Need Of The Hour

It’s hard but its need of the hour. It’s saving one’s self from the dilemma of being distorted; when blurry is the vision. Its happiness in misfortune but its need of the hour.

Its sabotaged dream; its melancholic art. The feature of your eye and this escalating vision; to praise you to the bit is the need of the hour.

It’s defeating whole world and be in your arms. It’s conquering the island when boat is in swamp.

It’s hard; it sometimes really is hard, to tell you the truth, need of the hour is the corroding sensation within veins of the heart. It melts down drop by drop igniting the fear of colorless past.

Sometimes it’s those eyes strongly drenched in the mission of spat.

Aggressive! Bold! Compulsive nuance but its need of the hour...

Need of the hour is the spotless smile in the light-felt veil on your sparingly docile face. It’s in sudden jitter of your hand and stumbled as you walk is the need of the hour.

Need of the hour is the pain felt alone which ultimately makes you strong but it ends up taking half of your own. The world of order and war with the horns is the need of the hour.

To walk alone and share the fragment of tears in the ocean of stars is the need of the hour.

It lives in the hours, it is in every hour. It is painful explosion in the boundary of an arch.

It makes you nomad in search of power. It’s damn tiresome yet decisive 'the need of the hour'…

Head OR Tail

Its 2 30 PM and this sleepy dust all around me with a sudden trip of electricity; I still managed to move my wholesome and ouch!  I did hurt myself with my tooth brush and that’s the first thing I do every morning.

I feel different; feel extremely rhetoric and strange questions humming my mind as in ‘why we have to go’? How aptly we sense change and sometimes we even witness ourselves ready to dive in it.

How quickly we correspond with situation and name our acceptance a compromise.      

We prepare our land with so much attention, and care; churn the garden of hopes with grass mover extremely sensitively following the principle of balancing out dreams and emotions. But still they exhibit, they grow, they wave with passing air. They move.

One fine day I would like to open my eyes in a valley where continuous flow of scenes right beside me and I firmly step into any  occasion to exhale the missing sensation; the time that flew by me and I forgot to keep minor details in memory; this time I will keep them all with me. I would like to see if people actually change or they undergo different equations. If problem was intentional or whether it got dimensions.

---
One day, I will give you my hand and be your support

Till then you assure me; you will be home

Near the garden giving life to ultimate dreams of our land

Of vivacious plans and beating the traditions of ultimate Trans

I will be yours, just will be yours

But promise me the land of assured tomorrow

And if it fades away with bickering and sorrow

You will pray till end for the survival of your far away love

She will be back with silver clouds and this hope …

This is the last head and tail of our life

If head comes you are maneuver of rights

If tail comes we will prepare for another plight.

While I write last line, clouds are thundering and I am hoping for some really soothing rain washing away any uncertainties you and I happen to face now a days. This is the day full of transition as i saw day coverted into dark with raining like cats and dogs, a real happy ending!!!

Happy Weekend Every One =)

Index of my Book ---The Life Line

This fine tranquil beat moving up and down, trespassing all crests and troughs in heart indicator is responsible of my sweet serendipity, my mischance, and all human emotions that are broached, hidden or captured.

I am just a life. And you are another life. And with few of us; we happened to make bonds.  This collaboration is somehow irresistible. It goes almost indispensible to live this life alone on a brink of nothingness, contemplating every breath with happiness, success, sadness alone and gain is just nothingness.

I have to prepare a book and I am exasperated, even to start it with dedication and name. 

My dream: looks dramatic---unattainable, My sojourn:  seems as if I lost and dropped something, Life: looks meaningful but vague, You and I in this beautiful world: I am ‘I’ but ‘YOU’ is huge and I might do half justice with ‘You’ and ill blow up all the candles uninformed and make bridges against you. '

Leave it; I will keep trying till I find a well suited name.

I will jump towards the dedication part:

“Dedicated to my parents; who made me see this world with an eagle eye. Your sweetness melts down my wrath and your warmth kept my faith in difficult times. I dwindle in uncertainty and I owe my existence to you partially because you paved the way to see who my real creator is. You are from heaven and your love is unconditional. Thank you for being my parents and fulfilling my needs. I know you never frowned when you sweat your blood to earn me a ring, a skate board, shoes, clothes and chocolates. I know it was hard on you to fulfill our needs but you kept telling us how to earn riches in real means. Thank you is the word that seems granular in your presence and it seems meaningless when you are away .I….I”…

I will smack myself and I will realize myself that I need to write dedication not a chapter on how  gracious they had been to me.

Ok … second dedication:

“Dear friends, this life were half spent with you and I can’t really explain how beautiful my journey was. To play with you, all pranks, intolerable you and I, our fights and interminable tasks, our dauntless self and cowardice actions. Sometimes competing you; sometimes supporting you. If I was a cake; you added vanilla essence. If you were chocolates I was the wrappings. I love you and I miss you and keep missing you till you my memory slices down with new era of life. What it would be I myself don’t know. Thanks for adding colors to my life. ”

A lot more dedications are still pending. Let me show you how perplex contents become when I think of it.

-          A girl who was born at home

-          Addictions

-          Quarter of life

-          With you

-          Without you

-          Love and life

And a pause!!!

“Today! Start of my day was really gleeful. If you really want to know why; it’s because I prayed in morning after like many days and it’s a sheer shame but I tried to catch up with this. I have heard my creator is best forgiver but I will try not to take another chance. He always gives me the real meaning out of everything, even though I commit mistakes every day but he shows a window , a ray of hope every time but I would try not to miss any chance .”

Happy weekend guys and do something special for your parents, siblings, friends, better half . The more you share, is the more you get =D

I know, I couldn't write

                             

                                                  

I stood motionless and I couldn’t write…

Sometimes I feel you had the substance that I could only bite

I broke my self in sheer pieces to exhale this weird sensation

Of standing on road sometimes aimless and measuring long destination…

I know I cannot write because I wish to touch the sky

Sometimes I feel I can blow up my shadow and make myself your ply…

And this catastrophe that we named as silence

It’s the purest form of light, igniting my resilience

Come on the road to celebrate the rain …

You are famous in town of bringing up the flame

I know I cannot write, I broke my pen into pieces

I wish I can capture residual of my remaining braces

Of my remaining me

Of life stupefying teases

Of your spry

Becoming a prey

Of this fantasy

That moves this galaxy and calls for amnesty.

I know I cannot write I hold it true till last

Where you and I in a juncture, rest is just contrast.

I know and it’s true that this pen had strange affliction with me of bringing up the glass full of water and I accidently pour it all down.

It’s also true that sometimes I broke the shelf unannounced and claim the ridden water.

I know I enjoyed power till I knelt to make it yours. I know and I know it’s true that I have always been unfair.

I know what a half smile meant and I drafted with your nip.I know you had pain of calling me a gig.

I know and it’s true we went places together; still you call me half of your realm and half is still dictator.

I know sometimes i hit you on surface and  make you blow some weird sound, sometimes you are the gesture i always confound.

Sometimes you are cheated with the effluent words of art and wisdom lies beneath the roar that lambast the retard.

Sometimes you are love and glory on the my part.

Sometimes you are consolidation of rift and you glue the broken heart!

~ With Love From Me to You ~

It wasn’t our first rain together, nor was the last one; we hoped. Its just a new sensation abridging our freedom of expression. 

It was a long… long - longing to have it, to hear that some clouds took passage through my city.
I was yearning to feel every droplet falling on my body and mesmerizing my soul. It comes with coolness of mind and strange affiliation with the past.

Remembering every ordeal occurring right out there … there did you see? Where the lightning overlay…exactly there. 

When the lightning flashes, it blossoms forth all the hidden objects, it unfolds a chapter of my heart so clearly, right out there where the lightning overlay. 

Here I was trying to act like a teenager, covering my petite appearance in the shawl made up of threads and diamantes over the border. 

There exactly there! I was jumping like a manic in water, assembled over the ground and I roughly started hoping with joy to engulf my extreme excitement. And sometimes i will sit on the damp stairs placing my feet over the ground to see drizzle rubbing them off peacefully, also a new pond in making . 

There at the top roof of the other house, walks a girl who was crying … crying in the rain, memories helped wiping off her tears. And I had my eyes, searching for her, measuring her moments so very carefully as if I will bat my eyelash; I will lose the game and will be stoned forever.

Suddenly a voice choked down this stargazer and I am sitting over the bench with her.  Her body language seems different this time as if she had to say a lot, as if those babbles were not just only driblets, they were the desires, passions, apprehensions, thinking and truth that I disliked the most, that one day I will leave her, this real peace of mind and this solitary me; sometimes confining myself to her to be taken care of, not to be sabotaged, giving a new look and fresh me, back to me.

She was my mother as she happened to sit with me to the right, I  felt something missing on my left.

She has a unique way to transcript her emotions. She makes you feel young in no time and cast you off her tribe that soon. I could look at her hands, the hardest look may be, the softest touch ever. When I try to place my hand to catch up with her finger tips, she smiles and sneers ‘You are not on me’. She will praise herself first and then all her projection will be towards my father that ‘he was really handsome ’.

And then she tells all the stories, she is a perfect story teller. My elbow touched hers many times as if escorting all the illness,oscillating for few moments and reassurance and that we love each other clueless. 

Without thinking about anything I seek her help, to look after me, know me more every day, and pacify me, my courage. And interestingly she never disappoints. 

We had a long lasting discussion. That’s how we socked our backs completely in rain , it was then we realized it was raining like cats and dogs.

This is my humble prayer for all mothers out there living or living peaceful forever, to have a beautiful sojourn here in this unpredictable world and have a most blissful eternal life there. Where someday, all of us will catch up with each other, sooner or later.

May Allah give them peace and put them in ease with all the tough occurrence of life. 

Your smile or memory made hugely pressurized days like chewing a chewing gum. Your presence is a peaceful sea facilitating everyone, your memories is the gush of air making us breathe.

Tujhey sab hai pata haina MAA!