A new FaceLift
After a long long time.... its time to say something again to my heart.
Just in tune with the meteoric change in my life in the past couple of months. Now here I am standing and watching the same odds beating a gentle retreat to my own humbleness while leaning on the privileged pillar of mercy of the one galvanizing my lifeblood all in all.Well, this very thought of Mexican shift in the amount of my own plight is nothing but an indication of the fact that what we are never changes, but who we are never stops changing.
On this note, I am leaving Singapore Airline to take off for yet another night to soar into a world of all new horizons and hopes where happiness and hope dwells in every possible corner of all aspiring hearts on a perpetual voyage.
Love you forever......
Revisting the memory lane straddling across Princess Street
This years Hogmanay, with a rather unexpected reunion having brought through a very much awaited and appreciated visit by same people from the land of lochs is most certainly the best one after a long painful and dirty hiatus, which I myself had imposed on me by trying to pick a lump of roadside dirt up my sleeves while anticiapting that one day it would crown my forehead.
The worst mistake I have ever made, but scars on my face will always remind me that past is very much a thing of present. Knowing what is around the corner in better than not knowing where the corner is..... just trying to meditate on this whole shebang with every passing day... rather amusing yet paiful but thats what life is all about.
Yet another morning but with a flashback
Just like any other day and unlike any other fine day this is also as mundane as it seems but there is a whiff of bile that is perpetual in its scent and is on the way to take everything away from with every morning. So much water has passed under the bridge that eyes are bloody petrified in the anticipation of a pause where I can take a deep breath and look up at something I have always cherished and will always do for the rest of my life. Needless to say that life on the other end is not as dismal and marooned as one might have thought one year ago by looking at that face soaked in tears of pain and helplessness. Life on the other end has moved on only to be driven by new love, new passion and new object of affection. Invariably the distance is growing with each passing moment as I am still as static as one could possible on the mercy of active inertia. I can’t see my freedom as there is no force strong enough to galvanize this dejected disposition where every conceivable faux pas is always seems to be favoring odds to the detriment of body and soul. still hanging on with thread of my faith to fulfill one innate desire to annihilate this mortal existence in the name of that limitless and the creator of time and space, but long days and nights of separation has innervated the already weakened will of mine to sustain the might of juggernaut which is rolling ruthlessly while being blind to all that is coming to its way. This fury of destruction and sheer quirk of fate has rendered my whole being reduced to stilts where taking a single step seems monumental and everlasting. I can’t move on as that will not be me. Let me take my chances and see how much further life can go on with nothing what I have and nothing what I will get. The suite of light is going farther and I am coming down.
Yesterday, a funeral and a spectator
A ball rolling and the player is static thinking about the contact he had had with it and the love that made him gelled with it. Player is out of the game as new one has arrived and the ball is rolling in his court… the funeral of the love between the ball and the player where there is no attendant to shed a tear but the one spectator across the river that is far too wide for her to cross as suspicion and ruthlessness is too deep and realization of love is nonexistent.
Here I am after having myself traveled nearly 5000 miles on land and air to find a new life, in the city of Joy but still can’t get enough of the pain while knowing very well the fact that life has moved on by everyone else. What can’t be found in the daylight will never be found in the night and the old saying that “Loved ones should be set free as they can never go too far from you” has proved itself once again as I see the ball changing the court and the player forever and rendering me out of the “game” forever.
Though I am decided by the fate to move across the carnality of my self imposed illusion what I still term as Love, I am still waiting on the court for the glimpse of the ball as it is the life blood of the player. An unfortunate son, a fallen lover and a player out of the game is still unable to leave the side of the river while the funeral pyre is slowing turning into pile of ashes destined to reunite with source of its elements.
Being orphan is the most gruesome tragedy that can ever be inflicted on someone, as time and space freezes in relation to someone who has no relatives in one way or another. I am static while the rest of my surrounding is moving, I am beyond relativity and I carry eventless horizons. I wish that one day a piece of darkness that I have been plunged into will eclipse the arrogance and might of the sun which seems to be shining forever.
Mistakes!
The word mistake in itself carries a lot of gravity provided the doer possesses a chin to take its repercussions on a positive note with regard to its future implications. My life has lately been marred with my own "Follies" to an extent that every action of mine seeks its origin to the wrong end of rationality. This inevitably erroneous backtracking is invariably gaining immortality with every passing moment to the detriment of my physical and mental faculties. Unstopable yet appearent it is surmounting my senses and any degree of consolation is confirming inadequacy of my resources to bring about any change to its status quo. The puzzled self-awareness is lost in the live wire that my mind has been been walking on. It is repeatedly tilting at the windmills without even knowing its own way out of this vast and endless terrains of worthlessness and jeopardized existence of my soul. Longivity of consciousness is defying every mean to sustain the life force withing and as I have been seeing is written on the wall well and truly. I am not the person who soars high with the baseless ground beneath lurking with my own dug pitt of sorrow and squalor..as a fact of the matter the spiral of my flight to belie the "strenghts" of waxed wings is yielding to the monumental might of the Sun. Off I come to the resting place that is destined for my end in the most painful and humiliating fashion. Can I seek any hap to be endowed with my haplessness? The hope to find an answer from THE ONE outthere is the only only subliminal scaffold I am hanging my life onto. Seems very unscrupulous and deserved but this ragged vision sees nothing in the offing.
How can I live like this where fear of unknown is turning out to come along with every known fear and smacking me in the face with every flutter of my eyes. Blurred realism and perceptions with ominous voids have become parts of my days and nights. Whatever comes in my ways is doomed to get trapped with the loss of time and space on the fetal and enoxorable periphery of the "Event Horizon" of a black hole called "My Life" in an inexplicable manner........
An answer from Hz. Hafiz Shirazi
Early morning, drunk from the night before
Wine in hand, asked the harpist to play more.
For my mind's journey, sent forth supplies of wine
From Existence City, sent him to explore.
Beautiful wine-seller gave me a sip of wine
I was safe from trickster Fate's horror and gore.
The wine-bearer to me said, with arched brows,
O target, arrows of reproach on you pour
You won't gird your waist with such binding belt
If you see that it is yourself who becomes sore.
Go and lay this trap of yours for another bird
Phoenix, at great heights will fly and soar.
Yet bind, belt, and trap are from Kingly grace
To adore itself and show endless amour.
Friend and player and bearer are all He
Water and clay to this path are but the door.
Give wine and let our ship happily sail
Upon this endless ocean without a shore.
Hafiz, our existence is a metaphor
This dreamy tale we tour and implore.
Poem 428 from Diwan-E-Hafiz.
Ode to my Love in 2005: A TALE OF TWO HEARTS
PART I
This story goes a long way surpassing the time and distance imposed by this material world that is meant to discount the eternal longing of two wandering souls for a rather desperate reunion. It starts from a point where division of land mass is more important than the scars on hearts and where religion is masterminding relationships at all costs.
The character of the Indian pilot Veer pratap singh is grappled with his wanderlust that finds him in all unimaginable situations for the cause of humanity, while Zara hayat khan resides comfortably in her dream world with very little inkling of the impending turns waiting for her just on the next corner. Suddenly on one fine day, she decides to cross the forbidden line for the sake of her commitment to someone very close to her heart and sets off her journey to the land of her future. That transition brings her to India from Pakistan. On her way she meets an “accident” only to be saved by Veer which seems just like another routine operation to him until he sees his eyes in the eyes of Zara. The life-long tale of a cataclysmic change unfolds itself at that very moment with the cataleptic flutter of their eyes. At that very juncture, Veer finds his destiny locked with her curls hanging all over her face without even knowing her destination. That puts a hex on the predictability of his life as certainly Veer’s pursuit of happiness just gets a downright new definition.
On their way to accomplish Zara’s quest to deliver her promise Veer comes to know who she actually is and why is where she is generally not supposed to be. To Zara’s that was just a trip to the land of her forefathers and she is happily looking forward to going back to her home and family but suddenly Veer asks her something unexpected that gives her tacit admiration a voice. Veer takes her to his village along with the curves of rural India where real India live. Zara in the mean time draws parallels on what she had had in her mind before coming to India and what she is witnessing actually. In the lurk, she discovers a strong feeling of attraction oozing out of her heart and cries for that face which is not so uncommon and definitely not forgettable anymore. In the village she meets his lovely parents. After initial apprehensions they grant their consent but insist on getting the approval from Zara’s family as well. As a result veer takes Zara to Pakistan but another rather displeasing truth was waiting for them just across the border and he happens to be Zara’s fiancé. Veer bears the brunt of that moment and finds himself speechless. Time goes by and Veer comes back to his village and leaves the army for good only to confine himself in the spines and curves of wondering alleys of the place he belongs to since he could remember. His family hold themselves responsible for Veer’s predicament and his father himself sends him to Pakistan to get her back in the name of true love. On the other end things are not quite as straight forward but that is not far from anticipation either. Zara belongs to an orthodox and "Posh" Muslim family and there is too much at the stake to make her will materialised. She is already besotted to the rich and influential businessman named Shirazi and Zara herself knows that any resistance on her part will only add to her agony by causing pain and humiliation to her family and she doesn’t want to let her new found life destroy all that she has been counting on for her whole life and getting everything one could long for from a family.
Finally the day arrives with the knell of a future that foresees Zara’s embarking on an endless voyage to find her happiness out of the ruins. The celebrations are rewarding the hearts with joy and drive them to the venue which is nothing less than ironic to Zara. It is the Shrine of a Sufi saint, to whom Zara has been turning to for the remedy of every speck of pain that has ever made her heart suffer, since her childhood. She is sinking in the biggest depression of her life in front of the Saint and her tears are hopelessly falling and leaving her too. She is loneliest in the face of this planet and her biggest strength is witnessing her fall seemingly unruffled.
Suddenly she feels the whiff of the scent that she has left somewhere with her heart and she turns around to the delight of herself in the first sight. Veer is there standing the middle of rain while personifying the Sufi’s flame of burning heart trying to reach the heaven of almighty at the very doorstep of the Shrine. She sees Veer and Veer sees his love Zara, but there are also thousands of eyes seeing them from an entirely different slant. Surmounting all that is in between two of them they try to disappear themselves in each other’s arms as if nothing never existed to separate them and their tears are pulling up a fight against the rain God. That is the moment when their entire lives get fused and crossed over for the rest of their life. But the next moment brings realization, attention, awareness, assessment, duty and at last separation to them with all persistence. Mother of Zara comes to Veer and asks if he could be living happily with Zara at the expense of the prestige and lives of her family. She says that it is the least one can expect from a son of India. Veer yields to the ultimate question and grants his life to a mother of Pakistan. Before going back he asks for permission to see Zara once and Zara comes to meet her dreams for the last time to bid a farewell with no hope of reunion.
The conversation between them is the foundation of a life-long commitment that is about to take shape. It underlies the invisible proximity, understated determination, unparalleled love and supreme selflessness, as they will continue building that everlasting bond between two hearts with every passing moment.
Veer says to Zara that few flashes of their lives have been exchanged between them and they will have to live for those moments no matter where life takes them to. Veer imagines Zara coming to visit him after years with her kids and he promises to take her for a ride on his bicycle. Zara replies that by that time she will too fat to ride on a bicycle and Veers comes up with the idea of using a trolley instead. This may well sound very superficial but is enough to take anyone through the pain of separation and a hopeless assent to the destiny for a very long time stretching from a tiny moment to the end of imagination. And along with the inevitability they turn their backs to the love where they had sown the seeds of their unbounded dreams in the skies of love, happiness and devotion.
Veer is on the India-bound bus, but suddenly breaks are jammed to halt it on the orders of the security forces. They storm the bus only to capture hapless Veer. When bewildered Veer asks about the whole shebang he is told that he is carrying a fake passport and is involved in activities to destabilise the country. Next moment Veer pratap singh gets a new identity of an Indian spy imposed on him and the price that is being set out to speak out against it is too high for Veer to pay. The person who masterminds the whole sinister plot turns out to be the fiancé of Zara, who couldn’t bed in the insult of having seen his would-be wife in the arms of her love and he is being afflicted immensely by the mere thought of uniting with someone for life who loves someone else in the first place. He proposes two exits for Veer, first one to accept that he has come to Pakistan to meet his love and the second one is to accept that he is an Indian spy and sign on the papers to testify it. Veers chooses the second option and saves the honour of Zara and her family and disappears in the dust of that caravan of happenstances with his identity, his countless dreams with Zara, his responsibilities towards his elderly parents and his surroundings.
PART II
22 years later, suddenly there comes a visitor to a jail located in the remote frontier area of Pakistan to seek a meeting with prisoner number 786. The visitor is a young lawyer named Samiya Khan. She gets the permission only after stating that she is officially representing the case of prisoner number 786 towards his release. Behind the bars there is a silhouetted figure with his eyes petrified enough to respond to any external stimuli and tongue twisted so much in the efforts of muffle expressions of grief and bereavement that it barely allows him to sigh. That person is Veer pratap singh and has been in the prison for 22 years without saying a word and getting everything that he has never deserved.
Samiya wants to handle his case and wants him to be released and sent back to India, but very little does she expect that this case is destined to open up into several other unimaginable dimensions. At last Veer gets himself convinced by Samiya and tells the whole story to her. Now Samiya has a dilemma to deal with. She can switch to another prisoner to set him free or she takes it on her chin and move in with story of Veer-Zara. She goes for the latter and Veer also agrees to let her, provided his secrets will always be remained unearthed deep in his heart for the sake of the dignity of his love. The destiny again drags Veer to a rather less surprising place and that is the court room where he stands helplessly watching a bunch of unknown identities questioning his own identity. All the evidences and witnesses turn their back to Veer and he is unable to swear by his love to let others hear his heart crying for the name of Zara with every single beat. At last court decides to give Zara one last chance in terms of seven days to prove her point. Veer is unfazed by all these activities around him as to him life doesn’t exist beyond his dreams where he lives happily with Zara irrespective of countless sufferings being afflicted on his body and soul. He acts in a mechanical way as any hope to see anyone dear to him has been vanished into the dust of time spanning 22 years of his solitude. Samiya on the other hand is trying for a miracle to happen as with every passing moment she is immersing deeper and deeper into the world of Veer and Zara. As her last attempt she resorts to the place where Veer originally came from to her area of land. She sets her sails to India. On arriving in Veer’s village she finds out that Veer’s parents have passed away several years ago and Veer is remained confined in the hearts of proud villagers as their brave son. Full of hopelessness and despair, she turns around to go back as there is no one waiting for Veer. But, the most unexpected quirk of fate compels her to change her mind and takes her towards the house of Veer. At the doorstep she notices that the house has been turned into a girl’s primary school and suddenly she hears something which shockingly defies her senses and logics. She sees a middle aged women emerging from the house with a stick and chalk in her hands. That is Zara. Seeing a visitors like Samiya sounds very uncommon to her and she stops by her. Dumbfounded Samiya can’t believe her eyes until she sees Zara’s best friend storming out of the kitchen after sensing a sudden silence. Zara is mentally unable to converse with Samiya as she looks still very much in the state of shock but her friend talks to Samiya. Samiya begins by introducing herself and tells the reason why she is there, but she still doesn’t understand why Zara is there. In the duration of 22 years Zara has been waiting tirelessly everyday for Veer. Her friend tells that soon after the marriage, Zara’s husband left her and Pakistan both and very quickly Zara lost her parents too. Knowing the Veer had been killed in that unfortunate bus accident, she moved to India to live with and take care of his old parents. But Veer’s parents too were heart broken and couldn’t sustain life with their only child and his widowed love for long and they passed away soon in quick successions. Zara opened a school for girls and since than there has been none who cares to pay a visit to this living shrine of love, devotion and divine purity.
Still in a state of disbelief, Samiya goes to Zara and gives her the protective charms from the Sufi shrine, which Zara’s mother had given to Veer while he was leaving for India. Veer gave the charm to Samiya for her protection through her journey. By looking at the charm Zara starts to feel the heart searing sensation of Veer’s presence filling all the horizons in real terms after 22 long years of void, trepidation and ordeal. Samiya has just got her hands on the most potent evidence to prove Veer’s real identity. She brings Zara back to Pakistan.
On the seventh day, the whole court room is awaiting anxiously for Samiya to open her Pandora box and show them the last trick she has up her sleeve. To disappoint all possible expectations Samiya enters with her evidence walking beside her. After a monumental and hopeless separation Veer and Zara are under the same roof and the judge has been rendered humble by the poetic justice bestowed by the almighty. He readily reads his verdict that sets Veer free with his true identity and dignity. The judge also apologies on behalf of Pakistan for keeping Veer away from his motherland, his family and above all his life for 22 years. Veer on the other hand is not listening to anything. Today his life has turned around and his dreams have bounced back with all their colours and hopes in the form of Zara. This moment has outweighed all the agony and pain of 22 years. Veer is complete now with Zara. They are looking into each others through the eyes of mind and soul and are trying to see how they actually are looking like in each other’s eyes. All distances have melted down and all conceivable boundaries of time, religion and space have been blown into smithereens by the inexorable deluge of the reunion of the lost souls.
With all the respect, Veer and Zara leave Pakistan only to look back to catch a glance of the angel who risked everything to make it all happen for real. Samiya is on the other side with departing tears for people who don’t relate to her directly and don’t belong to the place where she is from, but she seems very satisfied with her job and for the rest of her life she will always be able to see stars of Veer and Zara sparkling very brightly in her part of sky.
The border leads the way to the same tortuous and spindled alleys of their village but this time they are walking hands-in-hands not to be separated ever again. Veer takes Zara on his bicycle for a ride that both of them want to last ever after. They know that by ravishing their hearts in the eternal flame they have found the ultimate prize and at this moment there is nothing which can buy their happiness. To each other, they are closer to their hearts and dearer than their eyes. Test of time and destiny managed to separate them for a period of time but it couldn’t tear them apart.
Shito with all his heart and soul
To my love
I want to reach out over the arch of milkyway
And feel your hands across the span of the loch
Walk with you along the rainbow till the end of this firmament
Not looking over my shoulders caring for the wiltering sand
I want to see you sing and still want to hear all your whines
To understand your fears towards the abstraction of physicality
While knowing we're still flowing and permeating through all confines
I've been hoping it like this all of my life
Despite the holy water drowned me and blemished me older
But you never turned me over but still the chill in the wind is getting colder and colder
Can we stop repenting for the old scars which came along the bounty of destiny
Darling I don't have the answer to them as they are too evident
I want to meet you where you are free and can see me spotless too
I don't need you to surrender till you see the dawn of that fine judgement
Cause is serving our paths and the light itself is carrying the beacon
As when the one you're hurting is your own the wax seems to dripping out instead of tears
This communion are not worth making if we are casting us away at the mercy of cruelty
There is an old church bell waiting for us to pervade the realm of frailty
Coz some songs are still waiting to come to our lips before the final knell.
The face of the Beloved
Not every painted face has charm
Not every mirror maker, Alexander can disarm
Not everyone upon a throne who puts on a crown
Knows the ways of ruling over farm and town.
Like beggars serve not for the alms
Master keeps his servants in good form.
I submit to the will of the weal maker,
Alchemist beggar, lead into gold can transform.
Faith and loyalty are good, if you can learn
Else you must weather tyranny’s storm.
I was brokenhearted and still unaware;
For children of men, angel is the norm.
A point much finer than a strand of hair,
The unshaven hair is not a Dervish’s uniform.
All the world revolves around your mole
It takes a gem to know a gem, a worm, a worm.
Whoever charismatically becomes the king
Will rule the world if with fairness keep away harm.
The poetry of Hafiz can only inform
He whose heart and speech is kind and warm.
Hazrat Hafiz Shirazi - Diwan-e-Hafiz
One of the pearls from Diwan-e-Hafiz!
Suddenly you rent the veil, what does it mean?
Left home, drunk with ale, what does it mean?
Locks in hand, the morning breeze, rivals obey
Serving all others to such detail, what does it mean?
King of the Good, mendicants to you pray,
Made your throne into a jail, what does it mean?
At first, in my hands, your locks you lay,
Later on, you make me frail, what does it mean?
Your loins talk in riddles and your words secrets say;
Cut me in the middle, to what avail? What does it mean?
You lure us with Love, and like pawns, you play
Each piece you play, you fail, what does it mean?
O Hafiz, if your lover into your heart finds her way
Familiar is your trail, and your tale, what does it mean?
GoodBye to a life that I always made myself wanna die for!
The day is arriving slowly but for sure. 5 years ago the same day saw me roaring up high into the realms of my dreams and the last 12th september saw an abrupt end to that. As my plane left the Heathrow and soared higher and faster simultaneously my heart nosedived deeper with the speed and that glvasnisation is still regimenting my life by and large by all means.
A SAP Technical consultant but looking for hand-outs to iron out at least a fraction of my surmounting depression resulting on account od the Love that I have lost for good and for the GOD...
Hoplessly I am dying with every passing moment that is leaving the timestamp on my whole with very little for others to guess what I am going through. This silence of pain and agony has paralysed me and I am venting out all my pent-up frustration and helplessness on myself and the one whom I never thought of causing a single tear. All I am aurrounded by is pain and there is no way-out.
Time is coming very soon when there will be only memories and the touch of life will far far away from me without any hope for a come-back.
The horrendous stasi act that shook the whole world!
East Germany's Ministry for State Security, known as the Stasi, featured probably the most comprehensive internal security operation of the Cold War. The Stasi built an astonishingly widespread network of informants -- researchers estimate that out of a population of 16 million, 400,000 people actively cooperated. The Stasi kept files on up to 6 million East German citizens -- one-third of the entire population.
The Stasi operated with broad power and remarkable attention to detail. All phone calls from the West were monitored, as was all mail. Similar surveillance was routine domestically. Every factory, social club and youth association was infiltrated; many East Germans were persuaded or blackmailed into informing on their own families.
The Stasi kept close tabs on all potential subversives. Stasi agents collected scent samples from people by wiping bits of cloth on objects they had touched. These samples were stored in airtight glass containers and special dogs were trained to track down the person's scent. The agency was authorized to conduct secret smear campaigns against anyone it judged to be a threat; this might include sending anonymous letters and making anonymous phone calls to blackmail the targeted person. Torture was an accepted method of getting information.
Stasi abuses led to protests in Leipzig that helped pave the way for the fall of the Berlin Wall. After reunification, many former Stasi agents were prosecuted. Today, any former Stasi domestic espionage officer is barred from police work in Berlin.
Thoughts on reason!
Reason is the slave of the passion, and reality is the reason to be passionate. Time leaves a trail of subjugated thoughts in the process of this life long continuum of ego sustenance which by no means reflect an inherent feature of reasoning abilities of human being. More often than not we misconceive it as our perception of the ambience and past recollection which is collectively called Experience. I put the onus on precursors of these thoughts which has largely been discussed and reviewed. ffice
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Here comes the initial thought about drawing the parallel between two entirely separated yet mutually connected lives where all entities are interconnected but are inevitably oblivious to the fact that they are precursors to each other. Quite reluctantly I got myself convinced that frequency could be the saga that was brought back into a review frame by someone. Little aware was I of the effect that it would exert on my very being. The prelude was a bit hard to stomach but gradually the seriousness started surmounting my naïve apprehensions to the extent that I was literally immersed into the vastness of its repercussions in context of my own life and its so far Kafkaesque though patterns. It seemed to raffle off a bit of my self induced ignominies regarding parental hypothesis. It was hard to assume that in reality the synchronisation of frequencies doesn’t usually make this world a deliciously charming pantheon of happily lived lives. We are born here to live on scale of definite time length where any possibility of overlapping in terms of space and time is far from material feasibility and therefore it renders us to respect our past either because of its severity or its verdurity. Even in this presently thriving world of physical limitations we confront our boundaries very often as they are being tested by circumstances emanating from time-space union. More often than not we get exuberant sense of triumph over this deadlock - which slips off the fist beyond being recognised my human eyes - and the notion of supermanhood ramify the brain inarticulately yet blissfully. Nonetheless this human race still susceptible to be enchanted by paranormality. What we intend to ignore is the end result of its moribund yet archaic procrastination of self attainment which promises undoubtedly to set the soul free from all possible inhibitions. The very idea of totalitarianism accentuates this weakness of us and that leads to the genesis of dreams and imaginations. Narrowly speaking dreams are the curse of sleepiness and are characterised by lack of control over the chain of events but in with a broader point of view dreams can be said to presuppose great inventions that took place in the civilisation. My scepticism lurks over the thin line of separation between religion and science though at times both seem to overlap. I am not a disbeliever of practicality of spiritual faction of our personalities but I advocate a deeper understanding of the term “Practical” in this context. In my views practicality relates to every atom of the universe and that can be felt by looking at everything surrounding us but this practicality can’t be explained in terms of our limited scientific acumen. In modern terms it seems to straddle across understanding craft and admiring the craftsmanship. I term the former one science and the latter one religion. Material perceptions add to scientific explanation of this world thus give us the widely popular meaning of “Reality”. Ever wondered what would be the reality of an instance beyond event horizon? The answer lies in the fact that yardsticks of time and space are nonexistent and they don’t hold anything to be classified as past, present or future. This whole world is limited by myriad forces what is Newtonionly known as Gravity so inarguably it can’t harbour realism as reality would have been different under different circumstances while being controlled by less, more or no forces at all. This seriously casts doubts on the authenticity of our perceptions and leaves our “realism” as a product of feeble origin. Our inability to decipher the complexity of labyrinth of life around which events are weaved gives birth to an unquenchable desire of dictating our past. Scars from the old times remind us that past others present every time is utterly indifferent to our grudges and felicitations.
At this point I am feeling an insensible urge to dream the same despite having known the scarcity of sleep and felt fashionably surmounted by the influx of imagination. Little chief is a grown up boy but still can’t help himself crying in the hope of attaining resonance with the rhythm of divine harp being played by the creator. Frailties of my desires are far from being cured this sickness is praying to relapse into its juvenile depth of sleepings in shadow of my mother‘s arms. I just want to go back and if you grant me that sleep I promise not to wake up ever in my life.
A view to a dream
THE CONTINUATION OF THE DREAM fficeffice" />
The most probabilistic explanation dwells into several realms of intellectual daftness and none of the perceived knowledge can deceive its eventuality. I am going to wait and watch the repercussions with my eyes wide open to appreciate it as it has been clear to me that inability infested subconscious is not applicable anymore to rationalize anything around me. Last time I remembered GOD, was induced by sheer selflessness and will always be the case unless and until I get rid of the mighty me. So far the time being elapsed in the search for my lost possessions is being overshadowed by my passion to glean other’s belongings which I never managed to justify but inadvertently followed to the limits. The quest seems to me endless and the cost is being paid by every breath I take. Solely motivated by personal gratification and lust - for a life which neither suits me nor meant to be like that – I am gradually surmounted by the aura of inherent evil which is thriving on my inertia and growing stronger with each passing day.
FAKING IT ONCE AGAIN
The strange birth of an anomalous bifurcation in the vicinity is subjugation of my metaphysical ennui and languor which is inexorable and gradually falling prey to its own gravity, thus rendering my subconscious cluttered with all pain and misery of leaving the destination in oblivion just before starting the journey.fficeffice" />
May be it’s a surreptitious escape plan conspired under the canopy of the darkness inhabiting me, which straddles across both worlds. Spontaneity does not necessarily give way to serendipity, but defying the monologous rule of exceptions by proving this enigma undecipherable to the human soul, the daftness is surmounting the alter ego.
Transition leads to definition of the unknown. Quirk of fate renounces the perceived integrity of self, which is nothing but a shroud of mist waiting for sun to shine.
This highly galvanised doctrine leads me to contemplate on several facets of waxing parallelism in domains of our life with insensible interest.
Disputes concerning the time when we all relinquish our lives to the name of identity , which is merely a verbal discourse in the domain of mortality suggest strongly towards the enervation of our parts by the whole, though it feign a superficially conceivable principle of unity as the support.
This sceptical doubt both with respect to rationality and religion is a malady which can never be cured radically and we will relapsing into it inevitably and routinely.
My capacity to cerebrate is inadvertently susceptible to carelessness and inattention to fathom the hidden order, therefore it can afford me any remedy in the wake of my “subconsciously induced” active inertia.
On the crossroad of two extremes- where limitations are throbbing in the nascent heart and where actualisation of fabricating a “life after life” is being cultivated- my degree of confusion is as forked as the “Magic Roundabout”.
Treading on this path is all about living a life which is on wane and never ceases to define its salience…. I will attribute all my questions to my faith one day, which will make me believe everything unheard and unseen and will take me to the place where several moons are interwoven on the periphery and hearts live forever.