What is your High?

Do you dig
Trance and EDM

Or is it
A tryst with Nature?

Do you prefer
Philosophical discourses
Leading to lofty ideas
And the tickling of grey matter?

Would you like
Long shopping trips,
Retail therapy,
And all the nice things material?

Would you like
Fine dinners
And a few rounds of drinks?

Or does your Soul need
Intellectual conversations
And high level wavelengths?

What is your High?
What makes you Tick?

Do you ever think about it?

Gray Area

We go through phases of Life.

Some phases are dark and it is always our reaction to get away from it and rush back into the light.

Darkness is not always bad. When you embrace it, you realise that it is one more part of your own existence.

It is there so you could hide from situations for a few moments. It gives you time to lick your wounds and protects you so you could rest for a while.

Battles are to be fought to win at Life. Some rest is essential. When you are ready to bounce back on your feet and run towards your goals, do take time to introspect.

And thank the Dark recesses of your Soul. For the much needed respite. It helped you heal. So you could be awake again.

Yes, there is warmth and mercy in the Dark. Embrace it for once and the daily rigmarole will become a wee bit bearable.

Dark Souls

Floating on nothingness
Suspended between wakefulness

And sleep

Shackles that bound me
To a tortuous humdrum

Are broken,
Lying at my feet

The aftertaste
Of betrayal still lingers

The blade runs deep
Straight through the heart

An invisible wound
Festers into a fever

Pushed into the darkest depths
Of my Soul

The light in me lost
The pain singes through the fabric of happiness

Treading an oft beaten route
But without the spring in my step

In a trance of forgetfulness
Awake in essence

But still asleep

Insomnia

Sitting wide awake
On starry nights and dark nights

Thoughts racing through the mind
Never ending pictures from memories

A wake which never ends
Mourning a heart which has ceased to exist

A heart which
Hurt
Broke
Burnt
Turned to ashes

Till all feeling went out
Till only the physical beating remains
Just to keep a body alive

So many wounds

It would have been easy to live with
Knowing that the wounds were given by enemies

But when friends wield daggers,
And relations bay for blood,
And Love turns to poison

There is nowhere to go
There is nobody to turn to
There is just a ghost of a heart

Which is now devoid of life
Just a shell

Keeping a body alive

The Dreaded Block

Trying a newly opened restaurant in our locality today. While I observe the humanity I am surrounded with, I spot a waiter standing randomly, holding a full plate, looking lost and awkward. I wonder if he is going through some minor Shakespearean quandary. To Serve, or Not to Serve. That is the question.

And while this guy figures out his existential crisis, I am grabbing at a lot of stray thoughts and trying to string them together to form a cohesive thought process.

So, it has been a year - maybe more - since I wrote something really good. Let's say its name and end the "it-shall-not-be-named" phobia. The Writers' Block. Yes, it deserves capitalization.

What happens? A lot of things. The brain continues to churn thoughts, ideas, innovative and creative things, stories etc. But the other part of the brain which forms words and sentences, stops functioning.

The purpose of this rant is not to provide a definition of Writers' Block. Google it if you don't know. The reason this is the main topic of interest here today, is all the frustration that a writer or a person who lives for writing goes through.

Too much going through the mind. Too many unspoken incidents.

Where to begin?

Yes, it has been a year or more since I wrote something really good.

It has been 2 months since I slept.

All thoughts gather together and dance inside my head all night. If I fall asleep, they form into nightmares and wake me up. So I started staying awake. Best way to avoid getting nightmares. Don't sleep.

Writing is like oxygen for me. Good, bad, ugly, happy, sad...everything needs to be expressed by writing. Hopefully, tonight I will finally sleep well.

So, what keeps me awake.

Like an endless ocean, wave after wave hits the minds eye, creating pictures out of memory. The elation and laughter. The pain and tears. The fear of being hurt. Everything takes form of little ghosts which dance around me. Like a movie being played on endless loop in a dome theater and I am in free-fall, not knowing if this is a bottomless pit or I am going to land on a cushioned floor. Or just crash land, bang in the middle of another nightmare.

Sometimes, a small and inconspicuous incident makes you go over to the other side. The Block just vanishes. As if it was always made of vapour. All you had to do was reach out and brush it away. But just moments before you were banging your head against it and it refused to budge. Like a stubborn brick wall. I don't know how it works. But that is how it is.

The phobia of losing what you love most is poignant when you have, at least once, lost what you loved most. We all make certain sacrifices in life. That is part of growing up. Thankfully, very few people have to go through the pain of not just sacrificing their dreams, but actually murdering the most important dream with their own hands. And when you have done it once, managed to re-build your life after that and dared to dream again.......it is scary to think that your dream is turning into a nightmare again.

No. I am writing again. It is ok. It is emotional. It is imperfect. But it is heartfelt. The dream is still alive. It is more a reality than it was. And it definitely isn't a nightmare.

Hopefully, tonight I will finally sleep well.

That Girl

She walked with her head in the clouds
She believed in dreams and such
She had an imagination too

Her thoughts were apart
From the crowd all around

Her heart beat with a rhythm
That put a skip in her walk
Her eye had a twinkle
That would make hearts stop

She had ambition
And her heart was full of love
Her home and hearth was warm
And her cocoon was soft like a dove

But she had to get her wings
To fly away far
Her dreams were big and rosy
And those would daily call

Her wings weren't strong yet
But the cocoon fell apart
The hearth grew cold
And home was just a sham

The rosy tints were taken away
World was far too grey
Dreams were shattered to pieces
And she could not fly away

Sometimes I wish she could
Just freeze Time to that moment
When she walked on clouds
Unaware and astray

Sometimes I wish she could
Still pirouette in that dream
Turning round and round in the clouds
Waltzing to the ghostly theme

Sometimes I wish she would
Start crying again
At least the rain would
Wash away the pain

Sometimes I wish she was
Not so heartless now
I wish she could feel
All the former feelings she had

She walks with her pride
Shouldering her strength
But no more are there any
Carefree thoughts at length

Sometimes I wish she would
Again
Build castles in the air
And imagine an airy life
For an airy fairy self

Sometimes I wish she does
Still exist inside somewhere
Sometimes I wish she talks
To me
Like she used to, back in the day

Maybe she is somewhere
Feeling alone and lonely
Just like I strut my pride
While being alone and lonely

I think she still stays
Somewhere inside of me
But hidden and scared
Because my world is too dreary

She was far too weak
I am far too strong
Maybe the twain shall meet
But then...
It has now been so long!

Darkness

Like being in a nightmare
Going down in a free fall
No bottom, no anchor, nothingness all around

Dark and cold
Emptiness

Like a heart frozen cold
Like a distant scary memory

An untold tale
Of loss and pain
A heart full of hope
Broken, torn apart and burnt

When the lights go out
When darkness reigns supreme
Nightmares rule
Whispers turn sinister

An open wound
Unhealed

Left out, left alone

In a bottomless pit

Darkness, just the darkness
All around