Saturday, December 31, 2011

The drama.

Retrospection is a mind-fucking reality. Its a realisation that's peeping in a bit too late. I cannot sit here, battling with fever, and try to recall the good, the bad and the ugly things that have hit me in the year that's ending in half an hour. There are times when the emo, daft child in me sat victimsed, crying and loathing every entity with a fucked up cynicism. And there were times, she chose to be a bitch. One question, does self happiness and peace count more than sympathy, care and concern?
This year was the first time I was in love and the first time I chose to be out of it. With misandry ruling, what could have been a peaceful and exciting tryst with newness, things just, well, went out of track. And there is a need, a very desperate, frantic need to run away from anything unstable. The feeling I cherish and like the most is constance. Stability, the works, that's my zone. I cannot dabble with drama, and if too much is offered to me, I make a quick exit.
I was in love once, and it hurts that THAT will never happen to me, ever again.
With the augmentation of drama in this space, I'm making a move.
Happy new year, world. Let there be peace.

Monday, December 26, 2011

So you understand less as the pages turn.

Like the eerie presence of erstwhile emotions, whose mere existence is often debatable, the occupancy of love, lust and the likes are questionable. At least in her head. She sifts through men, expecting the undelivered, losing herself in the beguiles of put up emotions. Ah, what a child! With her body giving away her daunt sexual desires which induces rage like passion even in the strong-hearted, in her heart, she was a child evaluating love. But love is such an idiosyncratic emotion. It strikes, least expectantly. For her, apparently, her body and heart were two different spheres. Could she love someone with whom she shared her body? Well, she could. Touch induces love. In the sauntering kisses gleaming through strange awakenings of lust, love is borne, and nurtured. The more natural the coming together of two bodies, separate in mind and soul, the more natural is the love induced. It leaves the child in her bewildered, and dazed. What were she to do of the growing fondness and the temporary moments of hurtful separation. Oh, what can we do about a weak-heart? And love, once borne stays. Love works that way, and everything else works around it. Even forced separation hurts the deepest pangs of love inside. Love is a betraying emotions. It hurts, and gets wounded, and yet, it chooses to stay. Oh, what do we do about love? And as she felt the stubborn emotion deep in her body, the emotion with no equaling synonyms, the emotion that could be expressed by the word, just, she sifted through life, like a baffled infant, battling infatuation, understanding the amour, and letting her body go. 

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


Her monochrome thoughts are often infused with grieving tears of solitude. That forever shall be never again. Having come to terms with that, and made peace with the inner recesses that tear her minute self, she gives in to pleasures. Of company and love. But then, the shadows creep in, like the faint light of moonlight that refuses to leave that tiny crevice of your window. Did I just compare darkness to light? The closer she thinks she is to peace, the farther she is.
She tiptoes to the farthest corner of reconciliation, her feet barely intrusive, her presence largely ignored. She's often caught tiptoeing, especially, when in chaos. She tiptoes to love, and away from it. To pleasure, and to restraint. She's such a baby, she tiptoes to peace, and runs away from it too. "Oh what do we do about a problem like Maria".

P. S. Sorry, have been M.I.A for far too long. Weird-ness has been happening in life.
How is everyone in blogosphere doin'?

Friday, December 2, 2011

If I could summarise what's going through me in one word, its clueless.
I really think I need an objective right now, and you showed me one, A. Just that we don't talk anymore, so I'm back to being the old clueless self. It is important to have this one vision that takes you forward, irrespective of how badly you fare at everything else in your life, nay?
My life needs a lift-up, like you give it to them boobs, to make it more attractive and notice-worthy, if I may say so?