tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53657212880804090222024-03-05T11:48:32.337-08:00Parentheses PoeticaVerse redeems WordsAditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-89191634301158887302020-07-08T23:19:00.002-07:002020-07-08T23:22:28.948-07:00The Fearful Symmetry of our Past and Our Own Century.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you would all recall your history lessons, you will understand my discomfort with the current situation as it is. Imagine if someone from the 1920's took a trip in time to 2020, hoping that they would see a world fulfilled, a world that realised the hopes and aspirations of the revolutionaries - Martin Luther's dream achieved, world peace, and the end of barbarian dictatorships. To their dismay the only thing that we have been able to democratise is <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slim_Aarons">'Slim Aarons' </a>- photographs of attractive people doing attractive things - we call it Instagram!<br />
<br />
Lo and behold - 2020 is 1920 repackaged and sold in a new bottle, the added accessories being the internet and far reaching technology that has put us on the Moon, Mars, a nearby asteroid and Jupiter's moon. The other thing that's spreading faster than information (that may or may not be 'Fake News') is a deadly virus, Covid -19, an influenza that kills. Wait, even that's not an original, we had a pandemic in 1918. I came across a few photographs on the internet and it seems like Spanish Flu, broadcasts and notices have also been recycled much like the whole century. <br />
<br />
What's new? : People trying to ascertain that 'Black Lives Matter', Mini wars in the Middle East, Concentration Camps have shifted eastwards, Muslims are the new Jews, Imperialism is alive and kicking in Hong Kong and Taiwan, A cold war on the cards between an emerging Asian super power and the USA. Of course we have introduced global warming to the mix, but a nuclear winter is more likely to surpass the event.<br />
<br />
And that dear reader, is the Fearful Symmetry of two Centuries. But fear not,<br />
you can use the calm app and order Goop products on Amazon. There is also instagram in case anxiety is killing you and you need meme therapy or therapy memes. And finally, we can democratise the moon. Then there's life on Mars and Space X... "To Mars, all aboard."<br />
<br />
Why we never learn from history?<br />
And keep a fearful symmetry.<br />
of our past and a present century.<br />
<br />
Adi - Iti</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-86458995007006637352020-07-07T02:12:00.001-07:002020-07-07T02:12:21.157-07:00Hibernation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It took so long for the soul to be jolted out of its slumber, I fear it has grown roots deeper than its burrow. But it is not like roots ever tethered me to the ground, they outgrew me and now like the old hag's tree, I stand, with demons residing on every branch. Now where I cannot go and grow, I unleash a spirit. I have been hibernating but I am alive, still... <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Spreading out to as far your thoughts will take you, still burrowing into the abyss you stare at and still soaring up to heights that will blind you with their brilliance. And what spreads in all directions endlessly?<br />A chaos. An infinite chaos.<br /><br />Let's begin another chapter...<br /><br /><br />Adi - Iti</div>
</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-36914631611705802482017-11-01T08:56:00.000-07:002017-11-01T08:56:39.574-07:00Happiness is?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Like a cuss from the mouth of a maddened man,<br />Happiness fled out and then it ran.<br />
And filled a puddle and splashed a wound.<br />
It took an ocean before it swooned,<br />to be a wave or a cloud or a stretched summer strain.<br />And my self awareness has never been the same.<br /><br />The joy dances out like a split person,<br />And we have never known to become one.<br />I wonder if it has my face!<br />Or a farce of one.<br />A smiling grimace.<br /><br />And so We are,<br />My happiness and I.<br />If happiness is,<br />I know it's a chase.<br />And there is more to life,<br />Than chasing a phase.<br /><br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-32069986662597247362014-02-25T13:54:00.000-08:002014-02-25T13:54:25.432-08:00If leaving...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If leaving stop not to think,<br />leave at once if you may.<br />Love is not at mercy of whims,<br />as to live another day .<br /><br />
If leaving then stop not to think,<br />or you will be at the brink<br />to leave or to stay.<br />Love is not astray.<br />To live not is to fade.<br /><br />If leaving stop not to think,<br />to Love or to Love nothing<br />is not fraught with musing.<br />if leaving stop not to think.<br />
if loving is not a thought.<br />and living is granted not.<br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-68360133673014453442014-01-24T05:43:00.000-08:002014-01-24T05:49:47.390-08:00"And a bird without its wings is a lone and tragic thing"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Breathe not into me a life,<br />
that coils me to a body<br />
in the storm of one breath,<br />
there are thousand such deaths.<br />
and I have flown and found<br />
that the bird comes back to a nest<br />
and brings the twigs strewn,<br />
keeps them with the rest.<br />
<br />
And caged and caught<br />
I may sigh to sing,<br />
and trap my violent wings<br />
in the fringe that freedom is <br />
as it seems from the cage<br />
and my wings would cut in rage<br />
and my wings would fall in rage<br />
"And a bird without its wings<br />
is a lone and tragic thing"</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-48945528442937464542014-01-02T13:34:00.000-08:002014-02-25T13:55:01.566-08:00Dressed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wore the dress you brought me<br />
The one with a sash that was to constrict all<br />
the life in me in one title you confer me.<br />
It is a pretty black dress indeed.<br />
Perfect, silhouette cut from my curves<br />
It goes down the length to the hem of my knees.<br />
Ah well you always thought I was a decent one.<br />
Perhaps the black stocking wouldn't ruin it<br />
but then you said too modest it would be. "What are you ,a nun?"<br />
I wonder what is it that troubles you.<br />
My cheek and the disgrace<br />
that is burning in my thighs that you skirt. <br />
Or the will of not parting them at your fanciful blurt.<br />
Command and I shall cross my legs<br />
and un cross them at your brutal command.<br />
I have a primeval role to woo you ?<br />
The Perhaps is my will per se.<br />
I did or well I may. To woo or not to.<br />
But am I not to say...<br />
shall I not put my cards down and<br />
unfold the king to stoop to a queen<br />
while the jacks are all at meaningless play.<br />
Then you say"you don't gamble"<br />
And I say of course I don't.<br />
I will not gamble my love away.<br />
And the jacks will be dethroned.<br />
I will take the king and a scotch to go,<br />
"You are drunk?" Well now you know.<br />
I wore the black dress you brought me,<br />
NOW I won't wear the whites if you ask me to.<br />
I don't.<br />
WHY ? Black is not my shade and white isn't either.<br />
I have given in once.Now I won't<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-23507761706843768982013-12-01T11:41:00.001-08:002013-12-01T11:42:45.159-08:00Undead<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every morning I dig your grave and make an obituary with past tense in my speech. Every night I dig you out and whisper warmth in the present cold wind.<br />
Every day I light some wood and turn some scribbled notes to ash, every night I write something good to burn such scribbled hopes to ash.<br />
Every day I brave the chill with a laughter cutting through its fog and feign,Every night I spill some tears that make the morning mist again.<br />
Every day I let go of the remnants of a corpse of once a life, and every night the ghost of it haunts and holds on for dear life.<br />
Every day I jostle past the debris of the structure once, Every night I build the wall and leave a stone still un-turned.<br />
Every night and every day , I could put either one to end, To let it perish or to cherish to break and then to never mend.<br />
but what is it the night or the day , I could live it or take it to bed.<br />
Though not life, this is not death in choice and thus compulsively so Undead.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-46124009504939145942013-11-30T06:30:00.001-08:002013-11-30T06:35:43.830-08:00November Nougat Nostradamus.......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One cup, two cup pouring in the porcelain,<br />
there's brew in my blood and my tongue in cream.<br />
Novembers is such dreaded winter dream<br />
and Nougat to the flavor is a sweet relief,<br />
some Nostradamus penned apocalypse<br />
I can take them all in one heavenly sip.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-56270596538846040172013-11-11T00:23:00.002-08:002013-11-11T00:26:33.432-08:00EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA...... Honesty redefined.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lets say that I dislike you , I express it without sparing thought or mincing words and then stick it up your face.My dislike suddenly becomes despise and my despise turns to hatred, just as you perceived it to be. Worst case scenario.<br />
<br />
Instead I hold it back, go through a laborious process of critically evaluating my thoughts,behaviour, inclination and with the tested,time trusted measures that I apply to logical affirmation and reconsideration I announce that I disapprove of certain factors and make a rational call.We sit down on a table and discuss evidences, circumstantial and otherwise.<br />
<br />
Indeed, Honesty is not always the Truth just as Passion is not always Love.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-13711198415102075912013-10-31T13:10:00.002-07:002013-10-31T13:13:43.146-07:00Your dying heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Your dying heart has caved in ,<br />
in to the gorge of my swallowing pain,<br />
your dying heart has caved in today.<br />
The beat at its thump in my chest,<br />
the blood as it froze in my breast,<br />
time was your trusted test,<br />
it gave in today.<br />
<br />
Your dying heart has caved in today<br />
into a gorge of my swallowing pain,<br />
there's a river I say I know<br />
it floods the rocks, then storming its way.<br />
and discreetly still it does flow,<br />
off the land of mortals,<br />
secretly it paved in today.<br />
<br />
Your dying heart caved in today,<br />
into a gorge of my swallowing pain<br />
You dark befallen darkness I curse<br />
You shard of glass you broken ceramic<br />
I cut on you my bones and veins<br />
and they crushed and whirled in to the drain,<br />
of your deep sinking rabbit hole.<br />
and then your dying heart caved in with them.<br />
<br />
What is left of me I wonder,<br />
I was long dead and now I am plundered<br />
of that dying heart that caved in today.<br />
now,there is no gorge of swallowing pain.<br />
My dying love is still dying.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-64908833175060240302013-10-26T09:16:00.001-07:002013-10-26T09:17:44.792-07:00Silence is...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
mistaken to be a weakness and never seen as endurance. But is endurance only for the gullible and weak? I often wonder,<br />
<br />
sought as a resort from the jarring madness that words are.Exorbitant vacations in the most exotic of locations can not match up to the respite from the need of conversation or mindless talk to keep up with the social pressure of networking.But is solitude only for the introspecting? I often wonder.<br />
<br />
the laboratory of a mad genius and the perfect stillness that is before the most revolutionary of experiments are stirred in thought and then expressed.But is isolation only for the madmen? I often wonder.<br />
<br />
the offence of a lone wanderer when the world calls to join in its material revelry and then blazes at them the sounds synthesized by echo in the hollow spaces that resound in pluralism of the crowd.But is the wilderness only for the fakir? I often wonder.<br />
<br />
the indifference of a cynic when misplaced activism is eating into its own purpose by meddling with the jammed up cogs of the structure and in turn destroying what is left of them or empowering them by oiling their churning to be crushed under the implications.But is reason only for a philosopher to ponder?I often wonder.<br />
<br />
the medium I chose to express what I can not put in words, it is heavy, it is meaningful , it is a pause, a much needed one. My words can be undermined my silence never taken for granted. But is silence only for the shaken, the broken, the suppressed and the cowards.You will know of what I often wonder.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-21043002306283586162013-10-24T12:29:00.000-07:002013-10-26T09:18:23.154-07:00Filthy Hands<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My bare hands and I,<br />
we leave prints around ,<br />
One is the dot, the sun's eclipse spot.<br />
another a cross mark on the ground.<br />
<br />
I cut my fingers on barbed wire,<br />
have burnt fate's lines in the fire,<br />
and then dyed them in black or red,<br />
for graffiti or simply bled.<br />
bled from self,sometimes of other<br />
and to cleanse them have I never bothered.<br />
<br />
The earth in nails from the potters wheel<br />
and the glass from mosaic on the walls<br />
embedded in souls of my palms<br />
<div>
like time frozen in instance of build<br />
<div>
and the places where they have crawled.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
They have folded themselves in<br />
contemplation.<br />
what is thought and prayer at times.<br />
They have held back in consideration</div>
<div>
at others they have crossed the line.</div>
<div>
They have given in dread of mistrust<br />
and taken by a sincere thrust.<br />
they have rested on a restless heart<br />
and then stopped it in a clench of fist<br />
they have rubbed a temple in subdued thought<br />
and then coaxed it to not resist.<br />
<br />
they have held a warm body,cold and clinical</div>
<div>
they have traced passion on beautiful forms</div>
<div>
and have synchronized with tidal storms</div>
<div>
cured the cold faces with their warmth,</div>
<div>
in either my desire or their want</div>
<div>
they have held and let go not for long.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
fidgety devils in indecision</div>
<div>
gods in rights of their precision.</div>
<div>
my filthy hand will wash off one another.<br />
my filthy hands will wash off one another.</div>
</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-75200222417198198932013-10-06T15:33:00.001-07:002013-10-06T15:36:10.096-07:00The Nulliparous Romance.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Why is it that a stark love can yield nothing but an anomaly to its own nature?<br />
That upon yielding in its fruitful terms the most prolific perish to being barren, when nurtured by the wholesome ?<br />
Certainly the fruit of the womb could be bitter in its nature but why shrivelled? Should love and its consequential die as such,unborn? A disowned love child forsaken buy its bearer.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-49344995348945903622013-09-21T04:59:00.001-07:002013-09-21T05:00:10.229-07:00Wither Pale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Rest not,<br /> in augmented passions</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">of the bleak.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"> fade away in oblivion </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">the mind does seek,<br /> a blankness hollow to the brim,<br /> when the memory dies and the pain is a whim.<br /><br />How does one not embrace?<br /> the numb wind dance<br />on a naked face<br />as the winter scalpels the chill<br />at a pace at which you run against its gale.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">To burn before or after wither pale?<br /> </span></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-38456185162078967312013-09-17T12:21:00.001-07:002013-09-17T12:21:25.938-07:00Experiments of an Autodidact. Observatory.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are chances of explosive chemistry brewing in the mind of a person who has known no precaution in the lab. Non culpable suicides do not amount to fatal punishment, they result in them.<br />Having said that,did you know that dynamite was an accident after several suicidal attempts and a by product of fatal mistakes? Innovation and revolutions can never be stirred at mild precautions temperatures .<br /><br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-52964113627667619812013-09-10T13:18:00.005-07:002013-09-10T13:18:59.569-07:00Echo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Stare down a bottomless pit,<br />and then wait for the thump of a fall,<div>
and the sound never reaches your ears.<br /><br />It has been counting years,<br />the fall to meet its end<br />and in the ever lasting free fall<br />the fears I have I fend.<br /><br />So to test the theory true,<br />I screamed my heart to you,</div>
<div>
in a hope the end was met,<br />and the crash caused none dead,</div>
<div>
cut through the ominous silence</div>
<div>
lest the emptiness be the same.<br />I yelled at you not yours but my<br />own fateful name.<br /><br />I hear nothing new,<br />I crave to hear some voice,<br />The pit must be bottomless<br />for my ears do not meet an echo.<br />and the free fall is not a surge<br />and I am no string tied bob,<br />that will dangle on a string to hang<br />and then it's state recall.<br />it is an endless fall.<br />and the fall it shall be.<br /><br /></div>
</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-28901563314302875622013-09-02T10:48:00.000-07:002013-09-02T10:48:17.383-07:00Hope(The bird in the nest and her offspring)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tell me Love, Will the birds fly south?<br />
or would they keep their nests this frost.<br />
Will or won't the birds fly south?<br />
or would the skein be deformed and lost?<br />
Lets fly the birds away a while<br />
lets fly the flock in hope,<br />
the winter is too harsh to last,<br />
for the mother and her child alone.<br />
Pity the children know not to fly<br />
pity the mothers sorrow,<br />
They'll fade to the winter,<br />
together then<br />
they'll not see another tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Why won't the birds fly south again,<br />
why do they stay ?<br />
To die in the chill of winters harsh<br />
To bear the labour of pain.<br />
leave behind the petty ones,<br />
they'll cruelly be made to perish.<br />
what survives shall only last,<br />
what lasts, the spring will cherish.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-54927450460864152032013-09-01T07:06:00.004-07:002013-09-01T07:07:41.248-07:00Crumbs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>September:</b></span><br />
Crumbs from last years fill,<br />
have dwelt in pockets for so long,<br />
<br />
The rains have swept the colours to bleed<br />
summer can last only in a lyrical song<br />
and the seasons closing to the season frail<br />
and the sun is dying in the pale,<br />
the night has not still<br />
crept of a chill,<br />
my days are bearable in autumn's gust,<br />
the riviera of leaves floods the dust.<br />
last September took away so much<br />
this September I faintly believe in,<br />
for the taking away led to grieving<br />
though the end of the month brought,<br />
a cold frosted numbness, a plethora of thoughts<br />
tilling the insides when nothing would grow<br />
all would wilt and none to sow,<br />
how much have since the soils recovered<br />
and the groves of spring lament uncovered.<br />
the fruit of pain that dwells in the heart,<br />
is an un-cautioned leap with fears apart.<br />
and boldly did we step in December,<br />
my numbness and my love of the end September,<br />
swiftly did we bring in spring<br />
February has its own musings.<br />
but I will dwell in September,<br />
if nothing is to last forever,<br />
for there is hope without the spring's burst<br />
and despair without the winter's thrust<br />
and I live in both.<br />
hope and despair<br />
choosing each from time to time.<br />
My own subdued, my own sublime.<br />
<br />
Crumbs from the last year,<br />
I throw to the birds.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-19574178027768818592013-08-25T08:56:00.000-07:002013-08-25T09:00:38.621-07:00Indiscretions and Indifferences of Withdrawal (Confessions of a caffeine addict in rehab)Part I <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
First week:<br />
<br />
Why take subterfuge in sanity when you know you are extraordinaire and if the rest label it as some kind of an anomaly you need not care. <br />
<br />
Now, I am aware of my bodies ability to adapt to the barrels of coffee that I would glut myself with indulgently as I would go through the hum drum of my life. What I was not aware of was the tendency of my body to adapt to caffeine as an endocrine secretion rather than an artificial substrate that tampers to a degree with the metabolism and hyper functioning of it.<br />
<a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&ved=0CEMQFjAB&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.energyfiend.com%2Fcaffeine-metablolism&ei=UCAaUujZE8iGrgeN84D4Dw&usg=AFQjCNEPeZJhKbXDbiOsbrLqk-4Azhe6FQ&sig2=yz-WlbiwzYQDvBSpUHkLeA&bvm=bv.51156542,d.bmk">Caffeine metabolism</a> and the adversities associated with it I would neglect because in philosophy I am more of a fatalist and a cynic when it comes to prophesying . The school of thought that gives no thought to the criteria lethal existence because death is inevitable or as the less informed commoners would spell it out as YOLO.<br />
<br />
Bah!!<br />
<br />
So if the thought of the impending doom being accelerated was not a concern ,what was it? One may question.Well, you could say it was a very Rise of the Dark Knight situation where in the spirit of the human soul to survive in the face of adversity struck and struck me hard.<br />
<br />
I never thought it was a confession to make and forget me Father but I have not sinned in having a spoonful of heavens delightful brown earthy fruit in my cup.Only if I am to be accused of something then let it be the unending need for the holy spirit that pours from filter kettles into my mouth wide open.Aah, the sin of gluttony...umm ..no, lust perhaps.<br />
<br />
I was made to realize by none other than the ghost of my present that I being one of these people who is a fatalist in philosophy but a survivalist in action is challenging her own survival by being a heavily dependent piece of machinery that would die the day it's fuel would cease to be. Worse would die if stranded on an island(the ghost of my presents is brilliant at throwing at me convincing logical arguments especially when they cater to the cynic in me)Truth be told after having watched Cast Away at the age of five ,it has been one of my most dreaded nightmares.I realized that bringing up a coffee plantation with salt water to irrigate the fields in the sand did not seem like a viable solution and the osmosis of sea water on such a large scale is well impractical.<br />
<br />
So, what choice do I have? I am extraordinaire in my capability to absorb caffeine as my own but I am in all my capacity bound by the human restriction of not being able to produce it through hormonal secretion induced or natural.<br />
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Hence the ghost of my present talked into me sense. The worse part about interacting with the ghost of my present was the fact that it made its argument inscrutable by denying me the much needed cup of coffee while it talked to me. That's when I knew the conclusion was watertight. I had to quit otherwise the little voices in my head would die.<br />
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In the first week of my abstinence, I feel dead, I feel like I am the ghost of my past. I feel hungry all the time, I have fallen sick and feel drowsy and feeble and fragile and bleak.I walk through the streets avoiding the sight of cafes and anything close to the reminder of my elixir turned poison.<br />
The lesson to be taken from the indiscretions and the feigned indifference is:<br />
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If I can do it, so can you.For updates on the same, keep reading.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-77225517478171587752013-08-20T09:38:00.002-07:002013-08-20T09:38:46.304-07:00Circadian Relapses and their subtle hints.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Time will collapse in its eternity<br />forever will lament the time gone by,<br />and the sting that the time weeps on often<br />is the sting of each instance as it softly dies.<br />
<br />It relapses in its kill, the time we had,<br />the people we had , even the air we breath,<br />
in a cycle it changes to poisoned wreath<br />of the binding clause and if we choose to keep,<br />
trapped in our lungs, trapped in our hearts.<br />warping and deformed, they die, perhaps slowly,<br />they die for granted and they will die as unholy<br /><br />Causing slow torturous pain and little drops of blood,<br />why we fear not the melting ,we fear only the flood?<br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-21767249217745545322013-08-18T13:21:00.001-07:002013-08-18T13:21:48.169-07:00Who will tell your story?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wished for forgetfulness not a long time back.<br />I wish for it still. That or the reassurance that someone will tell my story as I would capturing details instance by instance, capturing details version by version. From the eye of a beholder and the eye of a critique, from the fond recollection of a friend and perhaps the fiery tongue of a foe that lashes its venom.A lover's passion , an admirer's wistfulness, a stranger's bewilderment and an acquaintance's misgivings .<br /><br />What to say of multitudes? I can not quite remember which role have played to perfection.<br />What is to remember?<br />Who will tell your story?<br /><br /></div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-65423908100520536962013-08-17T13:10:00.001-07:002013-08-17T13:14:43.871-07:00The Vanishing Act II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It is not an abrasion of the chaffed skin over the fresh wounds but the sudden merging of cicatrices with the flesh of my body. The healing gave way to such a rejuvenation that the scales of the past have been falling off. The tincture of time slowly wore of and the tourniquet was shed because a single stitch that was holding its ugly scar sunk in without a trace.<br />
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Even the bruises that they left, the patchy discoloured skin has now blend in and feels like river bed silt bathed in the dawn. The light set in, the dark diminished from the rims of the incarnation that was once before.The soul rid of the self inflicted atonement and the guilt minuscule to null.<br />
I know love again and am capable of it. I know the vitality of emotion and the flow of it through my veins and the will to spill them.<br />
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Another self is to die in this light and one wonders what all will die with it. It is the closure to a life disdained by its own wants and condemned by its needs.<br />
Now he can disappear, the apparition he was , he flees . Today I set him free and with him my dark and my fears, my afflictions and infliction, my self righteous indignation and I let go for the first time in my life.<br />
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But well, for him it is just another vanishing act.His second one perhaps.<br />
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Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-62186025349446147322013-08-05T04:07:00.000-07:002013-08-24T10:07:24.789-07:00Not quite Mona Lisa.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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but etched dark chocolate syrup should make this better art.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-4848524223589817012013-07-29T15:18:00.001-07:002013-07-29T15:21:22.626-07:00 Battles ,Annexations and the Wars.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't like to boast, display, or serve dutch courage.If a battle awaits I 'll keep my arsenal close.<br />
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Brick by brick we fall a wall, drop by drop we dry a well, pillar by pillar empires fell. The rats brought down Rome before the cats were unleashed. I have been warned, what now, what difference it makes? The confrontations have kept me awake through endless nights. I have slain my self, I have killed my self and been reborn. What effect you cause with the drums and horns?<br />
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We could blow the trumpets hollow of the air that is in our throats but what is the point? Better save up on that breath. You need it to fight, to battle, to win. <br />
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The enemies outside and the war is within. We part to annex the next territory. Before we control our wits , our form and our whims.<br />
How ignoble could the enemy be.Sinister in it's suicidal nature. Yet survival is the one stark key that keeps him from winning and you from failure. Who will rest your fidget, your paranoid ways?<br />
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We thrive on most poisoned despair but hope is what sees me through. I eliminate chinks of doubt and lies that may cloud my mind as I put myself through the test of endurance, the decree of pain. It is the light of life that I search for and not its friend of fate.<br />
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Plot whatever there may be on how you would or you might act. For I know not less or more than one in present , the fallacy of a forming fact.<br />
You defeat the purpose of your life in plotting another existence and end . I live here rejoicing little treasures and building on my long stood strengths.<br />
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I do not need a battle to annex what I know I do control. My life I chose to live as a free man. Not a prisoner fearing the end of parole.</div>
Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5365721288080409022.post-8885214357754008842013-07-24T12:12:00.000-07:002013-07-24T12:14:24.019-07:00What about lunch ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?</span>” </div>
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― A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh</div>
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Aditihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04307049519304797274noreply@blogger.com0