mining hard for something that isn't

In the moments just before waking
I am with you
Fishing hard for you from
Fragments of broken memories
From strings of thought
Anf when i find you..
Even for fleeting seconds
There you are
In all your beauty,
In all of your poise.. and love
Beckonin me, enchanting me, loving me
Even if for a moment...
Some would say, love like this.. even if it touches your life briefly.. just the depth of it is enough to last a lifetime..
I am trying to find my own philosophy.. my own voice
I love you like mad
Wherever i go, you know that eventually i will come knocking at your door
In all the texture of the dream, there was something very captivating, something that held me to the dream.. not wanting to wake up.. and that was you
Jus like the dream, your texture in my life is what makes it interesting, gives it a purpose beyond what individual purpose that we strive and live for
In lesser words, without you i am like an empty shell.. in all its outer beauty, but missing the pearl, the soul within

a beautiful nightmare

i saw unpretentious reality as i observed without judgement.
i felt what i had slept through, unfeeling for years.
i died wen i was a child, selling wakefulness and paying an unfair price for survival.
in zombie land its easy to forget. everything is unlearned as the nerves that connect to each sense is slowly severed, mutating experiences, anesthesing life.
it is easy to forget what i remembered that day.
i saw canyons of desires, too deep for any consolation anymore. the shore was wild with waves of angry fear. splashing out in raw passion, creating craters to be filled, and them guarding them so that they wouldn't.
this self destructive pattern was the real deal. in a moment, existence, as my mind saw it, and lived it, borrowing life from tomorrow constantly

the beginning of nothingness, the entry point into the void was a sudden realisation... as the dust settled, and space created itself out of the vacuum of what seemed like everything, but nothing. l had a sudden thought in my newly emptied cup, i look like a nightmare! i thought. a powerful thought, this consumed me, showing me the patterns of my mind, a map drawn in relief, high priority areas were were in darker hues, while lighter shades filled out thoughts that were secondary and tertiary.

i saw truth in that moment. the hierarchy of priorities in my mind was not based on any particular logic, or common sense and reasoning.

it was visible to me objectively, and all the reflections that i could see in the shiny puddle of my mind, a lake with a million separate life forms, gorgeously coloured, grotesquely overpopulated, piled on top of each other, throbbing, living together in an indecipherable mess that could only be described as an artists dream.

i saw patterns swimming around, dancing sometimes, submissive at other times, ready to disappear. and everything that conspired, which defined the colour scheme of the living map, was me. my own fears and prejudice, my affections and choices created everything that defined me. the funny things is, what i saw in that moment, was new to me. wakefulness had me convinced that every action and every decision i made was backed by walls of rock solid logic.
maybe i had to fall asleep to witness the beautiful nightmare.

coming home

so far from home, for so long.. until home seems like a distant dream. unreal. difficult to remember things habits patterns that have defined me, building me block by block, making me who i am today.
but somewhere an incomplete spaces makes itself heard, a void like place slowly opens in the deeper layers of the subconscious mind, perhaps even deeper, in a place that poets define as the soul.
and home beckons, with a familiar longing, in a voice that is recognized by instinct rather than intelligence. in a thousand tongues, silently.
a world that lives in your genes. sights smells that have served to teach you meanings and concepts, defining the way you look at life. inheritance matures sooner or later. choosing a point in your life and declaring its significance.
you can run and hide from the world outside, but there is no running from what lies within you.
of what I've seen, people r capable of both good and bad. they are capable of both .. loving u and  hurting you. and don't think yourself any different. you also, are capable of both extremes of man.. the animal that descend from the ape.. and the more spiritually advanced creature of god. the dance of life between these two extremes defines all. and it is born by choices, which are predetermined to a large extent by what home is.

and each one of us born with a  negative balance, with the burden of the original sin.

the heartbreak

Dreamt of him all nyt.. Woke up in a sweat.. Trying to rebuild scattered reality.. But the dream remained fresh.. As if it were really happening... His absence even more painful in the morning.
Rolled around in bed trying to get out of thoughts and feelings that gushed through my body like angry river waters.
Now i want to feel the moment... Live in now. Why do i still feel connected when the bond is already severed from his end?
he has hung up the phone, and i still wait with the dead receiver in my hand
waiting for a voice
that no longer exists in my world
running into memories
groping dusty shelves in the closet
searching for a moment that has already left
a whisper of the past
a touch to tell me that i still exist
in hope and craving i betray time
but time moves forward
oblivious to my sorrow
oblivious to my loss

and i wonder what remains
if everything slowly disintegrates
if all flows away with the next tide
what is meaning anyway
but a passing moment

why does a traveller search for purpose
it is not a luxury she can afford
but in a closed compartment deep in the heart
a child indignantly questions the credos of life
sets forth uncaged
into a cold world

Ocean

Everybody leaves Bhagsu at once. The rains obliterating all chances of fun and enjoyment. Everything remains wet for the three months of monsoon. Washed laundry never dries, wounds don't heal, and tears get lost in the water.

In the country's highest rainfall region, i sit in the peak of monsoon, nursing a heartbreak. In the rains, i sought salvation in an ocean. Now i feel myself drifting, drowning, unable to find shore.

The depth of the free flowing water, of the massive waves and the mellow lull of their music, of roaring and lapping did me into such a trance, that i abandoned my raft, and jumped right in.

I knew that the ocean wasn't mine, but why then, did it feel so?

I tried to enjoy the water, to leave a mark, so that he knew i was there. But it is not possible to make paintings in the water. They disintegrate with the next wave. And the water flows on, to where the heart is.

The thing about water is, that it will roam everywhere the wind takes it, but eventually, it will flow home.

Not here, in a foreign land, far from home, when love showed itself in all of its brilliance, it doesn't stop. It lingers, making ravines and streams, dancing in the light, making music, but it flows on home. Leaving the songs behind, splashing the rocks where i had painted my dreams.

The notes hang in air, like rain drops, like tears, that have nowhere to flow. Suspended halfway in a moment that no longer is.

But when the water flowed inside me, i know a bit of it remained behind.