Averagely mediocre trivialities

 orange skies with a violet haze the crashing of the white blue waves beneath the yellow sun that keeps me sane as i watch the break of dawn again

 I've realised that life is just an endless cycle of hoping, wishing and longing. We as humans are just constantly looking for things to long for; ending either in heartbreak or with us looking for the next thing to pine after. Be it a person, a place, a thing or a feeling, we are in a state of constant longing and never feeling content.  Achieving our dream leads us to a monotonous life and monotonicity makes us bleak. it's a sadness different from the heartbreak of longing but it's a sadness all the same. Human beings are truly a mystery. We're always longing for happiness and yet chasing after things to delay our happiness. Maybe happiness is an idea and not a feeling and the we find joy in the smaller things. Maybe we have been fed the idea of always having to long for something, never being able to be satisfied, feeling like nothing will ever be enough, feeling like we will never be enough, always clinging onto this thin ray of hope, which maybe one day might lead ...

 I've found solace in words in the form of songs, poetry and stories that whisk me away from the real world I so long to escape.   When I see something beautiful, my heart sings songs in words my brain cannot fathom and my pen cannot conjure. Why is it so that every emotion I feel is coupled with a heartsong that I am able to feel in my soul, but when i sit to write it down the pages remain empty? Why is it so that as a child I would write poems- about the light that shines in the stars that twinkle and the sun that shines, about the rain that would descend from the clouds unto my cold warm skin and the rain that would fall from my eyes unto my cheeks- and yet as an adult the only difference I see on the paper is the blot of the teardrop that dries too fast. Why is it that my heart sings sonnets when I see a painting or a photograph and it paints a picture when i read a poem? Why is it that I am unable to describe in words how I feel and yet words can perfectly describe h...

Ground control to Major Tom. . . . This gem of a song by David Bowie has always been very close to my heart. It perfectly soundtracks my escapist mind. Sometimes when tough gets going and the going gets tough I wish I could shoot into the stars and just be. How beautiful it would be to just look at the blue speck that we call home. How insignificant then our problems would seem, and at the same time how majestic and beautiful this Earth would seem. The terrifying beauty of the vast space that etches till the end of the world and beyond, and you, a beautiful tragic lone wanderer, a witness to this terrifying beauty. I've always been fascinated with Space and stars and the Galaxy and everything above and beyond and for a long time I wanted to be an astronaut too but Science had maths and No. But I can still close my eyes and float above and swim in the ocean of stars and gaze at the beauty of Mars  and just stay.  So from time to time I put on this song and hear it in my...

I've found solace in words in the form of songs, poetry and stories that whisk me away from the real world I so long to escape.  When I see something beautiful, my heart sings songs in words my brain cannot fathom and my pen cannot conjure. Why is it so that every emotion I feel is coupled with a heartsong that I am able to feel in my soul, but when i sit to write it down the pages remain empty? Why is it so that as a child I would write poems- about the light that shines in the stars that twinkle and the sun that shines, about the rain that would descend from the clouds unto my cold warm skin and the rain that would fall from my eyes unto my cheeks- and yet as an adult the only difference I see on the paper is the blot of the teardrop that dries too fast. Why is it that my heart sings sonnets when I see a painting or a photograph and it paints a picture when i read a poem? Why is it that I am unable to describe in words how I feel and yet words can perfectly describe how I am fe...

If anyone asked me to describe myself, I guess I would say, I am someone who has lived my whole life inside my head. Consciously and unconsciously, as a refuge and as a prison, in dreams of the subconscious and dreams of the conscious mind, lamenting about the past and worrying about the future; living  in my head, coming out only for a futile superficial existence. Living inside your head can feel safe and secure, inside that bubble where the ailments of the outside world can't harm you, but at the same time the dementors in your mind, manage to gloom your escapism. . I have always had very erratic, adventurous and ludicrous dreams. Not divulging into analysing my dreams, so as to protect the only place where I face my fears and go on adventures, I tried to represent  my dreams in one picture. My dreams have always been terrifyingly beautiful (mostly),and provided a refuge for me when life might not have been going the way I would like it to. Specially at a time like now, ...

Moss. Today I was thinking about how absolutely wonderful and beautiful Moss is, I couldn't get a picture however, so here's a picture of the sky today. How wonderful is it that it gets no light but grows in all its green glory, out of absolutely nothing? It kind of reminded me of art, any form of art that appears out of thin air, that appears out of nothing to replace an empty space and fill it completely for another to observe the beauty of it and make the grass greener for another to observe it. Like little drops of paint that spread on an empty canvas or little tunes  of sweet melody that spread through your heart, words that could fill up entire empty pages, these green wonders too come up out of nothing to fill the empty space, making it look greener. And like the moss which grows in dark places and places without light, art too sometimes tends to come from within us, from empty dark spaces where it seems the light cannot reach. Yet it can sprout up and strengthen your ...

and suddenly I feel a sadness descend upon my heart as ny throat closes so does my heart weeping in silence with no tears to sing

time, it stands still as I get buried deeper into the ground sandy grains touch the palm of my skin empty shells echo the roar of the calm and I move forward and backward with each cold kiss and yet I stand still sinking deeper into the ground and I float with the waves and I drown as it ebbs moving to the edge of the earth with each wave, with each cold caress into the terrifying beauty and yet I sink with every beat of my heart and all I find are the empty seashells echoing the roar of my soul drowned by the grains of the sand too brown too small, too thin, but just enough to make no sound and I drown and I drown and I drown

cold drops of rain falls into the palm of my skin of my hand of my body whole and the air it still gets colder go to sleep my restless soul I wake up another day another place, another name wake up with another face with just another part to play while my restless soul stull remains the same and it's yet just another rainy day

Blue the colour in which she swam, Blue the colour of her skin Blue tastes the coffee at 9 a.m Blue is the colour painted in the void within Red the colour of her eyes that rage Red the colour of her heart that aches Red lay bleeding her dreams that are dead Red bleed the words she never said. All these colours yet not one seems to be in sight All these colours Yet you take a look back at her life And it stands still in hues of black and white.

दशै आयो रे तर तिन वषॅ पछि पनि मेरो मुटु लाई असोज र कात्तिक को शितल बतासले छुँदैन। उहि निलो आकाश, उहि सेतो बादल एक बाट अॅको सहर सहर को चहलपहल उहि उहि मेरो मन, आज फेरी मेरो हृदय को लागि भारी । शिशिर उहि तर मेरो मुटु लाई छुँदैन निलो आकाश उहि तर उज्यालो छैन। बडा सहर को चहलपहल तापनि दशै सुन्य नै रहयो कहिले नपुरिने इच्छा का लागि घर छोडी आइयो र यो मन भने सुन्य नै रहयो । यो भारी मुटु, खाली निधार सुन्य रहयो हृदय, सुन्य तिहार के यहि रहने भयो मेरो गाथा सधै पराया भेष एकलकाँटे खालि दशै सुन्य हृदय खाली माथा एस्पाली फेरी दशै आयो तर मेरो मुटु अझै भारी मेरो हृदय अझै सुन्य ।

घर छोडी आए आफुलाई खोज्न आफ्नोपन त्यागी आए आफुलाई रोज्न अहिले बस्छु निलो आकाश मुनि आफ्नो मुटु लाई बुझ्न सेतो बादल मुनि बसि खोज्दै छु अॅथ निलो पहाड बिना निलो आकाश पनि लाग्छ व्यॅथ सहर को गनफन मा खोज्छु आवाज भने बतास र खोला को गए जता पनि यो मुटु को सुन्यता जाने कहिले होला यो बतास मा शितल शिशिर छैन निलो आकाश मा न्यानो शान्ति छैन हृदय र सुन्यता कहिले छुटिने हैन शिशिर को शितलता ले यो भारी मनलाई छुने नि भएन् ।

When the music runs out And there's no more words to sing And the wind  rushes through  your hair but fails  to seep into your skin An agonizing scream starts  to escape your soul from within But fails And your mouth forms a smile  and you say I'm  okay Say you're okay Every  day every day Hoping one day you'll  believe it yourself Never knowing  how to ask for help Cause what would  you even say? Nothing  is wrong but there's  a heaviness in your heart And still there's  a part Of you wondering  what could it be How can the laughs not be enough  for me? So  i paint a smile and i make a joke Another joke another day And suddenly you dont feel the pain And you say hey, I'm  okay? Until  you feel the heaviness  descend In your heart  in yoir chest in your  soul Again. And you sing a song  of wordless musings Searching  for a reason in your mind and...

Glimpses into the Real: Spirituality and Psychosis Deepti Naval Deepti Naval, the Hindi cinema actress, is little known as an author and poet. For the 1985 movie Ankahee , Naval’s role involved a mental disorder. To prepare for the role, she spent two weeks in a psychiatric ward. Forced to confront mental disorder on an intimate level, the result was a two part volume of poetry titled “Black Wind and Other Poems” Exploring the outbursts of the Unconscious mind, she finds the unreality of delusions more real than reality. “ She’s mad If she thinks She’s sane” Her characters look into themselves, delving deep into pits there’s no coming out of. “ Endlessly I roam My inner wilderness.” In the process of this, they become estranged from “reality.” Their relationships suffer. They are cognizant of this fact - of their gradual distancing, but there’s a twisted joy even in this. “ Elated I sit again Amidst the debris of another relationship.” In communica...

A modernist comparison and analysis of Beautiful City by Lord Alfred Tennyson and The City by Constantine Cavafy             Constantine Cavafy an Egyptian-Greek poet in the late 19 th century at the beginning of the era of modernism wrote the poem called The City. It is a poem of helplessness, longing, one of despair and a desperate desire to escape and find meaning. Looking at this poem from a modernist theory, one can sense the alienation that the poet feels from the places that he lives in, as he is left to wander around from city to city in desperate search of meaning. We can find in the poet’s confusion as he finds himself unable to escape his dreadful reality, as he runs away from it time and again. His hopes of escaping the black ruins of his life, a place where he destroyed his years completely, are shattered as he realizes that no matter where he goes the city will always pursue him. A sense of fragmented self can ...

                                                Rita goes shopping It was warm sunny December morning when Rita woke up. Looking out into the bright blue sky, Rita thought to herself, “Oh, I ought to finish my errands today.” And so Rita excitedly got out of bed and hopped into the shower. Rita had just moved into a new house and as her parents had gone away on a trip, she was in charge of the house. Well, her granny was there but it was difficult to say who was taking care of whom.             Rita hurriedly gobbled up her breakfast and put on her favorite yellow dress for her day in the sun. She had made a list of things to do throughout the day, just like her mom. Rita felt like a grown-up to...

Aladdin The story of Aladdin as we know today is not one of a Middle-Eastern origin but written by a French writer in the 18 th century, who claims to have heard it orally from a man in Aleppo. Why this tale from Fables proves to be problematic is because for the longest time and even today, Aladdin was regarded as a representation of Middle East, this despite the fact that Aladdin was set in China. This oriental story of a middle-eastern love story between two people belonging to two different socio-economic backgrounds. The Disney movie then only worked to perpetuate these inaccurate stereotypes of the Arabs from China, as the movie which was set in the city of Agrabah features the song lyrics “From a faraway place/Where they cut off your ear/If they don’t like your face/It’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home”. The hero and heroine of the movie are light skinned with American accents as compared to the dark-skinned villains and lowly status people with thick Arabic accents. This ori...

Please be Naked with me – The 1975 I wake up to the sound of the salty ocean breeze hitting the rocks. I can feel the damp coolness of the sand underneath my skin. I open my eyes as the sunrises from under the water and sets fire to the sky. A bleeding sky in flames or orange and red as the sun slowly detaches itself from the ocean to tear apart the night sky as the dawn breaks and the sky bleeds. And so does my heart. I can feel the wave wash over me and I taste the familiar salty taste on my lips, on my face. The saltiness of the tears and the sea brings with it the comfortable numbness. I turn 30 today Agnes. Remember that promise we made? That we would get married if we were both alone at 30. Well here I am 30 and alone but Agnes, my rose, where did you go?             I force myself to get up and as I get up I realize how lightheaded I feel. Agnes, is it possible to feel so lightheaded and so heavy at the same time? I ca...

               Mother always used to say, love is not a feeling or an emotion. It becomes you, you feel it in every part of your soul, such a love is raw but it is rare. Love in its true raw form, is something that our fragile souls cannot bear and so our souls to meek to seek it and too weak to find it, run away from it. All of our lives we do anything and everything to run away from love so as to prevent our fragile souls from dismantling. Piece by piece we stitch our soul back together, which tears apart with each heartbreak. With every experience, we stitch our wounded soul and we build our walls to shield us from life and love and the inevitable annihilation that comes with existing as a person. Every person you come across has their heart ripped to shreds, she said, some people chose to mop up these tears and offer their heart in its shreds, held together by the thin stretched out strings made of hope, and ...