Words as empty as wind are better left unsaid (Homer, Odyssey)

m'kay

...no topic really.. same old

Jostling past the crowds
of those who comprehend nothing
and those who comprehend Nothing
Thinking, seeking, finding, losing again
When all that love offered
vanished out of sight
And all that humanity offered
smothered my soul

~It is as if you know some part of you will always be lost-
No amount of reading, talking, exploring
can reclaim it for you

(Sometimes it seems that the world is too slow for my thought process. So my 100 thinking seconds are actually only 1 real second in the world. I'm saying this not out of vanity. But because I've always found a lot of time for thinking in between everything. Really.)

poetic yet again

Reminiscent of your dulcet voice,
Sweet inflection when you bid farewell for the night
While I - rummaging for the moon
Break the cosmos asunder -
To rule your heart, my vanity surrendered
You, with just a faint intonation of voice
Humble my entire enterprise.

(In this one I sound like the guy. So I would prefer the following modification :))

Reminiscent of your dulcet voice,
Sweet inflection when you bid farewell for the night
While I - venturing to acquire a mare's gait
And entice with Aphrodite's guise,
To rule your heart - relentlessly weave countless guiles
You, with just a faint intonation of voice
Humble my entire enterprise.

strange reflections

~ When I look at the way I take decisions in life - when I look at it as an outsider I at times do admire myself for being so courageous. It takes courage to tear off all pages that one has written and rewrite them only to tear off again. As if this life is a script. So many times I'm trapped in the thought boxes I create or adopt. At others I see myself fighting to get out of these pages.

~ It sure is scary to be lonely. As if whatever impressions one forms of people, places and events around himself/herself have to be corroborated by at least one more person. Otherwise retrospection puts their authenticity to doubt. Raised eyebrows, spurn glances can incite a tumult within.

Poetic Self (GRE Blues continued)

when with passion my goodness belied
i turned to thee with teary eyes
thou flinched as if with thy own wiles
were not thine but of a stranger apart miles?

GRE Blues

There is one thing I detest
The needless quest
I fight against infestation:
The pestilent body and mind
Corrupting the soul
Shut in a mould

As I moult
And evolve
Grow out
Grow in
Decay wither atrophy
Apostate I may become
But never a defeat
Shall inflict infirmity
On the soul

Decrepit body portending imminent end
Diligent soul looking askance
At the Gods, yes, heaven’s askew
Empyrean beside me
Firmament in view


//**\\

It is a heinous sin
To have done what we did
We will sure be indicted
And from our places evicted
In way of divine retribution
Which was overdue anyway

In jocund spirit
In jovial moods
We bantered while we sauntered
We will now be incarcerated
In the vaults of the purgatory
Writhing under agony, angst
Living in fear, trepidation of the fiend
Burning suffering convulsing languishing
Crying sniveling bawling
Cringing groveling
Dying

//**\\

On love.. (and other stupid concoctions brewed in a girl's mind)

An idea which lives. Lives to give you hope. A thought which gives a push to next day. Something out of reach of hand, but within the grasp of the mind. Which is there just for you. May not mean nothing to the object of thought, but is that the point? Is it not enough to know that you are still capable of thinking, imagining, loving? That though this may not be the right time, but you are still composed of flesh and blood, exposed to follies of human nature like so many others around you. In fact you are able to feel and sense what does not pass between two people, or sense that what passes is opposite of what is supposed to, by your idea. Stepping outside seems I am losing 'what could have been' because of ego. But inside I know that the time has not come. Why? I would not know. If only someone knew both the ends. But the other is as closed as this is open. No one would ever know both the ends. Time will pass and all will think that there was no romance after all. But romance there was, even if one sided. There was a love story how so ever subtle.Even though we might end up miles away with different people and may never see each other ever again. Romance there was. Even though one-sided and short-lived. There was care, there was love even.
**
What do you love? What can we love? An Idea. An Idea that matters even if it makes just two seconds of your life meaningful. When it gives hope though the later may not last for a long time. An idea which is based on a person but exists without him. The idea that sustains itself not on what is said but on what is said not. An idea which does not die because it just cannot. When you think you are out of it, there you go.. right plunging into it. An idea that can never die when you want it to because you never in the first place gave it life. An idea which is not just within you.. you can feel it about you. Is the person just an object of this idea? I don't know. I would want to know. But how can I know? The idea and the person seem so distinct at times. It is only in retrospect or in absence that the two become one.