She always liked her ice cream with a cup of sugarless over steeped tea. Savoring the the cold ice cream melting on her tongue and the bitter tea benumbing it after a sip was pure ecstasy for her. She sat relishing the bittersweet aftertaste it gave her. And of course she thought, at that moment life was perfect.
Answers
Why? My whole life I have searched for answers and most often I have asked Why . Struggles are a path to personal growth which will lead ultimately to self appeasement. This is the gist of the sermons I have been given when I asked ‘Why’. And to me , this answer is not even remotely connected to the question I raised. So that is life, you ask a question to which life will throw back at you aphorisms and you spent your time and effort deciphering that conundrum and in the end you wonder how very less painful it would be to live the life a non entity, artless and unsophisticated and obliging. Questions and endless questions in the cosmic sojourn, is an open wound, that will bleed forever.
And searching for answers has been my burden all the way along. My struggle, the intangible wound.
Reading to live!
Why do we read?, is a question that has always intrigued me. It can sometimes be to escape the monotony of life, to feel emotions and face situations that in our real life will never be a reality, to be the valiant hero depicted in black and white. To be born and to die every day. Or simply for the pleasure of reading. To be enlightened, to be refuted, to be assertive, to be informed to just to be consoled. Reasons are many and as in my case , it is because I identify with the emotions portrayed in the book, at some point or at times more than once. And I am engulfed with a hazy deja vu that I have seen it, I have heard it, I have smelled it and even I have touched it. A kind of organoleptic gratification. In a way I am searching for my self in every protagonist. There is always that element of Me or ‘Ahem’. Does that make me a narcissist, self obsessed and delusional. I hope not. But in subtle way I recognize that my life is a story and when I think of it that way suddenly my grieves are less personal, my feats are more glorified, my failures are the small glitches on my way to a greater success. Reading will always be my anchor and my mast that will help me wade through the every day challenges of life.
Love
So yes, love is indeed the need of the hour. Love hits us like a cannonball. It gains momentum with time and finally when it hits us it will destroy us but only to build something new, something stronger from the rambles. It make us anew. Love is a weird thing it gives you new perspectives, new convictions, it makes you a poet, a nomad , love is the cannonball.
A song
There is a song playing in my heart
It is on repeat and there is no pause button
There is a song playing in my heart
And it has been playing for long
There is a song playing in my heart
It is a cold old tune
And it plays in my veins
Penetrating deep down to the core of my cells
There is a song playing in my heart
It has a faint rhythm and broken beats
But it has a frenzied crescendo as it touches my soul
A throbbing pain that envelopes my pneuma
There is a song playing in my heart
It is a sad melancholy of a withering life
A wasted esprit
It is accompanied by the broken notes in the chords of a archaic harp
There is a song playing in my heart
The soliloquy of a familiar contempt
A cry of despair
A song that is soon going to be a monody
There is a song playing in my heart
When your judgmental stares pierce my lungs
And my disposition is derailed
There is no breath, no air
There is a song playing in my heart
Now a faint hymn
When the darkness engulf me from inside
It is still playing
There is a song playing in my heart
The blinding and chocking entity
Fatal blows crushing me
There is a song playing still in my heart
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