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Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Void

Trapped in the deep ravine of self,
Lies a mortal man,
Crumbling inside the mirror of deeds,
Lay with fear, hand in hand.


A mirror to lie to,
Yet his grave conscience to face,
The mortal has lived for ages unheard,
With a pen, a broken heart and a crippled grace.


Oh no, not a poet ever,
Still the ballads of confusion prevail,
Demeaning the mere existence of truth,
Hanging by a broken rail.


Oh no, not an artist ever,
Embossed in the paint of the fiery canvas,
A canvas of lies and grim reality encore,
Spends a day with friends, and night with the dream whore.


Hush the valley, oh he is falling in,
The immortal man, who is dying within.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Blah blah...Oh Blah!

A new day. And the last of the lot. I regain a confidence and take a look at the clock. Damn. Its 12pm again. I promised myself to stick to a routine! Why the hell do I submit to this chilly weather around me? Isnt there a way to elbow it out and make a free space for my damaged confidence? I mean, I wish to get up at 7, get ready, and get the complete day to myself. Half the day is already gone and its Tuesday; Saturday I would back in Dehradun for my last innings of 3 arduously boring months. I need to enforce self discipline. 10 mins, and I need to go out for some work, on which I have tried a lot to convince the other party of numerous reasons that I cant make it. Turns out that I am not good at plating excuses on someones face.

The geyser is bubbling and so is my mind. Why can I not stick to a routine? I am such a shameless creep who cant keep his own promises, leave alone expecting others to be fulfilled! (Oh I made myself sound an unreliable freak, I am not that bad....or am I?). Anyway, I really need to consider revamping the routine. I have more important .....


Here goes my toast. Its on fire. Bye. 

Monday, January 2, 2012

Perfect

A while ago, the clock struck 12. The tik tok of the hand brazing aside the mark could be well heard by me. I lay in my comfy bed, thinking aloud; thinking about the word: Perfect.

There is a strong sense of positiveness lingering around this seven lettered word. A plethora of images wobble around ones mind when you hear Perfect. A perfect man. A perfect body. A perfect weather. A perfect shape. A perfect smile. A perfect gesture. A perfect score. And many more.

However, why is it not possible to define A Perfect Tear? A perfect hurt? Maybe, a perfect agony? Why is the word perfect not able to define a lost love, something like, A Perfect Betrayal? No it does not. Because conventionlism overshadows innovation. The convention lies in the fact that perfect is akin absolute. The best, or perhaps the greatest. maybe that is why, there cannot be a "best" tear, the "absolute" agony, or the "greatest" lost love! Perfection bears synonimity with idealism. However, even a fraction of truth does not prevail here.

If asked to me, I would define Perfect by another word: Illusion. It isnt the positiveness, but anything, that claims to be perfect. Yes, it is illusion. Someone would surely counter me by saying, "What nonsense, I know of someone, who scored a "Perfect" hundred in their exam! Isnt  that perfect?" I would humbly submit a no to them. Did he score a "perfect" hundred in all his subjects? If yes, did he score a "Perfect" hundred in all his subjects and the same in all his terms? If yes, did he do the same throughout his Senior Secondary school? If yes, then please tell me did he do it in every single exam he faced since he entered his school, till he completed his post graduation? I wonder.

Calling anything, anyone perfect is disgrace to humanity. If they are perfect, they don't qualify as a homo sapien. If they do, then you don't qualify as a homo sapien! Nothing in this world is perfect. The day, an emotion, a success, a word, a belief, a practice achieves perfection, we can be sure about the dissolution of mere existence of everything. Everything before that would crave for being perfect. Everything would claim to be "more perfect". The basic human nature would not let us rest at homes, thinking of something that is achievable but not yet achieved. The world, then would surely crumble under its own weight.

Ok, why am I writing this? The truth is that I have been seeking it i.e Perfection. I desire it badly. Perfection in attire, impeccable success, an ocean of knowledge, and love beyond the greatest lovers; Everything incites me   to achieve the best. I crave to see the best light, the best form, and this quest for the best leads to me moments like this. I am trapped in my own web, struggling to weave through a way that helps me untangle myself from this absurdity. A very common proverb goes as, "You feed the tiger some blood, you would be its meal one day." Maybe not falling "perfectly" in place, this proverb, however entails the common behaviour of the common man. You let him taste success, and he can kill for more. He can cheat for more, he can lie to the loved ones, he can hurt the closest. I don't look at myself as a person to the likes of above genres. I have tasted success, a bit of it. I have been at the top of the totem pole of a unimaginable success. However, you cant stand at the top for long. The high is always temporary. Alcohol or success are the same. You cant enjoy swinging at the top for long. So, I came down generously to my personality, and began looking for another high. However this time, I do not want anything except myself to improve. To achieve what I want to become. 

I want to get to the top of my satisfaction once again. I wish to look in the mirror and call myself perfect, even though I know that for anyone who desires this, their world would come crumbling down under the weight of their own desires.

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