~

What I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that though I do not know you and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you.

detach.

we have been drained like ink into the oceans
we do not belong anymore,
we do not belong.

patinga men-

:P

udhero naa.

khamosh paani mei aaj eik awaz hei shayed? khwaabon mei liptey huey saaman ko lene aaya hei koi? gum ho gaye they shayed ek toofaan mei hum tum kabhi. baarish ke saaye hein deewaron pe. awazein hein. isharey bhi.

khoye huey dinon mei bas gaye thay hum. laut jao. udhero naa. bas gaye they hum mitti mei chup ho ker. laut jao. udhero naa. uljha diya zamaane mei jo humko tumne. laut jao. udhero naa.

ordinary, the.

do you remember the story of the man who fought against the system, conquered all and became immortal. he was not ordinary. now each time someone does something remotely heroic they become that man. the man who would rather take a bullet to the heart then be just 'ordinary'. i want to be an ordinary man. i want no heroes fluttering about above my head, i do not want to walk amongst giants and i certainly do not want to remembered after i'm gone. my death, is the only connection i have to my mortality, i do not want to give it up just yet. we are not ordinary. sadly, we're not even close. we spend each day thrashing around in our own lives just hoping to go through a normal day. a normal day. one of which, has a rather inconsequential aura attached to it. one which goes by without you crying or laughing. instead, we are reminded constantly how we are not ordinary. how we do not have a choice but to fly in skies, how giants are our only companions and how our names are already immortal. we are never ordinary, never.

jolly ranchers-

one really fun night.

the art.

"The voice of life in me cannot reach the ear of life in you; but let us talk that we may not feel lonely."

- Kahlil Gibran

Patterns in the Ivy II - Opeth

Without you I cannot confide in anything
The hope is pale designed in light of dreams you bring
Summer's gone, the day is done soon comes the night
Biding time, leaving the line and out of sight
It runs in me, your poison seething in my veins
This skin is old and stained by late September rains
A final word from me would be the first for you
The rest is long but I'll go on inside and through
One moonlit shadow on the wall
Disrupted in its own creation
Veiled in the darkness of this fall
Is this the end - manifestation

water under the bridge.

a dry piece of flattened gum sticks to the sole of my shoe. it is the pavement's gift to it. i don't know why i never bother to remove it...somehow, i feel it deserves to be there. stuck on my shoe. that is my scar, an unimpressive, ugly, sticky blob of chewing-gum. it reminds me of the imperfections i have learnt to grow so fond of. the imperfections that mould me into the overbearing glass container that i refer to as 'life'. and the pessimist that i am, it's always fucking half empty. i also have other scars.

ever heard of the phrase 'water under the bridge'? its usually used when one wishes to indicate that they have graciously let by-gones be by-gones.

'Oh, thats water under the bridge'

'what is?'

'that...'

'that?'

that? what exactly is 'water under the bridge'. is it all those times that you wish your friends weren't your friends, all those conversation that slowly pierced your skin into your blood and remained forever a dysfuntional part of your being? is water under the bridge the night that you cried yourself to sleep in fifth grade because everyone at school made fun of you? or is it an apology, you know, from god...for ceaselessly fucking with your mind, smacking you on the ground like dice over and over again. go back three spaces, you're a loser- you deserve to die. water under the bridge. maybe its like the time when stick-thin slut went behind your back, or when brown-fat kid didn't know how to be a friend, or maybe even when you forgive the amazing-man friend for stealing the most important laughter in your life. surprisingly, i don't even feel bad about it. maybe i'm numb. or maybe, it is exactly what it is - water under the bridge.

sufi.

maut mujhko gawarah hei leikin,
kya karoon dum nikalta nahin hei,
dil mei dard banke aana wale ko,
zamaane bhar ki raahat de,
mujhe tarfaane wale ko.

-

this blur.

this blur is my favourite kind of picture.
it has been days since i talked to myself.

mask..

i remember being a child and always fearing the worst. i think everyone does, everyone thinks of what could happen in the very next minute that could devastate their very existence. i have acquainted myself with these ideas, with my fears. i have overcome my "faceless monsters" and given each of them a face, a name and a piece of myself. kind of like a good trade-off. i let them urinate ceasessly over my brain, and at the same time remind myself of everything that could go wrong is not necessarily scary. Scary is just a word i often use to describe a sensation i wish to avoid. what is true, is never scary...it's just sad.

however, forgive me the use of the word yet again. i am scared of some things. i am scared of seeing those i love in grief. i am scared that even though my own grief would grieve me, theirs would devastate me. i am scared that one day i will see past this very facade that i have set up in my mind that decapacitates me from being afraid. i am scared that one day i will be revealed, naked, like an autumn leaf. bare, even in all its intricacies. i am scared that through all this pretense, i will actually forget to be the person i was born to be and shed all those that love me unconditionally.