Monthly Archives: September 2012

Unrequited Love

It is said that when raindrops fall from the skies and the harsh grounds soften, wings sprout from ants’ tiny  black backs so that they may soar towards light and, futilely, attempt to appease their unrequited love …

Oh, how they croon and whisper and dance around the light! Oh, how they admire and cherish and worship light!

Such fascination. Such absolute devotion. Such intractable attraction.

And, so till matutine, till the very first stroke of dawn, they become slaves to light; all time knowing that with the very same light, their fragile wings would crumple and they would come to rest – yet, they persist, yet they linger – until death comes for them.

…. and so no wonder are they perfect embodiments of the concept of fanaa … destructing their existence, as they do, in the pursuit of a unbeholden love.

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Rust is Settling In

Rust is settling in, making itself comfortable;  moving in with it is a feeling of profound laziness, an almost impossibly never-ending prime time slot with sloth and a vestigial sense of loss.

Yes, the urges are still there, but there is no motivation. You try writing but you end up staring at the stark white screen instead, hypnotized with the cursor’s never ending blinking frenzy.

And I’m afraid of this newer, lackadaisical version of me.

For there is one more tenant who has come to set up shop with rust: nostalgia for all the things  one loves to do and yet finds oneself unable to do them.

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Unshed Tears

They just lie there, waiting, staying low, ’till the time the levee breaks – and they finally let go of their cushy cubbyholes, to roll down a tapering path and eventually drop into non-existence.

Short painful lives, they live.

But its only with their end, that relief comes.

Grief has its many manifestations. Wild paroxysms. Mute sobbing. Chilling numbness.

Yet all culminate into the same end.

Tears.

Which when unshed, cause the levee to be battered more and more with every passing moment, with every fleeing second. The numbness, the residual feeling of unreality, the compressing reluctance to not let go, the maddening indifference to the mourning going around – cracks spawning more cracks, ’till the time the levee breaks, once and for all.

And, all those bottled-up emotions burst out like a cork erupting from a bottle of champagne – pop.

Leaving behind the feeling of a burden lessened.

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