TA.

And you too
And you too
.
.
And you too,
What a pleasure.

A Surprise There.

A leaf enters a diary, when,
It has the sting
To last a life time.

YES.

A simple YES to the now, a YES to happening, that one/first YES is contagious. This one YES grows to burst into limitless possibility.

Dumb Fuck.

Truth never comes in opposites, never in marginalization or in fractions. There are changes that keep happening, it remains constant, there are changes hence that are forced or resisted by my desires and my expressions.

As time clicks I keep developing the tangible to interact with the changes that I experience and my desire to maintain a certain way of living. It is time that makes me observe a cyclic and efficient process that exposes my potential to create or be a parasite. Although time exposes through information about non-existence of death and destruction, and because they don't exist, it makes humans want it ever so more and keep thinking of it as a tool to integrate with the existence of universe itself, by comprehending and contemplating destruction.

I understand and am sure that death and destruction does not exist and hence that makes the theory of after-life and reincarnation in its entire permutations and combinations a dumb fuck's theory.

Work To Do.

In the woods I was stopped, there was a job to be completed, people to meet, to fall in love again which I know would come as a question, I had to talk, to cope with endings that are a reminder to me who is always alive, the woods of course would give me one more chance to let me measure love, to move love into light.

The Neurotic.

I had a dream last night, rather had a feeling last night. I was there and it was all I got. It was a school and there were people, ordinary people, talking about food they eat, should eat and how it is that fat comes about at places that doesn’t show in the mirror. There was a movie hall down the corridor. May be it represented an escape door, I don’t know, it was there. I saw a file. I saw me in that file. There it was, for a quick read.
It was a script, with limited role. The best part in the script was about ice creams, the happy part, the rest was about others.
I want to make movies. I want to buy then tickets to my movies. Sit there in dark, watching them and asking me, what do I think.

In The Still Of The Night.

A sky searched,
A circle chased,
A rain came in concealment,
An object called philosophy
Thus required a study.

Chip by chip stones flew,
A night died to become a day,
Execution was thus worshiped,
It could rid boredom to action some.

I dug the earth each hour
To change my shape
A heaven in force waited there
For me to dig, a servant here,
A master there, me.

Lazy bones once and
In me they creaked too,
I then began to
Love the nights and I
Let them burn in my face,
Never obedient. I slept the
Whole day,
Sin hence was some devil,
And I rolled in it too.

'Kill, kill the night,'
The child shouted in all its
Dreams,
'Once and for all take that jump,
So what if it's still the night,
Sing more,' I called out to it,
'For you are required by so many
More.'

Hunger then became the god,
Which the food could never
Put an end to,
A jump would, a thought could,
I took a position and claimed the
Great in the greatness in that
I were born, that
All were born.

The Wrong Guy.

You do everything that THEY want you to do...... and you still remain the wrong guy.

Freedom To Be.

She was what she was,
And there was anger
On her and on me too
In bondage to an action.

If I could see this,
Would I be free?
The anger was the object,
Keeping my freedom away.

The past had to be wiped out,
She would still remain she,
Hence to know
What nurtured the anger was
More important than
Doing away the past.

It had all come down
To estimates I had of me,
It was fear actually
That prevented the
Freedom to be.

Life nurtures appetite. 

Appetite gives strength to self. What is…remains a choice to observe and the problems if any keep remain if desires run dry. Love hence never remains unknown as the poet’s poetry suggest nor it remains a word as the philosophers sing, much less an experience as the seekers of freedom speak. 

Dew drops up the window, they
Live with the rainbows in here.

What should a woman be?
In love with a man,
And the man who knows
only about passion,
And never about love,
and who remains a child
to his mother, and the
woman who knows love remains
The mother to its child.

Desire travels to truth,
and only that,
Questions about life,
Don't exist,
And it's never about if
You know you do better.

I remembered and I
Now wanted to know why
I buried my memory,
What was it that I wanted,
Was it.....
To be a man without words.

It must have been
An escape
From something that was dead
already, or
Something devoid of love,
It must have been something
That I was afraid of.

The mind talked,
And it had to listen,
About past, and how
Can one be born again,
After life had drained out of me.

The thoughts now had to be
followed through,
They couldn't be fought,
They had ended a long time ago.

It felt as if I have
found my way home,
Although alone,
Sleep would come easy,
As would a walk,
If I decided to walk someday back
To what I escaped from.