Free

The sky holds my inspiration. When there is blue, ideas flow and everything dries up in the gray. My writing is quite often about the sky. They are repetitive lines that describe what I see and they usually are about the fact that I can see. As a child the night sky fascinated me and made me dream big. Later in life, I remember naming shapes in white clouds and thought of who put them there. More recently, colours of the sky throughout the day fascinate and make me feel the need to write.

Changing rooms

I decided to make it to the stores. I had to buy a sweater and there was just no way out of it. The store I entered stretched out in front of me and the impact of the task ahead hit me in full force. I could already feel myself giving up slowly. Sweater I thought. Wool. Let's find wool. I wished the store would just make things simple for me and put all the wool in one single corner and let me just dive in for a moderately non-flashy weave of something that would last at least that winter. Of course, it is a private brand of hell where I find myself and there are sweaters classified by some mysterious formula, that suits most of the other shoppers around me of which I can make no sense. I find something that looks decent and is not priced the moon and a few stars.

I head to the changing rooms that makes the store look like a playground for kids.

Colours

A streak of orange and purple stretched across the portion of the sky that I could see from beside the massive ugly building in front of my window. The fact that I woke up early enough to see it, was as good as the vision before me. A squeal of delight and silent thanks to ice and dust high up in the air that spread the sunlight out. As the day went on, the orange and purple gave way to pink and light blue - gently fading into each other while remaining distinct.

Not a question about my blog though

If in some dark corners of the internet, there is a blog that screams at the TOP OF ITS VOICE and no one hears it, is it still filled with witty, funny, happy, silly expressions of the person who writes it?

Dialogues

She: (cracks knuckles, rubs palms together) Lets get this done today.

The world, the universe, everyone every where: Hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha

Foretell

Must be honest here
I am writing with hindsight
I know what has already happened
It is not a happy time ahead
This needs barely a thought to tell you

Me

I am no mystery. I am just consumed with myself. This blog is an exercise in ego-feeding. Everything I write is about me and my point of view. The way I view the world around me, the things I see, the things that interest me, that trouble me, that annoy me. There is just one thing that it conveys. If you just squint a little, you can see. Every word on this page and every other is just : "me".

At the hairdresser's

It is almost hypnotic as I sit and watch the scissors moving swiftly in and out of thick, dark hair. It falls all around the chair and she stops often to sweep all those thick locks on the floor. I glance at her and see that she is consumed in her task. She stops to measure. She stops to find what must be chopped next. An act that she could do with her mind in some other world. I look again at her and I know that it is. And slowly my mind drifts too. As I am sure is the person on the chair.

Fireworks show

As the music lifts me up to a high and all I want to do is to be one with the world and dance. The words were written for this music like a match made in heaven. And then I saw the fireworks, magical at the other end of the vast expanse. Was this my imagination, could music even that divine cause explosions of light and colour in the dark sky?

Confessions

I am an impostor
I am barely there
I am not all that I say I am
I am not what you think I am

List

Things that I have learnt

1. I was a better thinker when I was young
2. The world cannot be changed for the better
3. People lie horribly, but it really is for good
4. Don't eat junk food all the time
5. Stupidity has no bounds - especially mine
6. Life is worth living no matter how much it stinks
7. Sisters with chubby cheeks are crucial

Poem

Powdery blue skies
Puffs of clouds delight
I just can't go on
I am bored out of my mind

Don't

Wise men have said before
Everything that I have to say
And  yet I will continue to gab
Until I come to the question,
That I told you not to ask yesterday
Just don't.

Never ask this one thing

Question everything
Ask till they hate you for asking
What, why, where how and when
But never ask yourself or anyone else
What does it all mean?

Either or

If I must work hard
To capture the bright side of life
Does that make me a positive person
Or just a control freak

Wisdom from the fool

Unease, dissatisfaction, unhappiness
If these were constant states of being
Why would we the world work at all
Brief moments of small joys
make the world go around

Your turn

A sob story
A sad day
All that you will hear from me today
Instead why don't I keep it to myself
And hear your tale?

Purged clean

Small bits of silliness
Add up to explode into
a long and arduous process
of cleaning up and dumping out

Purged clean of decades of trash

Burn

His eyes follow you as he scrutinizes you intensely. You can feel the gaze burn down on you and you sweat uncomfortably. There is no escape. You try to get away but there is nothing you can do in the barren landscape that lies ahead. The ground below seems to do nothing but increase your discomfort as you wriggle to shake some sweat that is collecting on your back. Finally an oasis emerges on the horizon and you rush towards it. But the more you pedal, the further it seems to get. The thought of getting to the oasis, just to get back on the road, under the harsh Sun to cycle back home on a long stretch of shadeless roads makes you cringe. But it is done and you live now to tell the tale.

Every time

A little disappointment
Trumps
Remorse and regret, every time