Month: May 2015

Serene solitude

Posted on by thenostalgicinsomniac

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Is it possible to walk again after you pass away ? 
Is it possible for the moon to rise on a bright sunny day ?
Is it possible for you to grieve about someone you barely know?
Is it possible for us to believe in places up above and down below?
 
Answers. That’s what everyone is looking for isn’t it ?
Living every solitary moment with courage and living through it bit by bit .
 
We try to forgive and forget
but isn’t that at the end of the day what we regret?
Life isn’t fair they say.
Like an oracle they preach who’ve barely lived a day .
When the plane falls even atheists pray.
And all those who wander for answers are created by the potter who works with clay.
 
Is it possible for us to change and beautify something our own way?
Is it possible for us to smile through a bad day?
Is it possible for us to live life that leaves the society with no words to say?
Is it possible to walk again after you pass away?
Answers. That’s what everyone is looking for isn’t it ?
Living every solitary moment with courage and living through it bit by bit .

Indefinite mortality.

Posted on by thenostalgicinsomniac

life
Survival. Existence. Broken bridges. 
Is this what life has come down to now? 
Victory, Being able to get through it with minimal bruises. 
What is the whole point of living this cruelty like a mad cow? 
This world is filled with chaos
And we’ve adapted ourselves to accept things with all its flaws.
Damaged. Salvaged. Wrecked.
Is this how it’s supposed to be? 
Craving for some space at a faster pace 
Trying not to be claustrophobic. 
Grinding ourselves to prove to the illusionists
That yes, we’re worth it.
And losing ourselves in this lonely quest 
Aren’t we all sick?
Of all the tits and bits of what’s left of our little nest. 
Craving to be accepted by the ones who are fighting for their own acceptance. 
Does this all make any sense? 
The mightier we try to be 
The brighter it all seems to be
The creation is not the creator’s to boast about 
It’s his work of art that is accepted without a shout out. 
Being able to survive this chaos isn’t an art
Being able to beautify the chaos with your own thoughts is a work of art! 
Living through it isn’t life 
Loving all of it is life
Unfair is just a word
Which will fly away like a migrating bird.

Carte blanche

Posted on by thenostalgicinsomniac

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Once i hatched and fell down.
No wonder people called me a clown.
The branch wasn’t strong enough to hold me up and i slipped away.
I was a little grey they say. Dispassionate and detached. Hence, grey.
No one bothered to pick me up because it was all a competition.
I lacked the courage as i was the result of their premonition.
Surviving this chaos desolately is not a slice of cake.
Death of my parents gave me a heart ache.
They were hunted.
My life, stunted.
I was left to fight with the world’s harsh harmony when i learned to chirp.
Believe me, i was flawless. Envious mates marvelled, though they seemed disturbed.
Hypocritical opinions. Resentful looks. I had nothing to prove
My fellow tree mates called me rue.
Freedom is what I’ve seen people crave for.
Portrayal of diplomacy in a silent war.
Their world is just that one tall leafy tree.
They never realized that freedom, is free.
They’ve made a branch their entire life, their home.
They don’t know about London, Paris or Rome.
I was being camouflaged though i had all the freedom.
I kept myself locked . Indeed, it was a strong gum.
The gum was my cowardice nature who always kept my feet on the ground
when i could have taken a flight towards infinity and way beyond.
Isn’t it rhetorical to even ask a bird to fly?
Dreadful epiphany. An inner cry.
I was flying towards a bright light,  
but then i realized i was dreaming .
I had a notion that maybe the bright light 
seemed to be a signal. Aspirations as fragile as a thin string.
Dreaming about dreams is just moronic when one should be living them.
I took a flight. Let the wind in my wings. Flew away from all the mayhem.

An alien’s vantage point.

Posted on by thenostalgicinsomniac

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I have been on this planet for a while now

Humans are weird. It’s a World of mad cows.

I still don’t understand human relations. 

This rock is divided apparently into something called as nations.

People take pride in petty achievements

Their verbal communication is vulgar and indecent. 

They are ruled by people with no formal education. 

I have seen these wheeled vehicles, driven by them. Boy! Do they lack patience?

I sit here on a ‘street’ waiting for it to rain

But it’s sunny and my wishes drain 

It’s funny to see them even make an effort for something quite materialistic 

How often do they cry on loss of property than life ,  isn’t it fantastic?  

This nature of humans intrigues me

Their insanity as wide as the sea.

They find faults and blame others 

Meaningless victories. Why do they even bother ? 

Is aggression always the answer for them? 

Or is it true that they like the mayhem?

Chaos is an illusion for their creative minds 

Still they fill the void with filth of all kinds

They don’t understand how much it means to be there for another being

To care and to get them back up on their feet. It’s not a comic movie that one should be seeing. 

Portrayal of a perfect life

By an egoistic human who fights every night with his wife.

Masking their frowns with a joyous face 

Shameful display. Isn’t that every body’s case?

The ones who kill are the ones who have already died from within.

Brutality is done by their own. Some build empires while others bring them down. For example: The twin.

Though there is hope for these confused beings.

If they let go of their demons and give their life a whole new meaning.

 

 

 

The big box paradox

Posted on by thenostalgicinsomniac

Exploding-Black-Box-Desktop-Wallpaper-bw-scaled.jpgParadoxical as this might sound, 
You lose yourself and let yourself off the ground. 
But no matter how grounded you try to be , “you” are nowhere to be found. 
Imagine a big box. 
When you’re in it time stops. No clocks. 
There’s a world for you to create. 
You can skate, slate, mate. 
In your hands is your own fate. 
One day a wanderer finds the box. 
Cold winter. He wore a pair of black socks. 
Tired of everything , he wanted to rest. 
Where else could he find comfort than the big box itself. 
He gave up on reality for this dreamy world. 
For days inside his “new home” he twirled and curled. 
The thought of going back out to face the world, he blocked. 
Fear of catching up with reality kept him locked.  
Sooner or later he had to wake up and realize it was a BIG BOX paradox.
Inside it, he thought out of the box. 
He was a lost wanderer who wanted to be found. 
On a journey to find himself , he lost and in his own thoughts, he drowned. 
The thin line between fantasy and reality seemed to fade. 
He seemed vulnerable. His mind, as sharp as a blade. 
The big box could fit him but wasn’t enough to fill his emptiness. 
There came a time in the no time zone when he felt suffocated and breathless. 
As tempting as the box sounded, it was time for him to be unbounded. 
The big box, though comforting wasn’t the right place. 
The big world, though tormenting was to be chased. 
He gathered courage to open the box and let the light in.  
It was time he pulled up his wearied socks and live a worthy life even if it meant committing a sin. 
No wonder it made him uncomfortable, 
But he had to learn to be adaptable. 
Because being himself in this chaotic world mattered more 
Than “being with himself” behind a locked door.

Closed book

Posted on by thenostalgicinsomniac

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Walked alone through a crowded street.
He was the one who danced to his own beat. 
He never really needed music to define how he was feeling
But there came a day where nothing seemed appealing
Except for a lady who had her hair down 
Pretty eyes. Who dressed in an elegant gown.  
He wasn’t ordinary himself but walked past her like he didn’t exist .
He was scared of the impression he’d put up. “She wouldn’t like you” his mind would insist. 
But courageous enough, he worked his charm 
To his surprise, his heart remained unharmed. 
He thought he was blessed to have found the appropriate woman
He finally felt something. Something insane. Something human. 
Curiosity inside him wanted to know more about her 
But as he learnt everything else went blur
He had to realize she was a closed book 
Sparkle in her eyes vanished with every look. 
He was pretty much scared of where things were heading 
He noticed that winter was coming and so were the leaves shedding. 
Just like the classic, the last leaf 
He thought he could hold it all together. 
But for all he knew their bond was as strong as a feather. 
Sooner or later he had to realize she was a closed book 
Sparkle in her eyes vanished with every look. 
He thought to himself, ‘My curiosity ends where fear erupts.’ 
And like always, his heart interrupts.
Courageous enough , he worked his charm 
Walked out of her life , making sure his heart remained unharmed.