Asking the winds

I’m lost, among these sounds,
Desires yet unfulfilled
Sights yet unseen…
The demons and the gods,
vie for my mind…

Drunk from the fountain of youth,
I’ve wandered often from my path.
Lost sight of my goal, faltered,
With the pains of growing up…

There is something in the air,
Which I don’t yet understand
Something which was before,
And will remain after me,
It helps me go, it leads me astray…

I wonder, is this my path?
I look around, in yellow fields.
Where am I going, is there a goal?
I wish the winds had an answer… 

फिर से उड़ चला…

What is this sense of strange longing,
A yearning to fly out
Into the dark sky,
To become an eagle…

A cord urging to break itself,
Yet too dear; will cause immense pain…

Must go through this ritual of pain
To free oneself from this strange cage,

Material, yet not discoverable…

Must break free, from these bonds,
These dear bonds,
As the albatross cries,

A shrieking call to freedom…

The body must be left behind,
for it is my cage…

Can’t be helped,
It’s a part of the bargain…

One death is better than thousand ones of living,
The white snows, and stars, so free they are…

I Write

I write.

I write of my dreams,
And of my nightmares,
Of my wildest fantasies,
Of grim realities my eyes see,

I write.

About my petty neighbours
About the kids I see everybody
Running naked, barefoot, with bloated belly
About smell of my damp books
About Fort’s secret, silent nooks

I write

About the Temptress’s wet hairs
And her warm bosom I shared,
With many of her lovers.
About the shy girl from school
Who’d often give me looks, from her books

I write

About my darkest days,
About my brightest days,
About the morning mist on the leaves
And the orange sun on the eves

I write

About my dreams of the mountains
And the green valleys and snow
About the place where I want to die
And the places where I’ve grown

I write

 For a voice inside me calls
And another one screams in pain
I write to answer the call
I write to subdue the pain

I write

To defy my Gods
And to please my demons
I write to expose the lies
I write to flee the truths
___________________________________

I don’t want to be an island
I want to be the sea-wind
Who’ll live everywhere, at once
In the hearts of those, who crave for the sea

Diary Jottings – Or is it just me…

Sitting in the small balcony of my room for the first time, watching the evening. It’s good. I can, maybe I should, sit and write my diary here. It’s small, but it feels very cozy here, the kind of coziness you feel in a place small enough only to accommodate you but quite comfortable for you. Maybe I should sit here more and more often.

Feeling very sad today…

Why is it that this place never cheers me up? Why is it that this place never cheers me up??? It only makes me sad, gloomy, melancholic. Every place here, whether outstandingly beautiful & exquisite or very ugly, makes me equally sad. Everything, everything…

Good climate, bad climate, studies or the lack of it, mess or canteen, movies or songs, sleep or nightouts, cigarettes or liquor, outings, gaming, everything seems just a façade, a gimmick to ward off the emptiness within.

It’s like this place is wrapped up in a fatalistic hedonism, in which everyone is running at a frenzied pace, seeking one pleasure after another (academic or otherwise), afraid to look behind, afraid of the impending realization that none of it is causing deep satisfaction(happiness/contentment) at all, and the gaping chasm of nothingness opening in front of everyone then. That keeps them running apace, one thing after another, into another abyss, that of homogeneity and oblivion, where nothing is different from the other, and everything is directed towards a goal which nobody can recall now, just a vague memory…

 

Or is it just me… (as others might think)