I feel like drowning in the fragrance of your hair,
As the world seems so worthy, life seems so fair.
I feel like breathing the air through your skin,
Through the night of the moon and day of it's kin.
I will submerge my soul in all our flaws,
I will hunger for our fallen defense's cause,
I will relive those days, in the midst of December,
I will shed a tear, for I remember,
And I will inhale your presence in my own,
For I had loved and you are long gone.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Wooden Feet
Dear Blog,
There are good times and there are bad times. For you bad times may mean a server malfunction or may be a hacker intrusion. Ours are far more complicated and preposterous. We unlucky monkey descendants have a lot more to pile before we make head or tail out of a problem. This incapability of human behaviour is totally a non-issue with me. But many a times, even after careful insight into the problem and agreeing upon a solution, we have the immensely disheartening habit of recommitting the mistake.
My father, a gentle being, used to scold me for putting my feet on the sofa. He had his understanding of furniture mechanics which I need not, would not, dare not question. I abided and embraced the peace which had ghastly alternatives. But, every now and then when I visit my Aunt’s place, or even a movie theatre, I take delight in the fact that my father is not present there for any resistance. Freedom is utilized to the maximum, and my feet are blessed with cushion underneath. I can see a few jealous Reebok lovers, but hey! My cushions don't run. All this can be discarded as an irremovable habit or simply advocated against again and again and …..
I have my own advanced sense of extra pressure points on a static wood-frame, which is not credited duly to my alma mater. I realize the fate I bring upon that erstwhile green joyous tree that sheltered and swung with all ranks of nature. But what really subdues all that rationality is my willingness to take the detour. It is my urge to disobey my conscience and burn the guilt that drives me through such minuscule misdeeds. I am flawed and unwilling to change.
Although, coming to think about it we are all flawed. In our custom made criticized areas, we have our own rebellions set up for something we don’t owe to the world. Or do we? If Richard Bach is to be believed, which I personally do approve of, then “The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go”. So, we owe this to no one else but ourselves.
Maybe I will learn the beauty of a hard-earned sofa when I sweat for one. Or maybe I will never accuse my children for such a ignorable crime. But the thing that I truly find assurance in is that one day, when there will be people who look up to me, who seek pride in having ever known me, who relish my presence and resent my riddance, I will not be a person who sat on a couch with his limbs near his hips. And if I am to ever be such a person, I might as well begin now.
As for you dearest blog, Google and myself are your only exploiters. Comments are priced high, so you can’t expect much of them either. I wish you a safe server.
Forever someone’s,
arcane
There are good times and there are bad times. For you bad times may mean a server malfunction or may be a hacker intrusion. Ours are far more complicated and preposterous. We unlucky monkey descendants have a lot more to pile before we make head or tail out of a problem. This incapability of human behaviour is totally a non-issue with me. But many a times, even after careful insight into the problem and agreeing upon a solution, we have the immensely disheartening habit of recommitting the mistake.
My father, a gentle being, used to scold me for putting my feet on the sofa. He had his understanding of furniture mechanics which I need not, would not, dare not question. I abided and embraced the peace which had ghastly alternatives. But, every now and then when I visit my Aunt’s place, or even a movie theatre, I take delight in the fact that my father is not present there for any resistance. Freedom is utilized to the maximum, and my feet are blessed with cushion underneath. I can see a few jealous Reebok lovers, but hey! My cushions don't run. All this can be discarded as an irremovable habit or simply advocated against again and again and …..
I have my own advanced sense of extra pressure points on a static wood-frame, which is not credited duly to my alma mater. I realize the fate I bring upon that erstwhile green joyous tree that sheltered and swung with all ranks of nature. But what really subdues all that rationality is my willingness to take the detour. It is my urge to disobey my conscience and burn the guilt that drives me through such minuscule misdeeds. I am flawed and unwilling to change.
Although, coming to think about it we are all flawed. In our custom made criticized areas, we have our own rebellions set up for something we don’t owe to the world. Or do we? If Richard Bach is to be believed, which I personally do approve of, then “The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go”. So, we owe this to no one else but ourselves.
Maybe I will learn the beauty of a hard-earned sofa when I sweat for one. Or maybe I will never accuse my children for such a ignorable crime. But the thing that I truly find assurance in is that one day, when there will be people who look up to me, who seek pride in having ever known me, who relish my presence and resent my riddance, I will not be a person who sat on a couch with his limbs near his hips. And if I am to ever be such a person, I might as well begin now.
As for you dearest blog, Google and myself are your only exploiters. Comments are priced high, so you can’t expect much of them either. I wish you a safe server.
Forever someone’s,
arcane
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