Tear the love out.

Breathe in.
It is not your fault
you fell in love.
Stupid.
Are you still fallen, child?
(Smirk)

The innocence of not knowing.
The innocence in thinking
that love is special.
That love is for only that 'one'.

Get into love,
and get out of it
when you please.
Don't fall into it.
And don't drown.
Don't get saved either
or abandoned.
Don't think you need a buoy.
Swim. Save yourself.

You told yourself
that you love.
But you really made yourself.
So stop telling yourself
you fell into it.
Oh, get out of it already.
Tear the love out.
Live.
Breathe out.

blog

I don't know if anyone reads this at all. Not that it matters but I would much rather if no one did. Why don't I just have a diary then? I don't know. Like most other things, I don't know.

Right now, for that matter, I don't know why I'm sad (or "depressed", as I'd like to believe) but I am. I don't know what makes me go on. I just know that it does. But then, there are those who make you want to live, make you want to realise that you have friends (even if they are few). People who wouldn't be lost without you but will miss you nonetheless. Because you were a part of them, a part of their life. Friends who would like to spend your Sundays with them. Or an hour that they have free from work. 

I don't know why I think of this at all... why I think writing all this (like a personal diary entry) in a blog would make any sense at all...

but when inebriation kicks in,

it doesn't matter. All I want to do, and feel like doing, is write. Write on this blog that still is. It stays, without me bothering about it. It still stays where it is, as I left it. If only I was like this... not caring about what happens outside of me. Staying put like nothing ever happened or will happen. 

Have you ever felt...

Have you ever felt
like life is running away from you?
Like it doesn't want you to be a part of it anymore...
like you have been abandoned.

Have you ever felt
like you were in love?
Falling helplessly and trying
to catch on
to something that will
keep your sanity...
Something that will make you feel
like you have lived...
make you feel lively
enough to make you die
for that one.

Have you ever felt
like life was being unfaithful?
Like you wanted
to reach out and take
a second chance...
except it never let you.

Life...
you bitch.

Have you ever felt
the lightness of the touch
when you say goodbye
after that hug
that you never wanted to let go of?
Have you ever wanted
that hand to be on yours, forever?
Hoping no one
or nothing
will ever come in between


you and the one
who has gone away from you
maybe not forever
maybe forever too...

How would you know
if you have loved
and loved again
and lost it
to your life that
behaves like an erratic girlfriend
who'll leave you
to die
on your own?

Failed Mission.

It's 2012. May. 27th. Post 1 am.
Almost 6 months since my last blog-post.
And it's scary.
Not because I didn't write for so long.
But because I read it after so long too.
It's scary
because I don't seem like the one who wrote it.
So much has changed.
So much has not.
I'm still lazy enough to not update my blog
if not anything else.


I still keep thinking about so many things
and I'm still bad at putting them into words.
Still bad at putting a point across
not to anybody else
but (at least) the sheet that has to bear it.
I need to start learning
how to do that.


But I'm still good
at a few things.
Still good at procrastinating.
Right now, for instance,
I'm only rambling
because this is not what I set out to do.
This is what I happened to come across
and do, before I start the work
that I was supposed to do.
I'm still good
in general. Not a bad person.
I'm still good at thinking
about colours. ;)


But this is not what
I'm supposed to be doing.
So I'll go do what I am.
And write something else later.
When I am more coherent.

The show.

One puppet. Two puppeteers.
(They don't know each other. 
They don't understand each other.
They want to co-ordinate but can't.)
Each hand attached to one puppeteer.
The strings hang unequally, 
the hands are awkwardly placed.
The movements are unnatural.


One hand slaps the cheek,
the other scratches the head.
The legs hang and hence move
randomly in the air, making the
puppet look like it's in a fit.
Maybe it is.
A state where it gets taken over
by powers that are beyond its comprehension.
Led by no emotion, its movements
are measured by guilt-free fun
of the puppeteers.


One puppeteer thinks the puppet has a mind of its own, because it moves not to his liking.
The other, only a little clueless, thinks he owns the puppet because he moves it.
The puppet cannot think. Can only dance.
Can dance like a clown that entertains.
Can dance like a mad man who only dances to forget his woes.
The puppeteers make his dance.
Because they can. Because they hold the reins.
Because they like to make the puppet move,
to make it look like a real man.


But the puppet can never be real.
The puppet can only act like it's alive.
It can act like it can emote
because its body emotes.

not Black and yet so.

When I think of what has passed,

I see a white light.

Not the type that takes you to enlightenment.

Not the kind that regresses you to a utopian Innocence.

The whiteness of the light is from mixing.

Mixing of all colours that will ever be,

that presently exist

or have existed in my life.

White has never had an existence of its own.

It has no self.

White and Black are colours that are produced from the mix of all colours- I was told.

But I don’t see blackness.

I see White.

Maybe it’s an explosion.

An implosion perhaps?

A collision of emotions

that I have experienced,

am experiencing

or probably will experience.

(The future could be in my unconscious).

The colours could be my universe.

That universe which has now

Folded in.

My experiences have torn me apart.

From the inside, I have collapsed.

All the colours have grown blurry,

have merged into themselves.

There is no Self anymore.

There is only White.

White- uncorrupted and yet blotched.

Bleached with colours,

I have none.

Lost...

Lost in this wilderness

I keep thinking if it was a mistake

to let this tamed animal roam free;

Freedom is a matter of choice 

but finding it is difficult.

The journey that takes you to it

is nothing

but a winding road

back to where you began;

Innocence is what freedom should be

not the tangled vines

that hold you in them

and still, comfort you...