This life is but a state of war son… A war inside you. Loosen not the hold – keep a firm hold on the rope of guiltless freedom. Bear off the venom that churns within you for the righteous light…for the prayer of a righteous man availeth much. Remember son, the greatest Lord has set you free to choose 'tween the true and false and doubtlessly He is capable of impossibilities. The fuel for the Blazes is um men and stones. You are equipped with a plus – a plus fearsome for the darkness that is forgiveness. Son, this Earth and the heavens are made for you. And if you break, read and recite The Book that shall light your darkest ways of the darkest cities and shall bring you back from the lowest of the lows. Stay blessed son, wherever you remain.

“Stand up. Stand up. Make the difference. This world needs you. Your people need you. They expect SOMETHING from you. Stand up. You’re not supposed to give up. Stand up.” Advices and bitter glares… Blah!

It hit me like a rub-a-dub of any remixed mystic sonata, like some epic myth that has been resurfaced in my head, like a movie that you love the most – and sadly it contains those two little words in the end – the end.

The daze I am facing has been infinitely long and unusually epic that – I should have foreseen. Water not the wrong plant, I hear. But it’s not just enough to abjectly wipe off the teardrops away, far away! Because. They come back –– like the cuckoo’s call echoes in the vales –– again and again, over and over. So, I burn the left-over pieces and fly the ashes in the airs and burry the rest in the backyard and water the grave and adorn the plant inside and see it, hate it, regret it. I try. I try, I pant, I cry, I grasp the pages and screech and tear. I imagine myself running backwards, there – where I’d once started from. Hopeless on the green signal, I know that the heartache will not cease, it will not.



Beacon, we must reach out to, climb up and on and run through the hollow and the craggy dazes, against despairing storms –– pushing backwards, making us –– the buffeted –– lose the race completely –– is the negativity that we must curb.

To whispers and echoes – I must pay heed not.

Putting an end to it… The End.

You are pathetic in my definition, when…


When you suck at everything you try to do, but you’re still showered with ample praises.

When you are envious of other people's work, and want to just suck their creativity out of their veins and kill them.

When you wake up really late, that too with the help of alarm and that particular alarm tone echoes in your brain for infinitely long time, say like all the day.

When you are too lazy to even get a haircut, so you start looking like Einstein, then you realize that barber will really hate you and maybe will say no to you that scares you more. And you just don’t get a haircut in five months unless you start scaring people.

…And when people ask you about you hair being so ridiculously ugly, you use the most unique excuse that is, ‘I want to look unique.’

When your dislike-list is subdivided in, favorite dislikes, less-favorite dislikes and not-so-favorite dislikes and plain-simple dislikes.

You use elevators every time and ‘stairs’ is your favorite dislike.

When there is no nature/beauty left in the moon, and you just want to pelt it with stones and shatter it.

When at times unintentionally you say stuff that can be a really good quotation and you feel like Shakespeare.

When even charging your phone’s battery is in your favorite dislikes. And your phone doesn't breathe for weeks and weeks.

You activate strange SMS packages in your cell phone, and send three to five messages daily.

…Phone eats your balance everyday for ‘those’ packages you activated and you really don’t care.

You do hear your parents’ lectures and taunts about your room being a mess, your hair being so ugly and other things usually yet do not listen to them.

When you and some other people wish for death together in different places for different reasons, but after sometime you find them happy while you are numb. So, you feel great. *sarcastically*

You start liking very very strange things, to which no one even pays heed.

Whenever you hear/see birds chirping, you want to shoot them or puke on them.

At times you feel like aliens and bohemians.

When walking alone streets - is not scary, but it’s not fun too.

You don’t do chores, and those who are already doing them in your place disgust you very badly.

You memorize every single episode of Disney shows and they don’t entertain you any more.

You feel pathetic at times, and start being happy for some time, and then you feel like failure and angry on being both at the same time.

You start to forget the difference between the words ‘there’ and ‘their’.

You pay high prices for 'those' favorite books. And decorate them in book shelf and don’t read them.

You prefer rappers like Weezy and Eminem over classics.

When your virtual friends are your best friends.

When all you think in bathroom is to take bath or not to take bath for like 30 minutes.

When you intentionally go on rooftop of your house to count stars like in those ancient romantic stories, but your eyes hurt and being bad at counting makes you give up.

When going out repels, meeting friends repels, phone repels, reading books repels, facebooking repels, twittering repels, blogging repels, and the only attractive thing you find is to watch TV, and that too repels after sometime.

When insomnia makes you wear scary disguise and go out to scare people miles away from your town.

When after feeling a little dizzy, you think you’ve become spider man, and then you try climbing on buildings, and then falling brings you back to reality.

…But you still feel out of the world.

When your interest box on facebook says, ‘Going out, coming in, dancing on the bed, sleeping on the floor, making friends, forgetting them, thinking too much and thinking again and then giving up’. Or something like that.

When you stick your tongue out malevolently to people from car’s window and think, it teases them, but it doesn’t, but you think it does.

When you leave a post incomplete and without the epilogue like this one.

And again he starts walking on the hazy lands through hilly and hollow paths towards the beacon that appears so far – so obscure in the denseness of fog, and the mere feel of cold-white-smoky-tuft on the scars taken from past is numbing the traveler, breaking away of the tensity is difficult. But he keeps on walking, and this time he falls down and doesn’t get up for a while. Clumsy his – abilities might be, but he eyes there at the top of the mountain – there! The beacon calls. He leads again, grunts in pain and starts figuring out the path. The path is so blue and cold, with no lightening bugs in it, he can’t even figure out where the end is and where the start. Hindrance of time and toils – alone are good enough to make him fall down – give up. And now he bleeds, old scars taken from the dark pages of the ruthless past open their eyes to the cold fog, the blood seems to freeze and it pains infinite and he wishes to fall. He sways and swoons, falls on the misty dust, tries to crawl and slightly moans but is injured badly in the isolated journey, no one to save him, no one to cure the ailments. The beacon calls, but his eyes are shut, and he sees, the promises he made, the full moons of those nights spent with his better half he loved the most, the memories he saved, the giggles once he heard, the chirps and laughter are now a flickering flame that is fogged and tattered in the fog now.

I learnt today that,

There can be no good reason to fall down. You have to, sometimes, to start it all again perfectly. But falling down isn’t necessary, you can start it all again at any stage/turn/signal.

Increase in your hate-list doesn’t bother anyone, what bothers is being in ignore list.

There are some things in life, that can’t be changed –– undone. Sometimes, you don’t get the second chances.

Being alone/numbed is like a mask, that we put on for sometime and then put it off, then put it on again and so on.

Worrying about future is like ruining the present.

Mistakes are supposed to be made, trying is important; not trying at all is like, wrapping a gift and not giving it.

There are some things, that can’t be foreseen, or sometimes we don’t want to.

Making no friends or forgetting old friends is at times good hobby.

Seeking attention should not be my thing.

Stick to what you want to do, they’ll not be there to see the consequences.

Losing important documents is not a cool thing.

Rain and mornings sometimes are good.

Crushing is a lot easier and magical than falling in love.

Worrying about your abilities can take you at the top of the ladder.

Being isolated and alone is better than being surrounded by people if you want to be something in your life.

Secrets should not exist except for few.

Praying to God is like lightening the load, I should do it.

I should not ruin my poems, no matter how awful they are.

I am not born to be a loser.

It’s better being nice than rude.

Crushing crunchy leaves is the most attractive thing I’ve ever experienced.

"You are an epic failure, who couldn’t even get his things fixed uptil this day? Day of harvesting!" I hear her saying with a bitter glare and I nod.

So silently, that I start hearing the inner me. A sore tear trickles on the fluffy carpet. And visions yet again come before the closed eyes as ever.

I, whose edges of sanity are always tinged with illusions and confusions. From whence – my delusion deposited in me the harshness and the bitterness – how can I get it fixed?

Beckoning are these major stunning lights of fascinating sinful, beautiful city and yet I resist – I strain – to free her grip from my wrist – wiggle and squirm, wrestle and twist…

And still she pulls me in the crowd – and introduces me with her friends – wearing the solid masks - despair. I even hate the first sight of life. I am not born for this – not for that – not for her – not for you but for this which starts from S and ends with E – the solitude.

Relentlessly pulling – my hand towards the people, she has the epic love for me, that can make my death so peaceful and heavenly, but I am silly or genius. And I try to flee, I can’t break away – the tension – Igniting as – now I want to stay and now as – I break through to sanities side – my eyes leak obtusely – as I realize, the place I’ve come back to… Is chock full of lies…

But I don’t want to stay, leave me, I love thee and I hate it. I am overwhelmed with anger on being piteous and yet feel piteous on being raging and then this monster – hatred comes – as I sprinkle it on both feelings, and I still have this monster – I’m opening the cage… But don’t go! I want you to hate you; I love you to hate you. I am the darkness lost in night, find me.

Life is too lazy yet a race, I hear every one’s concepts about it. Some call it a quest for purpose; some call it competition and those who have no purpose call it mere breathing, hence it all makes it versatile. For some the best life is the one which is executed everywhere. I shall wander off to everywhere, until I find you.

I wonder at times…What if…

If music listened and ears played
If our brains were the problem that mathematics worked out
If trees chopped and we fell
If we were the tear that the scissors had left
If books read themselves, diaries wouldn’t be private
If songs sung themselves, pop-stars wouldn’t be famous
If money spent itself, society wouldn’t argue
And if Death killed himself, we would be immortal.

If we? Are we? Should we be?
If Death killed itself, we would be immortal.
Therefore the answer forever stands as no;
We will not. We are not. We should not.


No one should change for some one else
For it is against our nature.
Just as a bear would never make honey
And the bees would never steal it.

Forever yourself
United in you
We are alone
Yet one whole too…

Ever had the mini heart attack on realizing that you’ve lost something? And ever felt the perfect comfort on realizing that you are fully prepared for the upcoming circumstances?
Ever felt the satisfaction when you know you’ll do great in exam because you’ve prepared every thing about it? Ever thought how a bird feels when it escapes from the cage and fly in the skies after a very long time and then join the flocks? Ever felt the automatic smile-feeling when your mother smiles at you for something stupid you’ve done?

I feel the strangest feeling today; I want to jump with joy and dance and want to play my favorite songs the loudest. Yes! The after-final-exams-feeling, I hope that’s not farfetched but the feeling that was felt by people of my country when the beloved country came into being! The freedom! The list I made about a week ago before exams – the things-I’ll-do-after-exams list, I see it, it’s on yellow paper with the green ink and I’m going to do all the “fungenda” now. Drawing my favorite cartoons, decorating my sister’s room, read all the magazines that I saved for after-exam time, the summer movies, the sleep competition with my pals, the hang outs with chums, and Disney! I feel every good feeling. The feeling I felt when N.A. called me the regular contributor of their page. That feeling! I can tell now, how Saad Javed feels on seeing the wild geese flying with the moon on their wings and when he sees the kites dancing on the end of the strings and when he sees the curtains swaying in S shape, and shiny vegetables. I know how I feel on seeing a green ringed-parakeet frowning at every one but we still caress it and try to comfort it, the little cat you luckily and suddenly find in fog, a teenager girl dancing in the rain, and the stars shaping her name and the feeling when little kid try to talk with his not-so-perfect-but-wicked-cute voice, the silent day in neighborhood, soothing sound of trickling water, the summer’s cool night, the feet perfectly fitted in cool dirt, the sleep under the open and starry sky.

I feel everything! I feel like that white smoke flying away from the chimney celebrating its freedom. The feeling I feel when I read Emily Dickinson’s poems, I feel so cold that no fire can harm me. It’s my independence day, today was my last paper, and I did awesome! And come to mummy :P THE SUMMER VACATIONS!!!!

Horizon is about to swallow the sun. It is spilling the beautiful orange shades upon the clouds alongside the sun. And moon with its glow – is to take control in the sky and the falling water is shimmering and reflecting the pale and full moon and the flashing stars on the pearly shawl of the earth. This day has faded and night has grown after twilight like every day. And with this night - this feeling is growing inside me, it happens often, maybe depression. It is slowly starting to bite, a kind of restlessness, I don’t know what? Some flashbacks, some voices, are haunting my mind, wait a minute! What are those eyes doing here? I know them, those eyes full of love, even bluer than the skies above of one fine evening. Looking at me at dagger point, what eyes? pointed like sword in a seductive way. But I thought no more is that those eyes’ gaze was seductive for me. Things – apparently, have changed! I thought I’d moved on, but it seems that I was and still not completely over, still stuck somewhere in her memories, I have got to take control of my life. Where are my giggles? The glimpses of my hurting past are still within my every vision.

So I sliced myself into two, to escape from all the painful frigid gloom, and gave a piece to this cruel and ruthful moments and other to my happiness - ‘so called’ and imaginary. I have never been happy with life and if I have been, it was for sometime. They say rise and fall is the part of life but I say if the fall is often and more than the rise then it becomes a crutchy life, a life in fog and in uncertainty all the time. You often happen to think you are alone even amid the bustles. If you make blunders you care less about them because nobody taught you how to care, nobody cared about you before. The bright side takes a lot of happiness but the happiness looks a mere grain of sand when compared to the ample deserted beach of the gloomy side. I never wanted to die and still I don’t want to but I am not keen of living either. Life is not ample but the events are. I just want to feel the real love by them, the real happiness, the real sun’s happy beams and I want to live in the real smiles, in the real beauties of life and nature and with the feeling of there-is-no-burden and I’m-free-from-cares. So, I shall apply law of equi-marginal utility but it has drawbacks like every hope I have ever hoped. Utility cannot be measured but life can be. Similarly, nature – my love cannot be measured but my life can be.

I just want to say, life is not enough, so gain most using least. Life is once and very beautiful, live every part of it, the gloom the light. Every style of it, the poor, the rich. Every taste of it, the conservative, the moderate. You have no time; just complete all your answers before the examiner comes and asks to return the answer sheet. As Emily Dickinson would put in:
I had no time to hate-
Because
The grave would hinder me-
And life was not so ample
So I could finish - enmity-

Nor had I time to love –
But since
Some industry must be –
The little Toil of love –
I thought
Be large enough for me-

It was like 2 weeks ago, when I saw that moon was full and pale... I wrote rhymes on yellow note paper (yellow sticky note papers/reminders) ofcourse about the moon. I usually write on yellow sticky note paper, I call it my second love/spouse. First is fog, right! There is something poetic in it... Although, The rhymes I write on yellow notepaper are comparably rougher and simpler than those I write on white papers or on computer. But I like these rough and simple rhymes more.. Here is what I wrote in pale moonlit night.

Sometimes I feel the fog around me is getting thicker, and the visions are becoming a little more unclear. And sometimes I think my words don't make sense - of course words in randomization are not much worth praising, but they have an advantage too - that is, they don't unveil/reveal much of your thoughts - specially when you are writing diary or a very personal page.

The scary feeling often hovers around and why? Maybe responsibilities? Well, in my case I'd say, no! I'm just 18 and I think I am still free - like a bird that is about to be caged. And what I like about fog is similar to me - fog is free as Carl Sandburg puts in,