scripts...

are they real?

are they fate, destiny or

anything that i wonder to know about?

whatever it could be,

i read it

........

i am haunted!

the crazy utopian

i wonder, now,

could she be an utopian or

a myth of my dreams that

make me engaged

and loving my muses?

whatever, i owe her

i am walking unto the crazy utopia

where i will court and ....

.......

sometimes, things seem pretty dirty

dirty, pretty things!

memories, they never die

they are all like immortals, we fail and

they won!

i have tried many and failed pathetically,

for, memories are scripted deep within the unknown shores of

unknown lands.

i fail only before my memories,

they dominate me.

i erased them, some of them,

but they keep coming in.

.....

i just gotta get out of here

and i just want to explode,

i want to fly high, high and high above the firmament

and want to drop myself like an eagle from the heavens.

i will get you my myth,

for, you make my myth!

Comments

Hindolam: S

When someone is taken away from you, you realise how much you need that person. The universe took 'him' away from her and she wasn't ready to give up yet. She needed to get back to 'him', to her world. That was the only thought that crossed her mind, it consumed her. Her fear, perplexities and doubts vanished, this was the moment she figured out what she really wanted. She realised that she knew it all along. She loved 'him' so dearly that she wouldn't leave 'him' for anything in the world. She told him, "I belong to 'him'. No matter how intensely you love me, I will love 'him', not you. Because it was a promise for a lifetime. Even death can't do us apart. Let me go. I have to go back to 'him'. I know I'm hurting you but 'he' needs me. And do you know how ardently I love and admire 'him'? As much as you love me, if not more. And 'he' loves me much more than that also. ” His moist eyes...

Rage

Rage, rage, rage! Rage unto the roaring skies and rob the mighty waves of light; And sound the clash of Titans. Bring me them in the arc, I shall drink them to the less. Ah, my Angels and Devils, Rage unto the eternal fire and waters, I shall blow the west wind and chariot unto the Eastern skies. I carry the unquenched fire and sound the trumpet of war. They devoured Prometheus's liver, Defiled Hypatia upon Caesareum's altar, Stripped by oyster shells, Bathed in the blood of Jesus, the Nazarene. I bury them. Yes, I bury them. I see the reversal of the time- Those who walk on land shall return to their origin. The slave of the past, Bearer of forefathers' sins, Shed your blood, find solace in your shadows, As they demand the return of your sins. Show me your hands For, they drop blood and wipe the stains of sins they p...

Kundera

Emerging from the lampshade, a nocturnal butterfly fluttered erratically, startled by the sudden overhead light. As I closed the book, the strains of a distant piano and violin drifted weakly from below. Lost in contemplating the butterfly's flight patterns, I found myself entranced. Kundera, sensing my bewilderment, remarked on the rhythm, the highs and lows of the musical strains below. He spoke of the interconnectedness of each note, emphasizing how even the pauses between them contributed to the symphony's beauty. I was drawn to the profound silence, where a symphony was meticulously orchestrated. Interrupting my reverie, she snatched the book from my chest, exclaiming, "What are you reading?" I could only respond with an "Ah!"

The Ballads of Gravity

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