A mid-summer night trek….

Posted: April 17, 2011 in Uncategorized

It’s been 24 hours since that taste and I haven’t had a wink of sleep. The heat in the rush of the blood has been gradually going down as those delightful sensations take its leave, fluttering a little before it break away and blend into the grey reality. An epic as it began, rushing thru the veins as the mind loses its way in the chase of the beat as the heart ran wild. Remember the joy with which we walked into the middle earth and wait by the misty channel to catch a glimpse of the unicorn to graze by. I feared, that the wind must have carried our giggles and laughter, and the echoes are known to be noisy bunch, but the wine was sweet and the moon promiscuous. Those dark silhouettes did promise us to hide us in its veil by the misty channel, but they couldn’t stop talking about the lights. The charmed gallop died out in the distant hustle of a bush and so were the silhouette ready to leave as pink shone through the promised horizon. So we marched towards the yonder of the hill overlooking the promised horizon. There we sat by with more wine and dined. It was when the sky started shedding its color that I knew the rapture was to happen. The pink came down and so did orange and by the time the blue had descended, streaks of colors could be seen emanating from every side of the horizon. The silhouette had left and the earthlings woke up to the shower of colors. The clouds made its appearance with its tumultuous layers of over laden dreams. The silvery dreams turned gold as the sun peeked out of the horizon and the golden streaks commanded, “behold the radiance!”. The silhouette had traveled far by then the canvas became the playground of colors.

The birds had taken to their wings for the call of the day and so could I see the red in the eyes. I saw it flow down the hair into the perspiring droplets. That’s when our feet rolled home-bound for the Floyd was to host our exhaustion.

The music played a soothing play as the body could be felt embracing the comfort of the bed. I close my eye in anticipation of a soothing slumber but little did I know that the mind had wandered so far. Well it
had been 10 hours since the blot and the colors had started to fade by then but the mind had a long way to trace back and the rush in the veins only gives out heat in the bright summer day. And since then it
has been the fading color tracing back the mind as the body waits for the heat to gradually subside.

So…. it’s been 26 hours as I set on that epic journey for the quest of the unicorn and the colors, along with me hearties from the university to the enchanted Middle-campus, apparently the middle-earth as my friend had pointed out as we head towards the woods, the lake and the rocks of our dear campus,. Every passing moments counting down one of the plans we promised to each other since we ever got on
board on the university as our last days as crew mates of the university seems near the horizon.

By now, the heat had subsided, the mind back on track and the body seems to finally succumb to exhaustion as my eyelids becomes heavy. But for the “epic” as we call it, the journey will ever remain among fond memories. And as I put off the light to a good sleep, I knew that for the experience that it was , it will always bring a radiance with a fond smile.

let the fantasy speak tonight
of the charming moon as promiscuous
and silhouette-ty obscure, the dark serene night…

let the fantasy speak tonight
of the scarlet red and fiery blaze
of patted breath and whining smiles…

let the fantasy speak tonight
of the lust and associated love
of the passionate thrust and the kisses that followed…

let the fantasy speak tonight
of flamboyance in play
and titillating skip of beats…

let the fantasy speak tonight,
of the virtues redeemed
in vice’s glory…

Just back from a very dear friend’s bday party, me and Javed were trying to embrace the pleasant and soothing slumber as we were happily exhausted after a fun-filled night among best friends and some more best fun…

then,.. Javed pulled out the radio set and the old hindi melodies started playing on the near and dear FM RAINBOW and nostalgia fills the air, as both of us could be heard releasing blissfully a nostalgic sigh as the warm vibes of the golden tunes filled the heart pushing it (the sigh) out from the memory-treasure of old and gold….. Of course, certain strings in the heart that the tune pulled could be felt echoing amidst the four wall of F hostel room 127.

as the drunken brain and the stoned mind was swaying along the nostalgic vibes, one got stucked so one asked….

“So.. are we supposed to let the quality of the song take its own course and be left on its own virtue to assure its continuous presence, generations after generations????

or

for the sake of the nostalgia and its golden-ness, are we suppose to enforce its preservance???”

“hmm… ya… ya.. ya..”, Javed listened and Javed spoke…

the nostalgia is connected to the quality of the song …. the nostalgia that one experiences is deeply connected to the quality of the song.. and “quality of the song” comprises the song in its all technicality and the ambiance of those continuous events in which one got introduced to, indulged in or got attracted to it… and remembrance of those events are what nostalgia is about…

If one observe,… the nostalgia of a particular song through generations are never the same. its always a new story, a new set of ambiance and characters.. of course,.. due to time…

also if we look back at how one got it,.. our elders were just indulging in them and we happened to get attracted to the song so we sat by and listened together with them… then it came to one’s own play-list…

Like how the quality of the song found us and we picked it up and let it continue to play, one should just indulge in them for the sake of the nostalgia that one treasures.. and while, if the youngster or whomsoever are of the made that which will admire the song then they will pick it up… just like we did!!… the least and the most we could do is to facilitate while one rides high in the nostalgia …..

🙂 … hmm…

though, the question was raised on the ground of songs and nostalgia, the answer answered a lot of issues in one’s mind..

hmm…

Like the way, the song has been played numerous times in numerous places, i recall about the interactions i have had with numerous personalities.. while some equation had worked out well, some particular equations just didnt seem to comply…. i was worked up trying to solve them and sometimes one even tried to change the formula to make the equation work.. but it never worked..

so much for one’s effort !!! 🙂

but you see, one was wrong…. like the way the song never changes the way it plays, like how the melody flowed only in the note and the composition that it was made of, one should be honest and be genuine in one’s conduct. and like those that became the crowd around the song, one will also find company that would connect for what really that one is and what really that other is…

while the thoughts worked it up in the mind, liberating out angst, anxiety and depression through a smile, the tune in the radio changed to a form of instrumental-classical that both of us were not keen of… so we switched off the radio… and felt peace.. that prevailed as the tune got off the air of the dark room… and i smiled again… Lo! .. isnt this the peaceful solution to those equations that never worked… 🙂

thanks Javed !! 🙂

and Ranjani for the title… 🙂

It isn’t always that of a comfortable feeling even though I enjoyed the privileges. Even during those childhood days, while in playgound, around dusk, my sister and her friends would call out to each other and they will leave. Of course it never seemed as if they wanted to. Because that’s when she would look at me with a stern look for I as her do not have the responsibility of performing the daily evening religious rites at home. I knew it never meant she hated me for real. For she laughed and is crazy in her ways of playing tricks with me and she was the best in bullying me because she wears the hat of an elder. But if not for those tricks, she would not have been that much fun of a sister. Elderly respect was most constantly reminded by her and taught by her. She didn’t talk much to me but when she did she made sure she lay in firm those moral codes of respect to elders, with a totally grim and the look of an ideal, as in the motherly elder sister teaching her son of a younger brother, a moral lesson of unbroken tradition and one of the highly held mannerism in Meitei society – respect to elders. And when she was done with the lecture, she never had anymore to say or listen but to look away, and strange because she seemed to be fighting a smile.. she would break into a smirky giggle as she kind of run-walked away. And after a while I could hear her wild laughter from her bed. Of course she had done her best to cover it as u can surely pick up the effects of those pillows and piles of blanket that she had just piled on to herself. While the blankets and the pillows couldn’t contain her laughter, it surely puzzled me. At those times I use to think about those folklores about the sibbling of courageous and protective brothers and the kind and homely sister. I know I love my sister, infact a lot, but it never actually came a time when I have to protect her because even I knew that I cant mess with her, until and unless I am an elderly relative of her. Because that was the code she preaches me. It bind me to her and the rest of the family to us. She did took her advantage of me being younger to her, but rightly so i think, for she never talked back to the elders at home. She would be called stubborn by the family for her grit. She was the pioneer of slent resistance in our family of five. Sometimes she wont talk to anyone of us for days or stop eating at home. She was strong and believes in fighting. She was telling us that if we mess with her more, she isn’t scared and doesn’t mind about letting go of us. As of somebody who isn’t from the family then I knew they were going in for something unpleasant if they want to mess with her. She just wont take any shit. Infact, when the elder kids from our boys gang would bully me, she was the one to rescue me and tell them off… And to talk about courage, I think she was the one who taught me. Nearby our house, there was a dilapidated and abandoned house. Around that was lots of trees. That apparently was like army camp for the locality kids. We learned wall climbing, jumps and falls, balancing on the broken walls. We learned high-walking, walking on the tall wall that have remained in some of the rooms whose ceiling had collapsed down. We learned climbing trees. And I admit I am scared of heights, but she knew her way of getting me up those walls and trees. While all the boys and the girls had tried their best to encourage me to climb up and even-after that I was still fidgetting, she would say, “Leave it. He is a coward. Even a girl can climb but he wont.” and she would turn away un-interestedly. That was her line and most of the time it worked. And while I was midway struggling up the wall I could see her hand for support. Up there she would say, “See.. its not that difficult and it feels wonderful up here.” and she would smile at me. Then she would add,”now that you are up here, why don’t you join me in jumping down into those piles of sand? It wont hurt….”. She would go first explaining to me how to jump and how to land so that I don’t get hurt. Then again, after a little more shouting and yelling from her from below, I would jump. Again she would smile and I knew that I was not going to be bullied by her for that day. And those were among the rare times that I could see some pride and love from her. Otherwise it was the grim elderly face she maintains. Especially with me. She was this out-spoken and cheerfully mad girl. But that kind of a sister she was only when it was about pulling my legs otherwise the pretentious grim elderly face. I always wondered what she really got out of it because she actually didn’t hate me. She was always there for me. And sometimes she would feel so lame in her grimness that I couldn’t resist and give her a snort and the pretense will break and she would blush and laugh out and very shamefully say something elderly and giggle away from me. And for those time I would chicken out of anything, she would come and say,”its okay. May be next time. But its not as difficult as it look like.” and even then she would smile.

Soon as we grew older, it was not just the evening rites but it was told that she as a girl had to be home before dark. So we boys saw her and her friends gradually missing out of the group. And as she became of junior school she was not among us in the trees, she would be seen hanging out at home with her friends. Earlier they were more like friends, but as they reached junior schools they began to look more like the sisters as in books and texts. The playground became more like a boys hang-out. And great fun we had hanging out late in the playground. As we grew it just suited itself in many ways providing us the space away from home where we were mostly free of all the rules. Somewhere we missed them and at certain festivals when it was customary for the youth, both boys and girls of the locality, to prolonged the festivities through out the night with the girls making food while the boys keeps the bon-fire alive, we found the lost company back. And amazingly, as homely as they had turned, they still were a great company as before and the thrills from those adventures from childhood seems to have resumed its flow again continued in somewhat familiar stories among a familiar and long missed company. Though, this time, mostly us boys narrating while they listen intently and for sure, they understood each and every pun of adventurousness and free spiritedness in the stories from the then playground and the extended territory of night streets.

Somehow, there never seems a regret in me in the way our life became so different. But it wasnt that much of a comfortable-acceptance either. Somewhere I always feel that I should have shared chores of every sort with her. But then again as per what the family instructed it was not a boy’s job and so convenient for me to just say ‘no’ even if she asked me to help because she cant argue much. It was how it should be according to the family and the society at large. But yet it never felt right. And, at times, when I did give her a helping hand, it never felt as if I was doing a part of my job but it always felt like I was extending a helping hand. The childhood story is just another story to begin with. I certainly enjoyed a lot more freedom of male privilege while somewhere the feminine expectations of the society from her seem to have made her more home-bound. I could never understood, where went her free spirit and the adventurous energy? I guess, it turned into focus in study. For that, as she kept telling me during teen and now, is the only thing that will make her stand on her own feet. This line replaced the pretentious lectures on moral codes on respect for the elders and this time she didn’t sound pretentious at all. But yes, the grim on her face remained. And fortunate of her, because our parents wouldn’t bind us in pursuit of higher studies and, in this matter, gives equal weight-age to both boys and girls. Her pursuit for further studies did took her to places away from home. And when I went to meet her in Chandigarh where she was pursuing her further study, she was much more cheerful in general then the teen and high school girl that she were at home. But it didn’t stopped me from wondering, if at all she wasn’t good with studies, then would I have seen that cheerful person. And the exciting secret stories of trips to places where she went without informing home that we share won’t have been there at all. If not for her studies, she could have ended stucked at home with an embroidery machine. Me as a boy do not have to worry about being bound at home for we, as according to the societal norm, are to be led free. And I really liked it. More than the so called need-to-face-the-world to prepare oneself to be man, what I enjoyed was the freedom and more than preparing myself, I led myself to wander. And, for the lesson I was supposed to learn, it just was all in the experience and not in preparedness. Sometimes I wonder if, like the way I enjoyed gradually becoming more and more free as I grew, whether she liked it getting gradually more and more bound to home. I guess she wasn’t for she was much cheerful at chandigarh !!!! ……..

what i owe… to you..

Posted: January 18, 2011 in Uncategorized

Naive mind and desperate soul
Took you for a bitter ride.
Troubled with one’s own insecurity
I blew away your night.

A presumed dialogue
Or just a monologue.
I see it doesn’t matter
As the faults are not yours
But neither are they mine.
Its an involuntary choice as you say
Of the way that we are.
Born romantic,
Yet taboo-ed sensitivity.
Dared to dream
Yet daft in pursuit.
As the acquaintance are of the clandestine kind.

I thought i owe an apology
But yes, what wrong did i do.
Hyped oneself up a bit.
For another shoulder
I may not deserve.

But glad i am
For what it was.
bcoz it brought back the tinge of romanticism
To my depraved and deprived soul.
May be a lost call, an unpleasant memory.
But for the regained faith in romanticism
in this plane of desperate-indulgences
the faith shine like an oasis.
Perhaps for a few more grain of time.
For a little solace to a wandering heart.

I feared for a scar
For the delicate heart of our kind.
As the night went astray
and as believed to be my in-capacitance
I thought i owe an explanation
bcoz you read me wrong
But i see, so did I.

But all in all,
Now i see that it doesn’t matter
For as many word i speak
As vain it would become.

but, Apology for stupid conducts
And thanks for the lesson
On the vagueness in romanticism
Of the blindly-obsessive and the desperate kind.

:)’s

Hampi and the shades,
Colorful and bright, as the brilliance of white light enlightens the ruins of past remnants detailing out the curves and the inscriptions, the old narrative comes to life singing an ancient tune but somewhat of the familiar kind. Fading into the serene and picturesque gloom of the evening dusk as the dazzling brilliance of the sun fades away to reveal the soft orange shade of the setting sun falling upon the refreshing green expanse that runs along the serene mosaic of rocks, big and small, scattered in a pattern, as one sits in one of its multitude of high rocks watching the day graciously drifting into the night as the faces changes its direction from the rocks and adventures towards the cosy environment of subtle light as the memory of the day runs along the line of the songs that one’s mood sing in the company of colorful attires and beautiful minds; romantic lovely hearts and bold liberty; peaceful high and soothing beats of freedom, love and peace,…. of Them, … the Hippy kind…

And amidst this progression, I saw myself getting drenched in different shades of an old-dream in the present wonderland of now; some fantasy contrasting some reality; some memoirs, some feelings being shaded by some introspection as the frame changed from two dimension to a deeper third dimension as another axis called the conscience defines the figure in mind and help me comprehend it more to fit it right where it belong; mixed play of the impulse of the instincts and the bare logic of the thoughts; of something far yet so-present in heart and mind; as the trip made its way through the incidents and the accidents as I indulge, sorting out the blindness and understood black for black and white for white, red for red and green for green, blue for blue and grey for grey, yellow for yellow and colorful for colorful as the smile comes with a melancholic sigh heaving out the blur in the mind as it regains the truth in the revelation and the realisation of the kind that one believed one was, and happy to have found the presence, as the shades paves a path of peaceful understanding of a beautiful existence……..

The shades begin with kanu, my friend and companion for the trip. She is this pink shaded sweetness for the way she is, as a hopeless-romantic finding inspiration from academics for she has the brain of bright shades, and she prefers to live in the purple land of purple dreams. Someone I met through a friend about a year ago but the hopeless-romantic in me found the company damn nice and somehow we became fast friends. We hopeless romantics cant help it for we know that all we need is an audience and some appreciations, and who better than another hopeless-romantic of the similar kind who adds up to the romanticism. And we find the solidarity so easily. For a trip meant to wash away the gritty grime of Academics-on-rocks and back-on-track; guilt, fear and shame towards family warmly swept away by care and concern and a promise of faith from my ever wonderful family and a lovesick-confused-cat that finally understood the misery in vague romanticism of the blindly-obsessive and desperate kind, my hopeless-romantic travel companion always had the best comforting words to say and the best shoulder to lean on while her purplishly-hopeless-romantic-impulses never fails in keeping the freak-factor alive. Even though at most of times, we both were riding high on our own trippy clouds with the melodies of one’s respective ipods, i knew all I needed was to just pull out your ear-phones and i will always find a keen ear of a caring friend to listen to the melodrama of this hopeless romantic. And your free-flow-happy-streaks of freak-out-just-indulge-because-its-a-holiday-trip helped me make the most out of the trip as with those fun, I unwind the confused and worked-up mind. Never to forget, your knowledge on Indian-mythology and its cultural heritage as you throw lights into the significance of the sculptures and the discourses that followed as I try a little bit of semiotic analysis of the signs that you just interpreted and also, being the photographer of your travelogue .

Overwhelmed by the jets and streaks of colours that came flying as I cross to the other shore, an impulse to indulge in them shot up in heart and so I let myself go and try and blend into the colors. For a change from the dull and gloomy grey and blues that had been lurking around for the past few months, I decided to adorn myself with bright yellow. So confident with the change in the shade i stepped out into and amidst the colors. But while the yellow Kurta brings in the much required radiance to shed away the greys, the chequered pajamas that I had bought just as i reached the Hippy-land with so much of admiration only made me look like a clown. Although it gave me great comfort and warmth during the cold hour of the dark night before dawn, somewhere in the radiance of the day it just confuses my shade with very weird Humor. I took a few more conscious steps as slowly slowly the clown-ness seeps into mind. And just in time I found a store, a store filled with colors and shades and their I splurge into it in search for the color that will give me the perfect shade and I found the right kind: A black shaded fisherman’s pant. And as the solid shade of black brought in the comfort and the sensibility in the way I look, i realised chequered-kinds are a liitle not me. Comfortable at last, i walked out again and this time… I found my head a little high. I was nomore a clown lost in colors, i was in my right shades. As for the sun gleaming up from the above streaming away energy from my soul, I put on the newly bought black glares comfortably blocking away the heat and rendering the eyes a more subtle and pleasant view.

The shades of blues from the ipod helped me sway-through graciously amidst the crowd, blocking away the numerous mutterings of the fleeting tongues as the contours on the face began to speak. A little twitch here and there from unknown-preety faces slowly twitching up a smile in my cheeks as one after another their peace brushes away my inner conflicts. Somewhere the pop rang loud and I took steps corresponding to the easy and light beats of a leisurely juvenile shade. My hair felt free and the feet stomped in confidence as Rock made its way through the playlist. And in the evening dusk and the refreshing cool breeze on the way back from the soaring high of the rocks after the sun-set-view trek, i found solace in the lyrics of the unknown Icelandic-lyrics of Sigur Ros as music spoke to heart and as the mind cannot comprehend, the feelings did.

Following day brings out the shades hidden and inscribed ages ago as Kanu went on Deciphering the sculptures and the inscriptions. A story of a land where i stand now, but of edged past, a carving made centuries ago and significant of the weathering it withstood. Somewhere some pieces had dissolved with time but for the remnants that still stand strong, the beauty is still intact although a liitle bit of weathering edged away the sharp contours into subtle depression reminding the glory with fond reminiscence. And somewhere as i was lost in the past glory, somewhere a fear strucked me as i try and redeem the fate of the remnants and an assurance comes as i saw the effort being put to preserve of what had remained. Some modern equipments of this age had been used to mend the ancient, and rightfully it did, after all the significance of reminiscence lies in the present.

A long walk around and amidst the ruins and remnants had somehow tired me so i retired back into our hut. And as i lay on the bed gathering up energy and vibes for the wonderful night ahead, going through the clothes i have packed for the trip, i saw the part of me that i am. And it hit me strong as another reminiscence came striking into the mind of the hippy-dreams i had long chosen to dream. So here i am, amidst the city of colours, amidst a fantasy land and now a reality. A close encounter of the fantasy kind. And as fantasy was narrated through the reality of experience, it cleared away the doubts and in-experience-ness in the fantasy and as the reality reveals the truth i found my interpretation of love, peace and freedom. I realised, no matter how much freedom and liberty I proclaim, I found myself still bound and comforted by the improvised leisure of the current era. Also nothing ever remains the same. Time changes and so does the trends, its the essence that remains the same, The essence of love, peace and freedom. So, may be, I have aspire to settle and make a place in the existing current world but the Hippy-Dream will remain in my pursuit for true love, peace and freedom in any endeavour I take. So i took a walk towards the deserted river bank and the solemn rocks. The sounds of the flowing water soothed my soul as i indulge in the dark silhouette of the landscape that stand picturesque at day time. In this night scene, the radiance of the day seems to have lost its ground as the stars and the moons gleams with charm in the evening sky.

The Tipi Restaurant has a shade unique of its own. As the traveling musicians gather up in the evening in this wonderful and peaceful place, the serene-ness of the star dotted night seems to melodiously sway away into a fond celebration of the spirit of life. Verses after verses, the lyrics continues the tales of the beauty of life as the instruments plucks a chord here and there in the strings of the heart. Liberty they proclaim, beauty they glorify in their pursuit of truth and peace. And astonishingly, an unknown face with a familiar voice took me back to “into the wild”, as he sang “guaranteed”, “society”, “big hard sun”, “no ceiling” “long nights”, “far behind”, “rise” in progression and concluded with “guaranteed”. A lyrical note that I hold dear to one’s life, but somewhere had forgotten to take along for the trip. And as the lyrical notes made its appearance surprisingly out of the blue into the wandering mind, I realised nothing can be as beautifull so i gave him a smile as he courteously responded with another warm smile and so did everyone and somehow i realised the thread that runs amongst the soul gathered in that fatefull place and rejoiced the fleeting company with fondness as one felt at home, amidst familiar strangers.

After a quick breakfast and some lounging in the Tipi, trying to capture a little more of the reminiscence of the night that it was, we began our trip back to Hyderabad. I saw myself fleeting through the colorful street lined with colorful stores, though this time it was the sweet good-bye and not the excited hello of having just arrived. As i strolled away from the hippy-land, i knew i was leaving something behind, something that was a part of me, for a while or for long, but a significant part that had once engulfed me with emotions and thoughts, dear and bitter. But i knew it was a nice melancholic exchange of shades of mood. If at all i was leaving something behind, i knew i was also taking along memories of shades in the clothes i shopped from there. And this time i wasn’t confused in choosing the shade so i boldly chose green, grey and maroon.

All in all, Hampi was a trip full of colors but most importantly i found my shades. I realised i am more of a solid shade and mostly of darker shades like blue, grey, black and green. But, i also like, and can energetically run along the chequered lines with red, yellow, and orange. Or may be play a sweet game of dotting each others shade, sometimes me as the background and sometimes them as the background. Or may be contrast and compliment as i ground them well while the bright pulls up to the soaring high. But mostly i am a shade of solid color of blue, grey, black and green shades.

As the shades played its overwhelming game, somewhere a radiant peaceful white and glaring red seems missing. A word i heard, they may flutter by but wasn’t that convinced if i am ready to blend in it. Somewhere it lurked in the mind, but most of the time i let the randomness continues. As the day proceeds i knew i was also running away from it sticking to the random and not to effort. But inevitable it was, and as accidents are also characteristic of the randomness, amidst the crowded shades of the busy market, the shade of white came fleeting through with radiance and the shades of red filled up the face as hot bloods came rushing, and yes i was right, somehow the radiance shades of white still dazzles me though the red blushes storms the mind blank and so i held my head low. Similarly to how Frost puts it,

i stopped by the colors to explore the shades
to redeem to myself some old promises and gain a few
but there is miles before the promises are accomplished.

Somewhere, somehow i intend to learn, to blend with the dazzling-white-kind-of-soul and sport the blushing red with splendour.

and

Somehow, Somewhere everything dissolves into a silence, so has hampi and all its shades as i sit in my Hostel room. But some silence is always serene and brings out a little melancholic but an understanding smile in the faith of peace.

Defined by the word, joined by the context…. meaning of a sentence runs deep….
it crack hearts with a cold whip, or spreads warm smile around
but that sharp whip of note of lyrics
made the red turn crimson…

Naive, that one is,… still finds melodies in the hollow tunes of the jagged strings
as hollow it is, it vibrated more,
as sharp it is, as clear it becomes
as hollow it is, as transparent, honest and true it is ….

i agree the deal wasnt fair,
for i had been Naive, and Vain.
and i cant say a word of repentance
bcoz every mention of a moment rare
will always be reminded with a regret
for i didn’t give it all while i can
and… if gave, then what?… a repentance!!
and for what, to see “intimacy” turn into “deal”…

but then,
I Didn’t deal, i was only intimate
for those momentous intimacy,
deemed as a “failed deal”
if i could tell u, u had all my heart and mind around you

sometimes one is just speechless but it doesnt mean one is quiet…. just a lot rushing thru heart and brain …
sometimes just silence prevails but the faces tells a lot of tales of expression…. as it plays its silent play, somewhere in the corner of the lips remain a poetry untold while the emotions flutters by the eyelashes….
and no matter how many freedom i bore upon, or liberty i proclaim…. the poetry remain trapped and somehow i just cannot let the emotions flow……………………
somewhere in the accidental glance, there is an intention behind…….,
somewhere in the casual smiles, resides tremendous excitement and fondness……..,
sometimes i look away somewhere and i realise that the sight before was much more pleasing but i never look back again,…….

As for the hollow note of the jagged strings,
i only find melody in you…
and not always for a hope but a fond remembrance is always worth the trick…