Beautiful

Its a bundle of possiblities, probabilities, impossiblilities et all --this life. It never ceases to amaze, never ceases in its torture, never ceases in the hope that it provides. Its a miracle that we all continue to live with death all around us, continue to love with broken hearts all around us, hoping perhaps that death will not come, and more ironically that love will conquer.

What will be the thing to cling on to at the end of ones life? What will be memorable enough to comfort during death? Is it the feeling of love that one felt for another, or is it someone's love for oneself.

What is more beautiful? Your true love for someone or someones true love for you?

I dont know.

But i know just this one thing.

Someone's true love for you may not be yours to take but theirs to give, but no one can take your true love away from you...its always yours to give.

They can take everything away, but they cant falsify your love.

Its always yours. Its always beautiful.

GIFT

It can be only a gift, this feeling, this heart thumping- mind churning- soul soothing feeling that comes to those so helplessly in love that they break the routine of even as normal a thing as breathing to think about that one person who has stolen the senses away from their thoughts, the sleep away from their nights and the sanity away from their actions.

It is a gift, yes. The loved may not love back in return, the adored may not adore back in return, but then; that is hardly the objective of being in love. If you expect to be loved back in return for your love than you might as well love yourself and shield yourself from the agony. The objective but, of the one in love is both the charecteristic and the test.

It ought to be in the charecter of a lover to love irrespective of what comes in return. Sorrow comes as extra baggage along with expectations. When the expectation is nothing there can be no sorrow, and those who tell that there is sorrow in love are the very same ones who insist on bartering love for love. It is not for them, this gift of feeling so happy about being able to care so much about someone who may or may not care for them back in the same way.

It is a test for the lover, to love and expect rejection, to care and expect nothing, to long for not a galnce of the beloved, but long that they live in perinial joy, and in that joy of their beloved experience the unlimited joy that love is capable of bringing into ones life.

She will one day be far away, she will one day be someone else's, she will one day forget me. Then too i would thank her, for leting me love her. Thankyou.

Not Fair

Where are you lil one? Where are you?
She felt you, fed you and held you
She loved you, heard you,and told you
I waited and waited and waited.
Nine months later my dear.
you came out and breathed your last.
Is it me who caused this all
Was it my bad fate lines?
I am your father still
though you may be dead
I envy her, she held you once
In another life dear,
i hope i am the mother,
Dead dear goodbye
Not fair my lady
not fair at all.

I am a Fool

Its not a really nice place this world. Not for people who have gone paupers in love. Apollo number something was a disaster, that is a joy compared to a broken heart. No sorrow is greater, No situation more punishing than a life filled with a lost love. The upside is that it is always beautiful as long as it lasts. And so its worth it. What drunkard shyd away from an extra peg fearing a hangover? what love is more beautiful than the one that is in memories? Smart people stay away from pain. they know what waits inside the cloaked lady called love. They are smart after all, they stay alive.

Fools dwell on expressions of a beloved. Fools live lavishly on leftover crumbs. Fools take pleasure in a nothing conversation. Fools long for a glance. Fools live in dreams. Fools analyse every action. Fools fall in love.

I am a fool. A proud one.

Stars Rule

Sitting here in morbid reality, unfazed by the peril ahead. Doom-shy stubborness cloaks all my brittle emotions and i rely on fake faces to mask the ugly skin. A smile scars the soulful sorrow, a twinkle in the eyes blinks away the liquid, I am; but I am not, For I love her a lot. Sudden mellow thoughts, unwarned thoughts of rage, macabre chaos, gentle calmness, life is a mess, moods sway, here and there, a tree's branch swinging with nothing really to say. Middle men reality, doll story fakeness, conflicting realities both; dolls with broken parts; mendable, men with broken hearts; expendable. Lose focus, lose hope, lose the shore, hell! loser! lose it all!

Once in a lonely forest, a squirrel lost its heart to the moon. Determined to win the heart of the waxen queen in return, the squirrel began climbing. Sad story ends with squirrel on the tree top of the tallest tree on the tallest mountain yet far far away from the gloriously illuminated floating beauty. 'Go Home Son' said a star 'dig a hole and stay there'

Keep it fake, keep it smiling, no real use of cyring out loud. No real hope of disproving the stars.

REAL DREAMS
A dream dies when one wakes up to the realization that what he breathes now is real and what he saw then is but an uncapturable moment that he experienced not in consiousness but in the lack of it. What on the other hand is reality? is it not too an uncapturable moment experienced? Does Having lived the moment in private away from anyone who can bear witness to it make a dream unreal? A moment in what one might venture to call reality is witnessed only by beings in that world, and as such these beings cannot be summoned into your dreams to testify for what is actually real. So too the beings in the dreams cannot be summoned to bear testimony to your actions in the world that they live in and to promise before a crowd, that wherefrom he came is the reality and the one he speaks in is but a dream. Being this the case one is left an undecipherable ambiguity where reality and dream co exist and one cannot be denied without denying the other, and one cannot be taken more seriously while refering to the other as just an unwanted fleet of images and emotions generated by a resting mind to keep its sanity from passing and to protect its abilities from rusting. The fact that every day in what we percieve as reality picks up from where one left it the previous time may add credence to the calling of this existance as realty. On the other hand the existance wherein randomness is predominont is considered a dream. In this argument one fails to note that in both cases there does exist randomness but only in a different degree. Should we then depend on the degree of randomness of a particular existance distinguish between reality and dream? For that being the case one well knows that randomness becomes more and more over powering as one travels more and more into the realms of the smaller and smaller. Quite surely then one should arrive at the conclusion that a collection of dreams maketh reality and that reality can be broken down to dreams.

SCATTERED LEAVES

When it stopped raining
The earth still smelt of it
True friendship, continues living
Long after the friends have split
What joy do souls crave for
if not for a day like this
when all the scatered leaves from afar
come to experience this bliss
Make me a pot of coffee
let me chat with them all
soon they will take wing and flee
far from cry or call
oh come now fate give it way
let me write a page
For a memorable moment to stay
For maybe an everlasting age.