Of Sunsets and Life

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971734_494634307298022_257740671_nNever a comforting thought–that. But ah.. sunsets. How your heart sets, skips and does wonders during sunsets.

The grief ridden eyes find solace in nothing except a deep lingering sleep. They will say–it is common heartache…but nay. It is naught but that. It is grief. Not an inbred shift of innards. It is like a setting sun.

The worst thing about storms is, that before they strike hard, there is calm and peace. The worst thing about calm and peace is–that it never lasts and is immediately followed by storms.

Thus sets the sun. Deep into the horizon–to emerge again. But in all its glory–things repeat and stay the same.

And so–the little prince could not find the words and the nerves to reply. What would it say? They were forty four sunsets. One after the other.

It was not heartache. It was just an empty void.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

All i gathered about life. Each and everything. It must and can be summed in these four words. Not mine. NO. But they were written down by T.S Eliot.

‘Life is very long’

And thus…we go on living. We don’t know why we are doing so. But simply because if we don’t–life will stop. We don’t know what to do. So we keep walking.

SO we keep watching sunsets. And brace the long long life.

 

 

An Excerpt

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“I look at faces to hear voices coming out from a hollow soul within their empty selves

and find myself in a pool of misery so i can look at

faces and recognize the voices and it is a circle of

so many broken dreams, and torn faces and ugly reality

that in the end….

no one comes out wining.”

23.7.2014

Dipoles

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The oppressed mind–makes the eyes stare in the dark

Every one and no one was to rejoice

In past memories and future shadows

An inkling–

The past has faces while the present has emotions

But the eyes constantly stare

A tune, a song, what is it!?

Which plays in the hollow of the naked dark day

The tired body–makes the soul dream

Of freedom–from the shakles

Each and all were to part–

You took that road which I was not allowed to take

I took that path which you could not find

The eyes, constantly gape

In the glistening bright night–none stirred

Each toiled!

And the eyes….they stared, in the space, deep into infinity

Then, the soul was free, so it was lost

The body–was dead and so it was born again!

Fancy

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Among the trees of orange blossoms

And the endless fields of flowers

The euphoric fragrance which filled the air

All under the clear blue sky

As far as the eyes can see

And that one cuckoo that sang in isolation

Every thing acknowledged the arrival of the bliss they call spring

And me…. In wonder sat in this garden of memories…

Oh such beautiful…the wave of nostalgia

Slowly the sun sets and the hues of childhood begin to fade!!

Clandestine.

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I have nothing to say right now. In fact i have nothing to write or think. In this silent bid to be at peace, there is noise. This is a world. A small plan. A fragment of an immeasurable universe. Of space. And vacuum. And spirits. And sounds. And noise. And silence. Catastrophe followed by cure. But i have nothing to say today.

We are all a creation which is clandestine. The larger plan…clandestine. I have nothing to say.

If you scratch the surface and the pore of any particle of any element of anything, you will find melancholy and despondency at its very core. Thus we all celebrate a history of sadness. Never together. In isolation. Most do. But..i have nothing….to think.

The poets and the saints and the sages and the vagrants and the vagabonds and the sailor and the martyrs and the soldiers and the child and the human and the not so human–everyone and no one…dwell here and there, linger and stop. And wonder where emotion comes from and where does it go…and what is vacuum and what is dark and what is light. But that, i can not think about.

Time. What an enigma. What an unasked question. An unmasked parable, conundrum and….

Do we make time or does time make us. Who creates who….Who destroys who? Who? Why? And how! We stare vacantly at time, and we do nothing. And nothing becomes everything…. Yet i have nothing much to say.

In clandestine hope, some wait for time to rot and the world to reverse and become undone and some hope for it to keep going so and some simply hope for silence. This is a hope where we all vacantly stare in darkness so we can see something and we desperately cling to the light hoping that it does us good. It never lasts.

In clandestine hope…we wish to unfurl beneath the great blue gig up in the sky. The unfathomable. The void. And what not…We die every minute in hope o get rescued.

But….i have nothing today upon which i can brood. And ponder. I am not at ease. Nor at peace. Nor in a state of melancholy. Neither in a state of  ecstasy.

Clandestine…….

 

Such love. Much wow. :3

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soul93:

SO this is what my friend wrote for me, on my birthday today :’)

Originally posted on Random shizz. :

So. Today is the birthday of this amazing person who happens to be a very VERY important part of my life! She’s always been the understanding kind. The one person who’s been there. Like genuinely by my side through all of my phases. And I lurve her for that. YES. ^-^
So. I’ve known you for what 9 years now? Wowowowow. MashAllah. It feels like forever. You’re like my soul mate type person. You’ve always been there for me man. Whether I’ve asked or not. Haye. Whattay long way we’ve come man.
From being your personal punching bag to not talking for quite a while in the middle to insulting one another to what were are today. Mein sadqay. How have we not disowned each other by now? :’)
I’ve had that weirdest conversations with you man. Sachi baat.
So here’s to all the insane times we’ve spent together, yet…

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The Death of SARCASM

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*gasps*

Yes so the inevitable has happened…or more so, begun to happen. Yes. Sarcasm is dying because in simple words, idiots are taking over everything. Including sarcasm. And that is—ironical?

Little girls in pink pony tails will now be seen going on yapping about their Instagram food photos and putting *witty* things as captions and thinking to themselves that this here is the new and somewhat improved example of sarc-wait for it-ass-um!

Silly little insensitive boys will say meaningless things about other meaningless people and challenge themselves into thinking that they are good at something, apart from being total losers and that is sarcasm. Which is apparently so shockingly absurd that one actually starts believing them and THUS ladies and gentlemen–THE DEATH OF THE LITTLE BIRD WITH HARDCORE SHIT CALLED SARCASM.

Let us all mourn the death with tears because c’mon this one is actually sad. Because it entails that with it, cynicism ad humor take the high road. I mean you can not say anything witty to anyone anymore without it fitting into their sad standards. And believe me, they have a sad standard for a reason.

And the things that qualifies as their wit is as pathetic as their delusional wonder worlds.

Yes you may think that i am only being an insensitive meanie. I would otherwise love to prove you wrong. But i wont. Because that is exactly what i feel like being today. After all, why shouldn’t  I!!

I only go back to saying what my favorite thing to say is—it is not their fault they exist. Or that their existence is a sad spectacle of irony or sarcasm. Or that it is a *good one the big guy pulled out*. We just have to deal with it.

But you know what we DON’T have to deal with!? The death of sarcasm. When we see these midgets from inside their heads murder sarcasm, we make sure we take a stand. We make sure we do it with style. And attitude. And most of all brutality.

 

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