nameless<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was one of those sunny mornings that turn into an annoyingly
gloomy and rainy one as you step outside for work. I was running for the train.
Rush hour. Merciless bustling crowd. Jabbing, pushing, skipping my way through
the swarm of fierce people I ran for the train, holding on to my bag, my
resolve and remains of the fleeting sanity. The train whistled. The green Mucalinda<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><sup>[1]</sup></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></span> of my stealthy hope started to move out of my reach slowly. Run run run. I
jumped over a corpse. At first my clueless mind, chasing the Mucalinda, didn’t
realize it was a corpse. I jumped past it and hopped on the train. I was
triumphant, one step closer to my destiny - my destiny to be examined, to be approved by the
institution and get recognition for my acquired knowledge. I was on my way there, to succeed, to establish myself, in their world. They say you have to
do it, they say it’s important, they say it validates you worth if you have
any. But it validates whatever you want if you have money and power. But there
are people like me, like us, around the world, on every street, every lane, in
every bunch of matchbox apartments, every reeking ghetto, with no substantial
amount of money or no money at all and of course no power; like bunch of asthma
patients in an industrial complex, waiting in endless quest, living lives of
machines without any inkling of the meaning of existence, at the bottom of the
panopticon, trampled, and kept alive by a facade of hopes...hopes of reaching
the apex of the panopticon, or somewhere near it. Hope of a betterment promised
by the big bosses, like the promises them deodorant companies make to people.
So I jumped over a corpse of some unknown old beggar, lying in the middle of public
disgust and deliberate ignorance, cold and nameless, on platform number 3. As I stood at the door of the
moving train my eyes fell directly on his face, wrinkled and twitched in frozen
time, but serene... and utterly dead! My nerves became aware of an unfamiliar
odour, a fleshy odour. A late sensation. Nauseating, inflaming revelation. An
unexpected moment of being. The stench was in the air, and though I moved away
on my Mucalinda, it stayed with me, somewhere in my head. A crow’s feather,
sent by the wind fell at ease near my feet, and twirled away outside again on
the wings of the wind. Moloch<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><sup style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">[2]</span></sup></span>.<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><sup style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></sup></span>Moloch entered my mind, "Moloch whose eyes are a
thousand blind windows" came to devour my belligerent mind. I shivered in the wind;
it had all the power to blow me away. But I clutched on to my Mucalinda. I had to
go somewhere, anywhere but not to my destiny – the one that I had set out for.
My destiny was no more. My destiny had ceased to bear a meaning; it had gone
down Moloch’s stomach by then, I have had shoved it, to save my slipping mind - the only thing left of my own.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>**Notes:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>1. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mucalinda">Mucalinda</a>: A snake like being who protected Buddha from earthly elements after his enlightenment.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>2. <b>Moloch</b>: An ancient god. <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">Moloch had associations with a particular kind of </span>propitiatory<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;"> </span>child sacrifice<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;"> by parents. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">In </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allen_Ginsberg" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; line-height: 19.1875px;" title="Allen Ginsberg">Allen Ginsberg</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">'s poem "</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Howl" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Howl">Howl</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px;">" (1955), Moloch is used as a metaphor for capitalism and industrial civilization. Both senses of Moloch are valid here, choose as you may like.</span></i></span></div>
</div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-67221009693476930872013-07-24T01:42:00.002+05:302013-12-11T03:57:42.259+05:30The name is Nuwanda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm going to change my name into Nuwanda someday, seriously.<br />
And yes, I can't get over the <i>Dead Poets Society</i>.<br />
<br />
I think I am a product of the frustration of a non-revolution. Yes, I tell you this, there has never been a proper revolution in "India". Not even a small war. Pre-colonial India (Lands around river Indus is more of a proper term though) was much more interesting. I want a war. Damn it. People have become very stupid and shallow these days, and few of them need to die hence. I would very much like to execute <i>God Bless America </i>in India before it's too late.<br />
<br />
I miss getting drunk. I am becoming older and less fun simultaneously. I have this huge burden to be free from uncountable things and it had turned me into a grumpy owl. But owls are anyway grumpy, I guess. So about being high, I think the better way to put it is that I can't get drunk anymore. It just does not happen.<br />
<br />
I sometimes really doubt that I exist. It feels like a very bad recurring dream, every single day.<br />
<br />
Well, then again what is reality?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-26196701492011977522013-06-23T23:55:00.001+05:302013-06-24T01:14:36.330+05:30Still Raffish and Ragged<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
Just half an hour or so and the calls will start coming. I hope I am overestimating. No, I won’t be sad if no one calls. I’ll be perfectly alright, rooting for my comforting blues. I’ll be rather happy about it, perhaps in my own twisted way, but still. Well, I desperately want my phone to die away right now, so I won’t have to go through all those wishes with a smiling face. I wish everyone was as insensitive as my mother when she treats me at the perfectly wrong time in the worst way possible for a very trivial reason. Hating everyone blatantly would be really easy then. But I don’t like to hate. Trust me, they make me do it, it’s not my fault that I can’t tick like other clocks. There are people in my house, relatives. I don’t want them here, at all. I don’t know why I feel so tremendously sad on this very hour each year. This very hour, this hour before it turns 12 and it is 24th of June, before it is my godforsaken birthday.<br />
I want to buy a house in southern France, take up a different identity and start over. I want to travel with just enough money to get me through the month and work at random places. I want to write something that would stunt the world. I want to change a lot of things in the world, a lot of people in the world, I want to break the ages old walls we are born and brought up within. I want to take Noir photographs that look like products of an astounding mind. I want to be beautiful to myself, completely. I want to meet somebody who would love me for who I am and not smother me with an overwhelming smell of stereotypical romance. I want to lose my virginity before I am old and all the anxiousness and fantasy about love making is gone from my semi-numb weird heart. It has been twenty years. Twenty freaking years. And all I have done is NOTHING. Absolutely Nothing. There's nothing I am really good at, there's nothing I excel in. Whatawaste. Ohwhatafuckingwaste.<br />
I don’t want to whine like this. I don’t want to do anything. Especially I don’t want to turn 21. I don’t want to turn 21 like this – sitting in front of my goddamn pc, feeling claustrophobic, hating the whole world, going over and over my life till now and brooding about it. I don’t want a cake, hugs, flowers, cards, wishes, nothing! I want an escape. From all of this. From my very existence – the one here, right now, in this very moment, from everything surrounding me including all the pain, all those judgements, responsibilities, complaints, confusions, misunderstandings and fake loves. <br />
<br /></div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-58806758181987462302013-01-22T00:18:00.001+05:302013-01-22T00:18:30.844+05:30A Lucid Dream<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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And I’m falling down</div>
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Into the feral sea</div>
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Where the waves dance</div>
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And march in a slow parade,</div>
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A carnival of grins,</div>
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Of the joker and of you n’ me,</div>
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Trying to break out</div>
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From the same old crowd,</div>
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Saving some bleeding tulips…</div>
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And how we will feast</div>
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On the salt and the ships;</div>
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With my heart against a wall</div>
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And a head full of webs</div>
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With countless fireflies stuck in it.</div>
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P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-562522122769556012011-12-15T02:56:00.003+05:302014-08-03T14:22:14.877+05:30Obliteration<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<left style="background-color: white; font-family: calibri; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="title" style="border: 0px; font-size: 17px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://aritree.tumblr.com/post/77778169498/latenight-wooble" style="-webkit-transition: color 0.5s ease-in; border: 0px; color: #904b5c; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.5s ease-in; vertical-align: baseline;">Latenight wooble</a></span></left><span style="background-color: white; font-family: calibri; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"></span><br />
<div class="post_content clearfix" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">(I tune in at ill-timed pauses.</span>Exclamations at commas<br /><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">and etc.)</span></div>
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The sun will be up soon<br />and a pair of sleepless eyes<br />in await.</div>
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The first train of the day whistles by<br />as some mechanical female voice<br />announces things that blur out<br />from half-awake ears.<br />And the mind minutely gazes<br />at the interiors of emptiness.<br />Fragments of forgotten reality<br />unfurl into sunless words<br />nobody would ever read.</div>
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The journal,<br />it drinks up amaranthine sorrow,<br />in silence,<br />without questions.</div>
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<br />
I decided to go to hibernation as December happened. <br />
My world was pale. All the colors washed away to a distant desert of bliss.<br />
I woke up to the sound of fog. <br />
The sun was still sleeping in some brothel. <br />
Yellow dull street lights stared at me from the open window and I was dreaming wide awake caressed by an arousing chilly wind, or just hallucination of the night. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiA1P-g3Wms8fARdag5ArhXkVo8KsYbxZ09rFa5-hjZHAJwXGjRPPTEdBPOZaybkMiNtFEAn9JNVbP4QU2tL-EiNc5X38Xnt4KOrXMGp1rZYonXEQAacExTgpT77wR0qDW8efOQjRdG8/s1600/DSC_0581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiA1P-g3Wms8fARdag5ArhXkVo8KsYbxZ09rFa5-hjZHAJwXGjRPPTEdBPOZaybkMiNtFEAn9JNVbP4QU2tL-EiNc5X38Xnt4KOrXMGp1rZYonXEQAacExTgpT77wR0qDW8efOQjRdG8/s400/DSC_0581.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
She wandered slowly in her room following the harmony in Cohen’s voice. She pretended as if the man was singing for her. Cohen sang it for Nancy, and she was being Nancy in a mirage of fabricated reality. Was her life just mockery of love? She was not sure. She believed she was a semi-precious stone. She believed she was Nancy. She closed her eyes and stepped slowly on the cold floor, barefoot, and she wore an old navy blue sweater and grey shorts. Cold, cold it was. Winter was creeping up her shoulder and her bare fair legs. Now Cohen started singing another song about this strange intriguing woman named Suzanne. She hated Suzanne. Because she couldn't become her. Because she didn’t have feathers to wear and love to give. She instead put on her black stockings and slept in her Nancy dreams.<br />(Later she grew to not envy Suzanne anymore when she saw her as she is - the seductress of the old kind, the spinner of coins.)<br />
<br />
I asked myself: “How are you my love?”<br />
And the spiral path of useless thoughts began in my head. <br />
I’m okay. Or, may be not. Wait, I am NOT okay. <br />
I’m messed up and miserable.<br />
I’m sad and lonely.<br />
I’m in love and I’m frustrated.<br />
I loved a phantom. I made out with a teddy boy.<br />
<br />
Ignore me. I am so damn reality-phobic.<br />
<br />
And I am not sad.<br />
I am too lazy to be sad.<br />
I’m an apathetic person with a dirty grey heart and I’m in pathetically in love with the mere idea of love.<br />
What is love? = <b>L</b>unacy <b>O</b>bduced by <b>V</b>erbal <b>E</b>rraticism. If it makes sense that is (even the words sound so pseudo and obscure. I doubt they are even real words. But then again, language is always inadequate for human expression). <br />But love does not make sense anyway.<br />
<br />
She reclined on her chaotic bed. He was half a country away. There was a phone call. She was talking to him; she was falling for him as if she hasn’t already fallen. She stretched her legs wide apart. Something was wet in there. And her heart was wet too. But he was half a country away, a long long telephone cord away. She reclined on the bed of metaphysical sex. She put down the phone. She slept in the ragged blue sweater and the black stockings. Her legs no more wide apart, rather resting alongside. Grey shorts laid aside. Winter’s night put a blanket of numbness over her. <br />
<br />
Winter is here again. The time for solitude, time for bittersweet pain; twinges in the heart.<br />
Time for my conjured snow flakes to fall. Time for nights of frozen stars.<br />
I am back to my self again.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-15694410916686145842011-11-25T20:26:00.001+05:302012-06-26T20:00:14.523+05:30A Perennial Fiction in My Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix">
<div>
The light fell on your face, coming from the distant street lamp.<br />
And lots of shadows.<br />
An unknown rhythm I felt, in you, in me, in the surrounding.<br />
You must go, you must go soon… But stay just a little while?<br />
I’m
just emerging from the grey of my heart. I’m just breathing in your
smell. I’m just living in your arms, in an intransient warmth, that
would linger even when I cannot feel your breath through my hair
anymore. ‘Cause you’re <i>gone</i>.<br />
And now you will become a metaphor.
In my delusional dreams I’ll refrigerate you until I run out of my sense
of energy. An energy you are leaving within me, a part of you merged
into my dusty young soul.<br />
You’re somewhat like the cigarette
burning between my fingers. The smoke fades away behind the curtain of
air, but the smell remains, and the stains.<br />
You looked into my
eyes, my blurry eyes, and I perceived you as the most enthralling
hallucination ever. I was wrong. You were real.<br />
The dew on the
grass blades, was shinning as if it had rained diamonds on this earth,
and it was wet; as the evening was falling into winter’s arms – I made
you sit down in the shadow, I fell into you.<br />
To you I’m a
psychedelia; to me you’re an enigma. But I know you. I have felt you in
my bloodstream. I have lived you, as you defined me, as you discovered
me, as you loved me.<br />
Did you?<br />
That touch was eerie. That
embrace was out of the world. You rushed into my head, you tasted my
breath, you collapsed into me; and I to You.<br />
A void heart you have chosen, who would point at your mistake?<br />
I would stare at your lips, dry-dead skin, and breathe you in.<br />
The
existence of this world started to get fainter as you told me life was
worth living, love was worth waiting for. I believed. No more tears to
shed, no more fears to runaway from… only a hollowness, a hole, you are
leaving somewhere in me.<br />
…In the day we were puffing and just
living. I was stepping on stones floating in the sky…feeling warmth on
my shoulder. Was it you? Was it? I guess.<br />
The phantom kissed on my
forehead, and its blackmagic soul fell in love with me… Me … I’m a
nowhere rebellion tethered with extreme rights and wrongs of life.
Seeking salvation. Being a non-believer. I still am. Only that I’ve
found serenity, in my place that you showed me. And you showed me a
piece of heaven residing in a secret garden placed somewhere within the
rusty brick world.<br />
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</div>
White ghost trees painted grace on my iris.
Mesmerized, I felt my existence being divided, a soul and a body. The soul
reached out to the isle of abandoned dreams, of forgotten childhood, of
yellow memories, of foggy love. The body stood still. And you reached
out to me, brought my soul back into the body. Offered me life, a
greater one, and showed me a path of faith to enlightenment of the
Truth. You answered my questions and left yours for me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvalGAt5heH60jygf0v0UsDkhiZnPt7HqgMvsnFPHEgGiyixBk5EvtVy7vaKBybyaDR2XvVPM7KrNZ2O_4IRQ2Txbe_-rWeYrL0-kmtpqFTlpJ9Ff2j3rtqivGaxknVb3ZZXDrFwvPfKg/s1600/DSC_5907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvalGAt5heH60jygf0v0UsDkhiZnPt7HqgMvsnFPHEgGiyixBk5EvtVy7vaKBybyaDR2XvVPM7KrNZ2O_4IRQ2Txbe_-rWeYrL0-kmtpqFTlpJ9Ff2j3rtqivGaxknVb3ZZXDrFwvPfKg/s400/DSC_5907.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
We walked. We sat. We felt.<br />
And
I discovered you in an esoteric place, I delineated you, yes you; and I
learned to admire parts of you, visible and invisible ones… your curls,
your eyes, your jaw line, your voice, your energy, your existence.<br />
I’m fallen.<br />
And I’ve decided to stay here, sleeping wide awake, until you come and make it rain on me from your obscure clouds again.<br />
I wanted to write more. But then we didn’t drink <span style="color: #e06666;">Rum </span>in winter days.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cccccc;">
--just unrequited delusion of fictitious reality--</div>
<div style="color: #3d85c6;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #3d85c6;">
Nevermind.</div>
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</div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-58148713065679021282011-11-06T12:38:00.001+05:302011-11-06T12:42:22.735+05:30It rained one night...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKXmH3At3ahyphenhypheny7Rd67mbAs6uTTmuvVdGv7yjFpdVrmjXqqRzMNyzXXm6Hgj9sV0_Q93V8KgxjBkl5MDlyIH4wi_Bra1ShLJ3t3Up2azJzoEKOuxy6J0Qhf3KhoowAKO1Us-2Q3J088p0/s1600/DSC_6980-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKXmH3At3ahyphenhypheny7Rd67mbAs6uTTmuvVdGv7yjFpdVrmjXqqRzMNyzXXm6Hgj9sV0_Q93V8KgxjBkl5MDlyIH4wi_Bra1ShLJ3t3Up2azJzoEKOuxy6J0Qhf3KhoowAKO1Us-2Q3J088p0/s400/DSC_6980-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
Empty hands stretch out;</div>
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A red light of a distant watchtower…</div>
<div style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
Solitude runs down from your hair</div>
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As a nameless wind kisses your shoulder;</div>
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The dark night slowly makes love </div>
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To a freshly dead brown moth …</div>
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I sense, I behold –</div>
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A lonely box-window romance.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<br /></div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-63037022646660739392011-10-23T14:07:00.000+05:302013-04-24T23:49:54.751+05:30Rusty serenade fades into nothingness.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Another heart we keep on chasing, a dream of love we seek… but we end up in a solitary state of endless blues. Or we just get habituated with a clichéd idea of love, and spend our whole life trying to nourish that idea until we get fed up with it and die, and occasionally stop feeling, and seldom commit suicide.<br />
But love is there, somewhere. Some people actually get that beautiful disease, some pretend to be affected. It’s just an illusion of hormones; but it’s there, for real, in whatsoever way, as a fictitious part of reality, or not.<br />
People do fall in love. And in the other hand they also fall out of love.<br />
So did We. Me and Him.<br />
Some people are still not accustomed to the idea of falling out of love. But without any offence towards anybody’s personal view, I think this idea is true if, and only if something called “Love” exists. <br />
Before I could completely figure out what I was going to commit, he left. And I stood under a big tree of uncertainty. It was so affecting that I became dumb, and also, pretty much numb. I was unsure of myself. But I was very much sure of him. I thought he actually loved me, and may be he did. I don’t know that now, and will probably never know. <br />
He rushed through some busy street of Bombay while I, in my city, devoted myself to college life. There was literal distance. But also the hearts stood apart. What I thought was love, started to fade away. His face was getting more blurry, his voice was getting fainter, as days passed by. I sensed the distance clearly as the monsoon brought me pain of emptiness. We were not "in" love anymore, we were not speaking our hearts out…we were saying words, we were keeping in touch. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2w0DMgukZ5NqqiwqRkk0KYMKHIZ0c-PJlToBbpfWS5uASxEufcK4p-uqGZiD1c-pyIJ6-oXvpWmzl4oyTGchvMIPuFIsH_bxMR6awu5vtIahg4g1HawhCyh_BUe4PCQK_UvkKQxxw1dM/s1600/Sea_blog_pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2w0DMgukZ5NqqiwqRkk0KYMKHIZ0c-PJlToBbpfWS5uASxEufcK4p-uqGZiD1c-pyIJ6-oXvpWmzl4oyTGchvMIPuFIsH_bxMR6awu5vtIahg4g1HawhCyh_BUe4PCQK_UvkKQxxw1dM/s400/Sea_blog_pic.JPG" width="270" /></a></div>
Been days since I talked to him, I thought of calling him, and I did, <br />
“Wow, it’s you.” He said recognizing my voice. But those three words told me, “It’s the same with him what’s with you”. He didn’t love me anymore. He told me he was in the city, he came back. But I wasn’t there; I was at the end point of India, on vacation. <br />
Coming back with a lonely heart, I blamed myself for what I did. I couldn’t love him, and I couldn’t make him love me either; because you can’t do that, it’s against the invisible law. <br />
He told me he fell in love again, with someone else, and I wasn’t sure if it was love, but I was relieved with a certain idiotic idea about he being the bad guy as he broke up; I didn’t. Soon I realized, it didn’t mean a thing.<br />
Now I’m alone again, back to place I was at, and happy on my own. Earlier I was sad, the sting of not being able to be loved, the pain of letting go off something... because no matter what, we had something, and that was for real.<br />
But being sad seemed so unfair to me; I had no right to be sad. I had lost tears long ago. But hard was to let go off that pain. So I landed in the perfect state of indifference, where you feel nothing. It’s as if I’ve never loved him; as if I’ve never loved anybody; as if I’m not capable of loving anybody anymore. The moments we had, they all seem fake, the smiles, touches, feelings, everything. I am okay, but I’m wrong.<br />
I’m alright, yet I’m not. <br />
And I don’t know how to get out of this place yet.<br />
I’m still trying,</div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-19960425831627311322011-09-24T22:07:00.000+05:302011-09-24T22:19:34.996+05:30Blue Sky, & Echoes of Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<i>"Said my goodbyes and now</i></div>
<div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<i>This journey's just beginning</i></div>
<div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<i>Time to move on ahead and drive..."</i></div>
<div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="color: #999999;">(by Dream Out Loud) </span></div>
<br />
....Sliding, stumbling, rambling through the helter-skelter of life, suddenly I stopped and looked up to the sky.<br />
The frame of my eyes had no face, no smoke, no earth, just the blue…big <span style="color: #3d85c6;">blue sky</span>.<br />
Pieces of white clouds.<br />
<b style="color: #e06666;">Autumn</b>. <br />
It’s almost here.<br />
I can smell it.<br />
<br />
My best friend is in love with someone. And once I loved him. He couldn’t love me back. I survived. Minus the romantic part the affection remained. I’m happy for him, in the purest form. But my love is fading away. The person I thought to be the poet of my soul has not been able to make me understand his poems well. I thought I loved him, but I didn’t. Well, I feel nothing about that. Just a little sense of guilt. I’m happy running on my track. I know, when it’s time, I’ll fall in love. There’s no hurry. It’s just the beginning. When there’s confusion, there’s something wrong. But I’ve got no time to sit and figure out the flaw. So, I’ll just let it go. No-love gives me no-frown. <br />
I am this girl. I can smile. I can live. I can be crazy. <br />
I have grown up.<br />
Now I’m <span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">alrigh</span>t</span>.<br />
<b>I am.</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLQpCigDh01bcPC4w2x6sVHChkcrXpQymo0T278Oh4upe1k9-zqTe8FJuwoFG9yDdd62P05GyjuuYQbPO5_J8RsFwiExm6tfCim7v4XZt00g5kEgwg7oT7zp4xLil3NXQCRbZNOgVslw/s1600/ju_campus+%25282+of+14%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLQpCigDh01bcPC4w2x6sVHChkcrXpQymo0T278Oh4upe1k9-zqTe8FJuwoFG9yDdd62P05GyjuuYQbPO5_J8RsFwiExm6tfCim7v4XZt00g5kEgwg7oT7zp4xLil3NXQCRbZNOgVslw/s400/ju_campus+%25282+of+14%2529.jpg" width="276" /></a><br />
.....And suddenly I’m inspired. Suddenly I want to walk on the streets of Rome, taste that tangy food, be on my own, watch lovers on the corners of the street and eat ice-cream…<br />
Oh you know what? I just watched “<span style="color: #e06666;">Eat Pray Love</span>” again and I’m a bit high on my heels after that.<br />
But I’ve just realized, I have got a lot to do. Self-made confusion and rants won’t do me any good. I have to start trying to be someone, evolve into a better person. No, I don’t wanna be invisible anymore. I want to be visible, with enough color saturation and contrast.<br />
Life has changed. All I have to do is, live up a little bit.<br />
And if you have been feeling stuck, or stifling in life, but can find no reason behind, or no cure in front, just go… go out of your room, take a look at the sky, get some air…breathe in <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Life</span>. It’s time we learn to <span style="color: #f6b26b;">smile</span>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-70363155076091802322011-09-07T19:23:00.001+05:302013-07-24T01:49:45.288+05:30Dash-|<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">What's wrong with me?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">well, that's one and only thing I'm trying to figure out these days.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">I left Economics, I left my fuckedup old college, I left the bad crowd. Now I'm where I belong.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">I still am not happy. err..though I'm not sad either.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;"><strike>but still.</strike></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">why this feeling?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">Am I mad?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">shit. a whole lot of shit.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">I just want to sit down and read something. may be some good contemporary poet's work or so..</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">because I feel like an impotent Man. I can't write a thing, not a thing that makes sense.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">and here I am whining.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">But I'm not this girl. I'm more than this. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">I can write, I can love, I can laugh.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">But not right now. Right now I'm just purely impotent and no lousy or good medicine can cure it.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #666666;">so here i go...</span></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>On the island</i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>I wait</i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>For what I don't know,</i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>Longing for an unknown,</i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>Detached from the mortal world</i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>of Men and Women...</i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>In the pitch dark</i><br />
<i>I wait</i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>For the love of </i></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<i>The Heartless.</i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKzQKf3_vUAxQjp3maCdUSCxHF7G1RtkJFLNj7Roz-idZLlQY0fSH91SU5CkEXSnJQPLRjbSAaxnEI9IvK-9oLiPkOtc6fZEWdiAtr5d_kkuKZW3F7TowTDB7no8BJA1Ym1koZCEa-OvQ/s1600/133732_1660228320071_1668069693_1475570_107826_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKzQKf3_vUAxQjp3maCdUSCxHF7G1RtkJFLNj7Roz-idZLlQY0fSH91SU5CkEXSnJQPLRjbSAaxnEI9IvK-9oLiPkOtc6fZEWdiAtr5d_kkuKZW3F7TowTDB7no8BJA1Ym1koZCEa-OvQ/s400/133732_1660228320071_1668069693_1475570_107826_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where to go, no, I don't know.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com3Kolkata, West Bengal, India22.572646 88.36389522.338053499999997 88.048038 22.8072385 88.679752tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-12849793534639151712011-06-18T12:00:00.000+05:302011-11-09T02:11:32.038+05:30Disturbed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">After effect of failed love, a disturbed mind.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">thoughts and feelings I suddenly discovered last night...</span><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
I can sense this distance<br />
Growing slowly between us,<br />
As the smoke passes my hair<br />
Escaping bound of your lips…<br />
<br />
The smell of your body is fainter,<br />
So I take the other way around<br />
Caressing a crying heart of my own;<br />
It’s the time for me to let you go.<br />
<br />
I wander in an empty space<br />
Placed for me within a black sea<br />
Of slutty dancers and scary clowns;<br />
Shells crack under my boot, as I try to runaway.<br />
<br />
The head is spinning,<br />
Round and round so fast…<br />
The body is crashing,<br />
I puff and puff harder…<br />
<br />
Don’t feel, just touch;<br />
Put me on fire, <br />
Cheers to our dead love,<br />
And drink the warmth…<br />
We’ll daze the winter, tonight.<br />
<br /></div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-77691911319067773472011-05-17T20:31:00.001+05:302011-05-17T20:37:39.632+05:30Crooked mind inside a beating heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJrN5ATomVeK5sceH441kbu35zJ2FApmCyk5j_GHjrGe6Ia1b8mpe4BtzE95YI3gxvWC9ElYCXGeCUdyTWDTbvi57J7XAl-WCcO-lxYsoVcJr-tB37kfkhdF2Nn2gO1sZHimLfEjahDo/s1600/arka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJrN5ATomVeK5sceH441kbu35zJ2FApmCyk5j_GHjrGe6Ia1b8mpe4BtzE95YI3gxvWC9ElYCXGeCUdyTWDTbvi57J7XAl-WCcO-lxYsoVcJr-tB37kfkhdF2Nn2gO1sZHimLfEjahDo/s320/arka.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Your tears have met the outfall</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">And one more drop for humanity;</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">The dull, damp lines of poetry - mocking sanity,</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Deep inside dwells the murder conspiracy:</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">As your stoned hands grab my ribs</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">I search a safer room for my grimy dreams.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Darker nightmares n' psycho lady's wish,</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">A faint throb comes from the weary heart</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Like after you've taken the happy pills,</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">When the sky seems to be falling on you..</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">And the world around you spins round n' round</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">With thousand buildings and countless stories</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Of life, of people damned with cruelty and pain,</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">And you still remain thirsty for some bloodlike rain. </span><br /><br /><br /></div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-74123346380243609702011-04-02T12:28:00.000+05:302011-04-02T12:28:13.244+05:30Rain fixed my Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfP-Dau_0R2o6Ga-6077WLO-_ms1Xtz7ne9-apweDqsfCmfz7e1KbHfceCERyVjFisFBdqOGJeMxlV2wXEtXhAnoISCtiywRKyDi9VFPtxMzcGeerebZVSuTFm4FhIE_wg2R19AG6NWVI/s1600/drops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfP-Dau_0R2o6Ga-6077WLO-_ms1Xtz7ne9-apweDqsfCmfz7e1KbHfceCERyVjFisFBdqOGJeMxlV2wXEtXhAnoISCtiywRKyDi9VFPtxMzcGeerebZVSuTFm4FhIE_wg2R19AG6NWVI/s320/drops.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I woke up with a sense of cold; I could feel the gloomy and numb day ahead and decided to stay at home. No amount of hot noodles and coffee could make sure that I feel alive. I knew what was about to come and so it happened.<br />
It rained. <br />
Rain makes me sad. It reminds me of my futile love, painful treacherous people I trusted and my childhood’s rainy days; and it makes me a past-analyzing retarded person. <br />
When it starts raining, I feel a sudden joy; and then, that feeling shows itself to me. The feeling of being alone in a crowd, the feeling of not being wanted, the feeling of being deprived of love cripples up my shoulder. <br />
But still I love to feel the rain, let it drench me and tell me the stories of faraway lands. Then again, it also makes me feel sexually deprived. I mean seriously, isn’t it wonderful to make love on a rainy day? Well, err… that doesn’t mean I’m a frustrated virgin (one of my friend keeps telling me that)! I still believe everything has its right time and purpose. But, rain makes me feel so… :/<br />
Life is messed up right now. Nothing is in the right place. Getting hurt by people again and again. Lost my phone as it went down the toilet and slept in the shithole.<br />
Yet, right now I feel solace. <br />
You know why? <br />
Rain fixed my life. <br />
Rain told me it was okay to be sad and alone again.<br />
And I’m here again, back to my old days. <br />
Example? I am blogging -__-<br />
<br />
I’m part of this supposed rain,<br />
I can’t love the bright sun up there,<br />
It would just embrace me cruelly<br />
And evaporate me to the sky again…</div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-60524053263632406292010-12-26T19:21:00.001+05:302010-12-26T19:37:19.070+05:30Hide the rum, fake a smile.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">The more I look into this, the more it seems fake. Unreal. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Yes, I am talking about something you know.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Guess what it is? At least try? With your big head with a lil gray matter?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Well, let’s just spare you. It’s the world around us. Especially the world I am in.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Here it’s fascinating. Loud music, flashy lights, colors, amazing lonesome blues, smiles, tears, enthralling words, exciting guitar riffs, smokes, sex, life.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">But sometimes a weird alcoholic solitude dissolves this dramatic life into nothingness.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">You rummage through everything you have and realize you have nothing. Or may be you have something, but it doesn’t matter at the end.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Someone loves you? But you find it so unreal. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Your demand curve rises upwards, yet there’s no supply. (Here I talk like a prototype Economics student :| )</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">You sing to them “Take my photo off the wall if it just won’t sing for you”.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">It’s like you are fooling yourself. But the truth is, everyone is in the trap, everyone is doing so. Nothing harms you. Yet your hear breaks to pieces, and you try to find the reason why.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Still, the rusty city calls you by name and you can’t avoid it. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Hope against thoughts, dreams against reality. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">And someday… the frozen dead winter leaves gives you peace when it doesn’t rain for you anymore.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcMujJO1BD-8zhimAF791pZKuJwOXMUq1TmFFKhyLsA6uB37N7rVaSrmqHbKDaMJQkhkxHKzF2aul81WZUuQ4ZMxnwDNRjhGbrGLebyEOiK6IlLUxXpXub0avF-fGcwSfGma5oA4Layg/s1600/focus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcMujJO1BD-8zhimAF791pZKuJwOXMUq1TmFFKhyLsA6uB37N7rVaSrmqHbKDaMJQkhkxHKzF2aul81WZUuQ4ZMxnwDNRjhGbrGLebyEOiK6IlLUxXpXub0avF-fGcwSfGma5oA4Layg/s400/focus.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">I cried because my Christmas was going to be ruined. But I somehow made it work for me with courage, some fun companions, chocolate pastry and Johnny Depp.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">But I’m still thirsty for rum. I can help but curse that bar owner who didn’t let me in because his ping pong ball sized brain told him that I am not old enough to consume alcohol.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">I’m legally adult you fuckface <_<</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">…</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">“But why is the rum gone?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">:/</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">P.S.- The title is worthless!</span>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-38611555467418125812010-12-01T02:16:00.002+05:302010-12-01T02:29:59.898+05:30Blue bed, red shoes and my bokehs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Y4MJ5-2dHZFOWmJP4ktioVnJZlfqn8TjHCeVpes51PCpY-iO26nRizDjebYVllpqDDUF5v_IJzNbIs5xqiBJSFJJnNJkc3E5w6n-2Ii61c0QsdtKpYT_wBnAak2uUMIZQC24VNf5k3k/s1600/DSC_0120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Y4MJ5-2dHZFOWmJP4ktioVnJZlfqn8TjHCeVpes51PCpY-iO26nRizDjebYVllpqDDUF5v_IJzNbIs5xqiBJSFJJnNJkc3E5w6n-2Ii61c0QsdtKpYT_wBnAak2uUMIZQC24VNf5k3k/s400/DSC_0120.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #555555; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">W</span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">here words are hidden in puzzle of silence and pain,</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">and a shadow longs for existence,</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I save some wet touches and a lil serenade</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">for my heart or the lost bodies of nameless solitude...</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Here lingers no clean lenses,</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">dusty pictures of skeleton eyes.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Somehow. So many colors merged into black n' white.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZL67TKH773HV_45GTtuU8JEkHuUpZudZlGuycQ5IszDTkyS7a_gwwe0FgADwa69mTim4-W-YCSkecfEabBChGrOC8Q6YJ6GmJG30uhP1ulTC0Ro0Uv7PEu3eTRAe-vCeonWKbjssGoQ/s1600/DSC_0218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZL67TKH773HV_45GTtuU8JEkHuUpZudZlGuycQ5IszDTkyS7a_gwwe0FgADwa69mTim4-W-YCSkecfEabBChGrOC8Q6YJ6GmJG30uhP1ulTC0Ro0Uv7PEu3eTRAe-vCeonWKbjssGoQ/s320/DSC_0218.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bokeh</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A</span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> pain with no reason,</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">A metamorphosis of hidden love,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Undying feelings...</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">A blue bed of acidic dreams,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">No one speaks a word,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Momentary smile, broken decades ago...</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RxLdyZ7MGkZ6Z5KnAikmBvBdolZgqYQvAr5_6oKznzDBlGCqZcRuEkE22OtL7-YLslXXBlbt9tNG0AZYhZuFDR2Hh0OdUsqRTrEDLq13ERSTokhIcqjrBhdk-Ov0UbMKn0wYUfX1JDc/s1600/DSC_0108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RxLdyZ7MGkZ6Z5KnAikmBvBdolZgqYQvAr5_6oKznzDBlGCqZcRuEkE22OtL7-YLslXXBlbt9tNG0AZYhZuFDR2Hh0OdUsqRTrEDLq13ERSTokhIcqjrBhdk-Ov0UbMKn0wYUfX1JDc/s400/DSC_0108.jpg" width="400" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">B</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">uried deep </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">some silent souls,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">whispers unveiled </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">as I walk down the passage</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">among thousands of dead...</span></span></span></span></span></span></h3><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1f7TR2-UjTV1g81Hohgkh14Ceh4iOvNyYMCNVCdomoOHmDpvdo1cXlT2_eMxHWWHhWRu-HWqk72Ex-wp00tWGohKg5eVtVFgr1Kis96lTAhFBFxo8TCg5oDJqvPYrhFAMEsuyJ2aoCw/s1600/DSC_0145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1f7TR2-UjTV1g81Hohgkh14Ceh4iOvNyYMCNVCdomoOHmDpvdo1cXlT2_eMxHWWHhWRu-HWqk72Ex-wp00tWGohKg5eVtVFgr1Kis96lTAhFBFxo8TCg5oDJqvPYrhFAMEsuyJ2aoCw/s320/DSC_0145.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">And sometimes I wish the wheels stop spinning and dragging my life somewhere I don't want to go...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">With my old red shoes and acoustic time, I would rather stay alone.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #555555; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-46701080960791083382010-11-04T00:07:00.003+05:302010-12-01T02:30:58.855+05:30Unsequenced Beads<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffe599;">Well, I know, there is no such word like "unsequenced", still, err....it sounded good :/</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICf6MRlLJp7csiw9ka1zx1kigvIisyT6UTRav0jM56TGgQ-n5ZJFZNagVkIq_7oIP-8lhGL7oRnoqQogrE5Jlx8p31XHnJ7IlnkYyrNOgFW3Rw4o_vP5WPNR9ijetdI0c5eSbnvk40IA/s1600/sea+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICf6MRlLJp7csiw9ka1zx1kigvIisyT6UTRav0jM56TGgQ-n5ZJFZNagVkIq_7oIP-8lhGL7oRnoqQogrE5Jlx8p31XHnJ7IlnkYyrNOgFW3Rw4o_vP5WPNR9ijetdI0c5eSbnvk40IA/s400/sea+002.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>As winter suddenly sneaks in:</u></span></span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: </span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The cold November rain kills the autumn and steps on the frozen grass.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A hollow song is playing on, somewhere.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Feels like I'm behind the stage, dying, yet the sounds of claps go on...the show evolves. The world is somehow inside out....but I am too blind to see the truth! </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wanna go under the blanket and sleep forever in peace, with mystic magical dreams!</span></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #8e7cc3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kabir:</span></span></b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nd when your dreams reach a crescendo of your sensuality..... In that moment of eternal mysticism...when the magic peaks....freeze yourself into time forever. That way.....you shall have the frozen peak of sensuality.....preserved and to be relished forever.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #76a5af;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aritra:</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">e wash away our make up</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">but to the world we remain a mere clown</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">we are just meant for entertainment</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">neither to feel... nor to frown....</span></span><br />
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-And it didn’t end, something came in the way…err.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>Sea Diaries:</u></span></span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I went to the coast of Bengal, holidays you know… the trip was nice.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I sat at the sea shore, a lil’ away from the regular crowd, in the evening. The sea played an amazing music of solitude, a melody of some faraway land of dream. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was so much submerged in the ambience; and in the momentary lapse of rumbling thoughts I could only find a discomfited peace that I never felt before. I let go the avarice of ache and detest I held inside. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The far horizon, where lil’ lights of fishing trawlers were tinkering, I kept gazing at it and seemed like I was sailing away, to eternity…</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sea stays alone, with lives smiling at its shore, it roars, shivers, cries in a hollow pain, and only some nomad toddling around the shore would hear it sometimes in its music of waves, the untold story of its hidden heart, longings and loses. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sea scum whispered in my ears, words of lost love and ….i don’t know what…</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it felt good….really good.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I forgot the need of a smoke.</span></span><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Snaps from the Sea Diaries:</b></span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">[Click on the images to view larger size]</span></span></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="goog_2088764674"></span><span id="goog_2088764675"></span></div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-10945530422148392962010-10-24T00:58:00.005+05:302010-10-31T12:02:33.578+05:30Randomly Dead Poet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWW6sgiq9A6yauBTswkSxVxkO1st69Qp8BRjp98nehUybUsuWGfapttBtp3eJc5MPSBm3w33fOhR90F36-idKyuaKkyQhkHEhpK1wGO4KtoHxknBHgGab9RGluM5N4DkbDERH_w6zZf8/s1600/DSCN3241-horz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWW6sgiq9A6yauBTswkSxVxkO1st69Qp8BRjp98nehUybUsuWGfapttBtp3eJc5MPSBm3w33fOhR90F36-idKyuaKkyQhkHEhpK1wGO4KtoHxknBHgGab9RGluM5N4DkbDERH_w6zZf8/s400/DSCN3241-horz.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">No other poem will be born from my pain,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">As I lay down my hands in the cold of shame.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">The suffocated heart has killed the poetic soul,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Lyrics of my life don’t rhyme anymore.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">No more teardrops wait for a knock on the door,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Lonely footsteps die away in the sea shore;</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">The morning blues stay till the sunset</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Celebrating the pitiless death of a nameless poet…</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">P.S.- click on the image to see larger size. </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div></div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-33124356166873494892010-10-17T12:48:00.000+05:302010-10-17T12:48:03.484+05:30Consider it as a blog post<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">SOMEONE said that I fell in love with the eternal sadness triggered by the blue rain.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I did.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">...Because I fell in love with a pirate. Now he robbed my everything that is- my soul and color of my heart. I live like a lean, pale piece of dead moon or may be a rotten tomato.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The pirate got away with it. He had the princess, he still has her. But this little ugly pixie was left in the middle of the sea finding her solace in the bubbles of fake dreams captivated by the white sea-scum. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I wasn't a brat before. I was sad, but not a sadist before. The cynical way of life has created ME.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And now I am lost in some bitter-sweet smoke of weed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I saw a black butterfly in the station while waiting for the train. It danced around me as I watched it with a long-lost smile on my face. Suddenly the train arrived and the black-beauty was apart from me.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have a firefly in my room. Every time I turn the lights off at night, it lits up its existence.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I don't feel alone. Anymore.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just broken.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You played with me and left me as a broken plaything.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And someday I would move on. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Someday the pain would be eased. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Someday life would seem alright. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Someday I would forgive you. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Someday I'll hate your lies instead of loving them. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Someday...</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">P.S.- Don't worry if you are doing so =]</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And Durga Puja was here again. </span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5RPt2ZgQ41g-SXnMrJ9sVhfYaa-NeWENMh8Ih_Ev0RoRFY6APDMITP1lSd9ne53YMY7kl4Yh8rtZkddqXTM6ECKTcwu6tQaR39sh9U6_98gf8hohvgcsVHjMMRoVGlhKSmP9HON54dsA/s1600/blog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5RPt2ZgQ41g-SXnMrJ9sVhfYaa-NeWENMh8Ih_Ev0RoRFY6APDMITP1lSd9ne53YMY7kl4Yh8rtZkddqXTM6ECKTcwu6tQaR39sh9U6_98gf8hohvgcsVHjMMRoVGlhKSmP9HON54dsA/s320/blog3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-30690469924069813472010-09-26T15:55:00.001+05:302010-09-26T15:57:25.438+05:30Cadaver of Truth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOl6aO9wbqorlQAC-wBCBfEZOMjCA5jzCQaalk4R9wiJ1J9uX3Hq-YkYXUgWT_SLoz0bNKSLKOYzxzbpxW1dhbEMp_AZRc4rNS0-fVO8yvdZt_M8vBIw7kn6vHiTGZ2B_Y2rkgXxRSRjw/s1600/snap+019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOl6aO9wbqorlQAC-wBCBfEZOMjCA5jzCQaalk4R9wiJ1J9uX3Hq-YkYXUgWT_SLoz0bNKSLKOYzxzbpxW1dhbEMp_AZRc4rNS0-fVO8yvdZt_M8vBIw7kn6vHiTGZ2B_Y2rkgXxRSRjw/s320/snap+019.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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You think I am wasted. He thinks I’m wasted. She thinks I’m wasted.<br />
Even my cheap 2 bucks worthy cigarettes think I’m wasted.<br />
Well, I am not wasted.<br />
Because I know the truth you have been hiding from.<br />
I manicure the claws of the darkness.<br />
I repeal the lies of life you live within to find happiness.<br />
Come, face your skeleton-old disease.<br />
Cry, ‘cause there’s no mercy; twisted tales of humans remain.<br />
Smile, ‘cause I give you the chance to enjoy the last show.<br />
Fear, ‘cause I know something you don’t know. You will NEVER know.P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6641943538146075430.post-5515198475014173482010-09-05T01:07:00.001+05:302010-09-05T01:07:56.822+05:30This fairytale has gone bad!<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">"We can’t cry the pain away</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">We can’t find a need to stay</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">I slowly realized there’s nothing on our side..."</span></i><br />
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And once again I have fucked it all up…….<br />
The awesome <s><b>ME</b></s>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAviFMo7ja10a_Ei3_QQHLh6gHVNVjCTpmXcH6G2GeifejI8WH9Hg_RzONdVV1bWqbUv1eakmDbE33eD4v3GLsTrKApmdaKLp5EvcmiGwg7-OkHho48QNSxkliOobAWK7NUCraAbHNpY/s1600/dork+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAviFMo7ja10a_Ei3_QQHLh6gHVNVjCTpmXcH6G2GeifejI8WH9Hg_RzONdVV1bWqbUv1eakmDbE33eD4v3GLsTrKApmdaKLp5EvcmiGwg7-OkHho48QNSxkliOobAWK7NUCraAbHNpY/s320/dork+013.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>Today was the worst of all these days… Had pissed a person I loved at the midnight, missed tuition at morning, went to the suckiest college departmental fresher’s welcome party, went to another tuition, got home fucked up and slept all the evening.<br />
Every time I think that life’s gonna change, it gets stuck and makes me wanna throw up because of that old smell of misery.<br />
I’m lonely again. Better to say, I realized I’m lonely as every-single-fucking-thing has been just a pretention. <br />
I love my friends, I do. But at the end of the day I can’t breathe easy. And there’s nothing I can do about it.<br />
I know I’m gonna survive, by tears or by strength, I will.<br />
But I don’t wanna die inside like this.<br />
<br />
All I want is… someone to put the hand on my shoulder and make me feel life’s worth living.<br />
<br />
I wish I were <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">invisible</span>.<br />
I wish I could be like <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">THEM</span>.<br />
I wish I were a heartless <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">bitch</span>.<br />
I wish I could die without <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">pain</span>.<br />
I <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">wish</span>.<br />
<br />
No, not suicidal much.<i> Just a lil unwell</i>.P i x i ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08985850626803954418noreply@blogger.com10