courtesy Corbis

courtesy Corbis

I am losing it, at a faster pace, much to my discomfort. Arranging my thoughts in a vertical pattern, without dwelling too much on the relationship between the things found themselves wrapped in the warmth of words earlier than the following bunch, leaving the unexplained to the pairs of sharp/beautiful/lazy/skeptical/almond-shaped/regular shaped/angry/deep….{wonder, how many types of eyes do really exist in our world?} eyes with or without dark circles under them, with or without sleepless nights behind them, to imagine what I intend to say. What I intend to say may or may not hold their attention for long, but I am certain, at least a few would nod at them with a note of appreciation and a strong sense of identification, for having made a simple attempt to demonstrate the disturbing atmosphere inside me, which is potent enough to shrink a grown up like me into a mere tear drop that sinks into the smell of my skin under the warmth of a quilt. Despite the biggest claim that I make to self and others, that I am alarmingly becoming RELUCTANT to talk to others, to explain my thoughts, to articulate the logic behind each piece of work that I would have worked hard to get together with a decided stare, I manage to grab stories from people who either talk to me or I talk to. Outside the glass door, the weather continues to be cold and a chill breeze started blowing and gripping everything that came in its way. But I can’t explain this sense of RELUCTANCE – how did arrive at my doorstep, when did it slip into my skin so effortlessly, during which season or journey of mine it entered my world, but I know it’s going to destroy my world, my existence soon, slowly. remlosing-myreligionIt’s a highly discomforting weight that I am carrying around, within. It explodes into an active phase,especially, in those moments that have the potential to breathe in that much desired acceleration to my existence. It comes alive, especially, around those events when I am finally destined to strengthen my basic culture of conversations, and hugs me with such ferocity that I feel my knees are crumbling away. Someone wrote to me that there is something absolutely enchanting about my beguiling eyes. I do not know how to respond to this note, but I am aware of the fact that I am not in a land where one could stand at the fence and watch the angels dancing. The world between my ears is shockingly delirious about a young man who is bound to die for all the grief and destruction that he and his mates managed to create in the familiar streets of a well known urban jungle. The world between my ears is struck with an enormous body of silence, which would soon begin splitting into many streams that travel out to reach many folds designed within my body. I feel my body curled up, legs to the chin, in silent anguish over someone, who walks across to his kitchen, with a song on his lips, to fix heart-warming dinners for self and lazes around in the couch to watch films from the land of blooms, from whom I could borrow a few cheerleaders, some strength, just to see myself a gleaming face after a long session of exertion. But, things I seek for, with my eyes shut tight, my body pressed against the thick and hard wall of silence, are usually found lying dead like broken pieces of dreams on my pillow.

 

{Play : R.E.M Losing My Religion}

 

 

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