Seasoned Reminiscence A Culmination

I am a possible fanatic lure There can be few axioms worth to tell the possible combinations of my mind Have to be fathomed with permutations To me a meager world of desolate senses I have broken up and given up on this altar Several times for the sake of truth My God has taken my on goings I need to cut open my vein to make in the flow of blood to the altar So that My God sees in me the hapless child To me warriors are just roadies or hippies And there were many in my path of co existence But to me the sheer mental conjugation of time And the partnership for a few minutes Are what these warriors are for Carving me from the core and cultivating the niche To me do they belong? No... I hate the wrecked attire of their mind posing themselves of their ugly hashish heart I want to work for my meager happiness To me do they belong? or my happiness? No Considering the nice and worthy wordings the cliché of their ideas are just for a time To me do they belong ? No Sh

I have smeared the lucky gem of opportunities I have sacked myself into an introversive subjugate And let not I be a mere hath of a wonder chap Who will let me know of my words and deeds? As I don’t know what I am into and up to Though shall I not get into captivation? To me life is a joy ride of no responsibilities Still clinking onto commitments and rules bounded That is the real mystery of this ride Until I lean and bestow my happiness before you And I am retired at an old age of no fun I guess With wrinkled skin and wretched time of no time Struck to the core self and fettered to the deep roots Of secrets, of mystery of life, of experiences carved Whom no one knows other than the self Then what knowledge have I gained to touch the heaven Nothing and Nil of myself The lasting capture of life is Nothing-ness Or absolute No!

“Prayer in the sense of petition, asking for things, is a small part of it; confession and penitence are its threshold, adoration its sanctuary, the presence and vision and enjoyment of God its bread and wine” (The World’s Last Night and Other Essays, 8).

I have been reading a book written by Shobha De regarding the Indian or the Desi style of life and the comparison of this style with the International trends .Reading her book I felt good about the Indian culture and tradition and the way of her writing style was indeed nice. When the bhel puri is the yummiest one you can get on a road side dhaba or a chat center and when living in a city like Bangalore in the midst of beggars, rag pickers and lepers make the India what we call a poor country!!!.There is always a jive in which we live in a city so poor with different top class models of cars flying on the dirty and broken roads here…. The Indian passport is always treated as a third class one in the International airports and the way they look at you and treat you when you have a Desi color is almost pathetic. The cows, goats and dogs enjoying the freedom on the roads so stinking is awesome I should say  :( ! And the multi colored buses picking up the people from every stop, p

The vows of a love that is casting There can be near words Of mere fantasy It is the world of fun and love Am debilitating into the ashes And I want to laugh out my vows My dreams materializes differently I wished for that peace I am seriously into some tunes Of a mentally ill born kid I don’t know my path of life I have lost that feeble path Which led me to happiness? If you ever come for me… I am void and null and I rejoiced In the silence of mine I am already Into the ashes of thy mystic love Find me in that place where you saw me I am in the smell of that wind And in the crushing silence of our parting Kiss me to a death so silent and I just have ashes out of my heart Nothing less or more!