Grave of memories

        There should be a place where we can bury all over our griefs, all our problems, tensions or should be a place like black hole , you know black hole, a celestial object whose gravitational field is so strong that  even light cant came back from it,  where once entered there is no escape,  some people  are also like  black hole ,whom after meeting we forget our identity or they forcefully snatch our's.

     "Kuch ghar aise hote hai jahan ek bar koi chala jaye to wapas nhi aata "

      I  am in search of that house ,whenever i will found such  i will bury some of my memories ( of your's) , but what  if those memories start fighting within themselves , every memory belongs to different person but would be placed in same places, . Achha, do tell if any rivalry person's grave are  at same place do their soul live in rest or they continue to fight , we always says rest in peace, do they really rest in peace or their peace already snatched away.
      Will your memories live in peace with someone else's or will you fight with them, i heard  kinship may develop even in enemies if the faces same atrocities but you are quite diplomatic i know it very well,  you always pretend like everything is fine or you not aware of the convoluted things.The day when i will left your memories with her you would promise me that you will live in peace but i know you wont , and very soon i will be aware of it, you know why , because at that time I would also there, a part of mine would be there, resting on pillow of your old  memories, tough tormented .
Addiction could be of anything , could be of dwelling in past too , can pass morning to evening thinking on same thought  because its never ending  I know many thing faded with time, but still lies something somewhere in dark corner of heart, this 300 grams muscle called heart. It have something, it have entire universe in itself , it have single person's memory to a whole world's .

Chalo, aj kuch to positive likha, bahut sikayte the pessimisttic likhne ki. See magic of your memories.

Random Thoughts

        Just for a moment, a gaze so firm ,so  furious, burning eyes, of agony,of  anger, disappointment too,  all together, this is what i can see right now. God forbid.  can remember Japanese legend writer  Murakami         "In a sense, I'am the one who ruined me. I did it myself"
     So life is unpredictable proving day by day ,every step of mine like speculation.  Today writing is just releasing   anger and stress and it should be like this, if not always then at least for some time. How therapeutic it is when writing without thinking of any reader, just writing like an open diary, never had thought i can  release stress with  punch on keys , this poison called anger.
     When fight is between you and only you, the toughest one, but this too was destined to do ,when anarchy isn't only outside but within inside , when chaos isn't just of images but of thoughts too,  conflicts  in every  thought ,but  this is transformation. This process makes you to survive in  more harsh situation, making you to believe  in unveiled strength of yourself ...
In book "The Alchemist " the Shepard  boy realizes real treasure wasn't  in far  pyramids of Egypt  nor in church or fields of Spain  but in the voyage , in pursuit of treasure all the obstacle he met , all the lesson he learn ,treasure was the memories of happiness and sorrow , the journey itself  was treasure,  same  true for all of us too , but sometimes we forget this or our gaze disillusioned .
Sometimes there is nothing called good or bad , right or wrong  all are just different aspects of same thing, all are just right in their own perspectives,  who we are to blame ,who we are to judge them , its only time"s work and right , time not just heals but it justify. People arnt bad they are just different from us and we make our belief on base of our prejudices. when frame of reference changes things changes a lot, might be what i always believe is entirely different from truth, and that's why it is said "Truth is eternal ".

So far these are some random thought,  anger which is releasing through writing, some conflicts within me, its good asking yourself questions then suddenly getting all answers , things never remain same when  any drastic  happen  but slowly slowly it tries to come  on  same path again, what we thinks   in childhood we found ourselves surrounding with same  in old age. because in end we again came back to starting point, as like in race it's end is the same starting point .its just circle, eventually we came back from where we starts. All Napolian came back to their roots, we will also, after wandering a lot, we  will also on same track perhaps at end. Till then just enjoy the journey. 

Abstract Of september

                 "Likhne ya na likhne ke confusion se bachne ka ek hi tareeka ho sakta h ; likh dena fir chahe kachra hi kyun na likha ho" .
 Same should be in life too , just take any initiative than to stick in dilemmas , might be  that decision turn adverse  ; nonetheless  take decision  it need  courage. Taking right step is best but even taking wrong step is  not  as bad as not taking at all and we don't get any straight choice, as  "Life ...the way it really - is a battle not between good and bad but between bad and worse " (Brodsky) .
                 khair ,  Fulfilling promise arnt that easy ...Don't know  what's happening with me but I am not able to write , why...,don't know "Perhaps liking/loving anything to such extent that even you cant get  that  "
life...There  is no any specific tool to require to pen down thoughts just a pen, diary (in my case register as i write in register )and isolate place. earlier at terrace i could pen down  easily or late night in room. Such time also came when i had wrote in crowded place like cafe shop, fly over, who cares when you around all unknown people. Yeah there  a restless to write but i am still stranded at a place where one part of mine feels to  write , but other one denying  neither body have strength nor mind have thoughts , poor me ...Ohh, whiskey you are really affecting my body CNS...trembling hands.
             Procrastination is a different thing ,but when heart really wants to write no matter how lazy are, you still gather some courage . There  should be any reason to write, else it got tough to pen down, don't know if  we called that as inspiration, that could be anything  nostalgia ,past dreams , regrets, some memories rest nothing  but needed.  there lies  a person or dream whom we can write eternally, you know why because we wont get them, we can only dream of them, Unrequited love are eternal. "The sweetest songs are those that tell that the saddest tales".
"Adhure Khawab ache lagte hai"  maybe life too,  someday we would like this , but wouldn't adopt it , accept it completely, there always  remain  a thrust for completeness which is unattainable, Perfaction is unattainable, things should accept it as like they are life too , person too.

           Life  don't know what exactly it is , what day add in it, what night, what rain, what memories, person;  this blend is too complex . To understand furnace of God is not easy , so let it be as it is, engineering don't teaches every manufacture process.  I afraid very soon this blog will turn into an open diary of mine, as nothing to post special , anything different   , just posting old  written work
but

"We write to taste life twice"

Micro Fiction

              

1. Letters:
                  There was a night when i wrote letters to you, it felt like soft hammering, as if  with every word a hammer was  striking .I coudnt complete even a  single letter. But In morning i found a heap of uncompleted letters.

2. Body:
               Those days when you were exploring my body and i was stupidly dreaming you to love me divinely.
I lied, those days never had came.

3.Vanish:
               Some characters from my life have suddenly vanished in thin air, silently as they came they leaved . Now i search them in my old writings.

4.Praise:
               One day someone praised of my writings, i felt proud and  tried to write more  better. Since then i coudnt write anything good.

5.Darkness:
                    I sit in the dark, and it is hard to figure out which is worse, the darkness inside or the darkness outside .

6.Washed letter:
             While i was writing a love letter in chalk on your house wall,  you  came with your lover. Suddenly rain washed all writing .

7.Permanent:
                     I f anything was permanent  ever that was the admiration i did years ago, without knowing you.
Thus i don't wanna know you.
             
8.Remember:
          She: do you ever remember me.
          ME: I only remember you in the days sadness and night of insomnia.
But coudnt tell her every night of mine is insomniac and every day is sad.

9.Answer :
                After struggling for 12 years i finally gather courage and tell her, I have crush on you.
when i look for any answer  , she said i knew it from first day and have answer from that day. "You and I are cannot live together, not because of you , not because of me, but we are just beyond time."

10.Voice Echoed:
                             I was sitting in the park and reading a fiction novel, slowly failing in love with the characters . suddenly they appear across me, i tried to touch them but they disapear .A voice echoed then "we come like this only, and disapear  "
Next day, when i was at her home, and stretch my hand for handshake , same voice echoed. since then i never touched her.

11.Outfits:
                 She said: Good outfits, looking handsome.
                 I smiled and said i look pretty wearing cloth of sorrows.

12.Vicious circle:
                           It was all over, but one day someone met,  our gaze fixed to each other, she was smiling and i was afrading. She read that in my eyes and ask why you scaring.
I coudnt tell her that , again vicious circle of dreaming, insomniac night and writing have  starts.

13.Rain:
                 She exclaimed cheerily- Wow...! its raining.
I looked into my teared eyes rather then outside and said exhaustively- Yeah, raining here also.

14.Lie:
            One day she was reading poems from my diary, she asked for whom you write all these.
I looked in her eyes for a moment and said "No one"
and lied that every writing of mine belongs  to you only.

15.Curse:
               When we last meet, she cursed me that i would forget every memory of her.
I was smiling on my intelligence that  i have already written a lot about her in my diary , by reading them i would reconstruct those memories.
At night when i picked up my diary, it was empty.

PS: few are inspired.

Day of leaving writing.

         Reason of not writing is not always lack of inspiration, but fear also. Fear of completeness . For those who haven't words but always have relentlessness to write, inspiration matters but not that much , for them it doesn't matter how bad their grammar or how rubbish there piece of  writing is but  it is essential as its always therapeutic .
For them writing is not just merely pen down some thoughts  , but  like a meditation and why not  as they forget everything (sometimes even themselves) while writing , or it  may be healing a object , even in their rubbish  writing you may found some jewels or may be not.

         writing is  necessary as like breathing but what when  some people deprived them from it, what when the only thing they can do for themselves  is hurting others. How could they so mean , when there writing is hurting to others why they still writing , ... no they wont, they would leave that.
Day will come , they will lost inspiration , some people too, though life is about moving on, (as Churchill said, "If you going through hell, keep going " or ) but they wont , they found themselves sticked upon some people's memories only, (as those people long moved leaving them).  Loosing people  is not a new thing,  but loosing own part  would leave a silence not torments like earlier, silence of solitude .
           Perhaps a day come, they would leave there work; writing , not because of people or lack of inspiration but because they cant do that anymore, they would choose to not to write ever, they will slowly loosing themselves too , they would start a process of  killing  themselves daily, a part of them would die daily . The soul  who urges them to write would stop responding then ,or they just wont listen ,  that would be finished. They won't lost everything but would lost that part which was there own thoughts of reflection , but that day will come, if not now then someday.
 

Their soul will mourn that day so loudly even universe would scares from that cry , their  regretful eyes would wound more painful then ever , that fade smile  turn into sarcasm, own shadow would give condolence to  lost writing , epitaph would be without any words and may be for some moments poetry would be unemployed  ,doom's day for a soul that day.

       Tears wont roll down cheek that day , heart wont beat slower but for a person his inner life would finish since then. What they would do after that day, how they would survive , would they celebrate this solitude or live in comatose but surely they wont remain same person.
        Nobody is eternal in this fragile world, not words , thoughts , everything just live their destiny and passes away , just leaving  marks of them and memories.

"All our lives are merely one painful, laborious search
for our own graves"

Come someday

          Come someday , i would  be found in any empty room thinking about you only,  come  swiftly like blowing wind and touch me so gently but even in that touch i would feel you, come someday like cloud  so that i can hope for you or come like rain & heal me, come some night in my half awakening  eyes so that i can dream for you , of you, come like fiction characters of most melancholic novels for whom i am yet shedding my tears, come out of the music i am listening right now so that i can see the masterpiece in reality.
         You came in dream , but the space you left was reality, I am still , for this moment, time is running world moving in its natural pace but here i am stand still , stopped for this moment. While writing you, thinking about you how could i be in this world. when i am trying to compose our own world (sorry, of my own world, you are far away in reality i am in illusion ).You may come now , i am beyond this materialistic world till i am writing this, i am in crowd  but still isolated.
             You and me contrary to each other both trying to filling our own world , you have colors to fill. i am having only black & white shades to color my life, but this is perfect blend , this is how it should be. Dont complain, i wont  work hard  for a bright future, may  be i cant or i just not willing to do so, (since its good to have some regrets of life don't need  to have all happiness of life) but i can promise , i would daily compose a new poetry for you , by those words you can adore yourself as jewel, i wont afford any Audi but will show my dreamy eyes (sometimes regretful ,as not  providing all joys of life)  where you can have happy ride, i cant assure you of worldly pleasure  but can assure you of my faith and love which would not fade, atleast that would be time immortal . I am not Gabriel Garcia Marquez  who promised his love Mercedes that right now i am nothing but but after 10 years i would world's renowned writer , no i even cant be that good in writing but   i would be renowned  for you only, what i have to do with this world.

              I am not good in many things, not practical enough to deal with world , sometimes may be found as mad or behaving like child, but i cant bother what people thinks of me. I may found in a  traffic point  resting on floor and writing some new blogs or any high altitude fly over in evening struggling for words  to compose a new poetry to heal myself through writing as its cathartic  for me but this is all i do, or only thing that i can do.

                   I assure you whenever cloud will come & bestowed their wishes by rain , i would be also found raining by words in this diary.  Come someday not like now in dreams, but come some day in reality also,i would be waiting...

                  "Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing
                     there is a field, I will ,meet you there"
              [Rumi]

New Boy in City

              It  was not that this city was new for me. I use to come here since when i was in second or third standard, every vacation we cousins gather here and spent vacations. Past days those are . But coming here for job prospectus is quite different , first job matters a lot. There are very simple things but matters a lot for the person who have this, experiences first time , like first date,  job,  marriage , motherhood etc . Though daily  happen with millions of people but still special for every individual , a life time treasure of memory for them sometime not.
               Ordinary youth's story completing graduation, unemployed , tired of sitting jobless, then someday for a try going for any big city, little struggle of life but worth. And  me, first interview that even on birthday (Giving first job interview on birthday that also a special experience) but rejected felt really bad  but found an unknown person suggesting to try for a another company and giving there's address. Again interview selected this time , that word "Congrats, you have been selected" echoed for a long , my ears were not accustomed of listening good news. was on seventh  heaven , still vividly  remember that rain .But still i left  that job  for further preparation , a risk for which i am not working hard.
               Then another dilemma came , to stay in this city or not.I couldn't  fix to any decision , what come in morning changes by noon, then in evening and night too or changes with every opinion  of friends. That fickleness of thoughts was itself kind of torment, sufficient to give excess stress.  Taking any decision is better then to suffer in dilemma and even right decision after passing time, turn into wrong one. so taking decision matters, time itself would turn them wright or wrong .I afraid of my decisions, firstly i took too much of time to take any and worst is even after taking too much time they mostly turn wrong one.
As Shakespeare's "To be or not to be" sometimes seems that poets/ writers already felt everything which we facing now or could be. Is imagination have to do with experience or not how could 'Harivansh ' wrote 'Madhushala' when he never consume alcohol , don't know. some questions shouldn't be answered , and after all i should search for good questions , may be in quest of good questions i would found  some good answers, which were veiled earlier
                  During  those days of fickleness i have nothing to do but sitting whole day in a single room , whole day with only a cell phone and  just an outing  in evening . And on name of outing that was to  observing people, breathing,thinking , viewing from a high altitude place nothing else. One evening i felt i shouldn't turn as a coward  ,  as an escapist, afraid at least this time. Afraid of loneliness or dreams but as i rise my gaze i found whole sky is mine , i am not alone here, whole night is mine with random thoughts, with some novels, a companion, my  diary  with whom i can say everything. Choose any place in city where your can talk to yourself, shed tear or laugh , observe people or introspect oneself. I have a purpose in this city (though really need to realize this). 
                     I know my decisions are weak but that can be make firm by working hard on that, have to overcome some fear, have to do some struggle for sake of survival , have to live here, conquering the fear  & to win. Ohh too much to do, this city is with me till i have confidence to dance with it and to  run together, with same swift, have to do, if i resist it would leave me. Have to love this city, before people i have to love this city , explore this.                      

Desire of that GIRL

         When two women desires for same men ,or  loves same then the heat of their fury can even  burn sun, moon fails to calm them, wind and sea also fails but they still live in them only to protect their love. They burn with every action of others , nothing could be redemptive at that time . Still there lies a sense of moral in them . A bound of possessiveness lies, there animosity tie them together , somehow making them to pray for each others survival. 
        Either its   from Khalid 's "A Thousand Splendid Suns" or movie on Italian poet "Lope De Vega" the women character were bound together in a relation of jealousy , that's start from their animosity followed by abuse , quarrel, fights   but later  leads to a relation of mutual understanding  which isn't even  called friendship,   something different  beyond these terms. That relation which which make them to  face life together , problems & survival of their love together. Like in last days of Chilean poet Pablo Neruda his wife Maltida accepted his new love. But these happens in fiction novels , art movies or rarely in some poet's life but not in ordinary people's. Like with this girl who was not able to accept a new person in his love-life,  she could die but cant accept this.
       
               She was mad , she was ; not because she took excess of sleeping pills , pesticides once or cut her vein but because of the reason she loves a person so madly that turning her mad too. yeah she was jealous but it was her right, it was her right to be envious upon the girl who  is coming in her way of love.
      From surface in her talks there lies aggressiveness, but deeper a calmness , a distress voice ,  sense of insecurity.  Even in her every  dunked  talk that pain remains , in every abuse that dejection remains. She consumes Vodka  , sometimes neet but in months and when she touch the goblet it starts mourning, her glass afraid of her because she breaks every limit of hers , she use  to say why to do ordinary , limited , when we cross limit we get something more . Poor girl you are only getting  extra pain not pleasure . But she was capable to tolerate all these torments as she was habitual of pain . women have more endurance then man, they can sacrifice everything for their love , man in his ego cant . Whenever she consumes hookah , she burn inside and stared firmly in her man 's eyes  . A gaze so pure that it hurts , i fear of that courage of her.

As
                   "Those who cant find out anything to leave for,
                   always invent something to die for"
 She tried for suicidal  attempt  but  she still alive ; she forget something , fails to realize that  when  people daily pray for your survival you cant leave us  from any such attempts. Here are some people who daily make you to alive  in their every prayer, every dream.
Whole night in between conscious and unconscious state she uttered some unclear words , but there is one person who know what she wanna say.


PS: though this blog post is not good or like usual   but its for someone 's desire . I am lucky to have such a  chance , filling colors in someone's life.

when we make people happy or any deed of us , then the smile so come on our face is worth millions.  

When i lost her memories & shadow

          There was a night (i forget when) , we took a brief walk together; me , my shadow & her memories in late night of summer.We taking walk slowly but to my surprise i noticed my shadow was faster than me , i neglect that , soon my memories too walking fast leaving me behind, i just shocked watching them. Was not able to digest all this, just a moment before we all together .
           The dark shadow of mine was now turning whitish , with her memories. They walk for  a while then disappear. Before this i have already learn to breath and tolerate, but breathing alone was  not given to me , some torments with every breath were gifted to me. I was content in that i was having some memories but now she elope with my shadow. I had nothing then.
           I wish to transform myself in wind  so that i can catch them   so  ask for wind's help. She denied , she told she herself in search of her destiny , wandering  here and there, sometimes blow swiftly , sometimes hard. I then turn to earth and ask for help, she told that she have a huge heart, i can bury myself  there. For a moment i thought of it, it would be better to leave my body in hearth's heart , but then i leave this idea .As if i do so than i would be prisoner of my soul of cheating it, of depriving it from a body , i would culprit.
          Thus leaving this, wander aimlessly  for some time i came back to my place, without shadow and memories . Transforming      occurring, the diary in which i had write all those memories of her was now turning fade, when i was needing the most to read . i was losing one more thing, till then i believe by writing all these moments i would be able to live them again  by just reading them  but i was wrong, it was fading and vanishing.
then
          "I sit in the dark, and it would be hard to figure out
             which is worse, the darkness or the darkness outside"

I then look for my old fountain pen, empty that and washed that thoroughly , took blade and a  cut in vain , filling my blood in pen , i thought by writing through blood it would remain forever , won't disappear like ink. With trembling hand i was going to write what i lost today; the companion who always with me in my dark times,  my shadow ,and if not she than her memories , it was not just any tragedy but as if i lost something my own, long ago i come out of her life silently without saying any words but come with some memories of her, and today it lost that too. My hand resist to write ,it don't have such strength  to write all these then i thought to write any prosaic poetry, it resist that too , it just suddenly start writing an epitaph .
         What was happening was out of my control and endurance , i searched for morphine, it was something that i was needing, not the single malt whisky but morphin this time . I search , took and fade out. I waked but couldn't identify where exactly i was, on bed surrounding with some  unknown figure , at distant a familiar figure, with whitish glow , same old smile, fingers tucking hair seems known but was far of my sight, was not able to identify ,or it was one whose memory i lost,  was just thinking for some times and  fade out again.

        Since then i had dreams which i can't remember, every night i took trica and have sound sleep, some brief dreams , but all forget as i wake up, never remind any of them , except  a known stranger, little familiar figure, old smile, since i had lost my memories, her memories.

        

Writing without words

             Writing is either tough or very easy, many times it happens great chaos in mind, stampede of thoughts leading a sudden urge to write but not having words,  at that time feels as a sharp thorn piercing in toe but i continue to walk , feels restless to write . Wish i could write without words, could have magical words just thinking , whatever in heart just appear as a picture acr  Felt like a toddler, who want to tell something but couldn't speak, that eagerness, that restlessness . But still try, shows his words through his hopeful eyes, struggling acts, not so differ from mine, same state.
                     Sometimes i wish i turn  toddler again, who tries to walk, fall, stand again, fall seven times  stand eight times, finally learning , walking , without support, conquering his fear. Here i am falling , rising, struggling, defeating, crying , but not having zeal to stand again and fight for survival  , as if something in me has either forgotten or deep hidden, not untying these knots .
Though living in own parallel world, as if lies another life, living in  my own dreams. This imaginary life and reality continue to travelling parallel, as like a river. won't meet but will remain till end, some thoughts will be also like this, will remain in eyes till end.

    Writing is always redemptive, more cathartic when dark phases,  must when wandering , as this fickleness sucking me, pessimistic thoughts of choosing between worst  & more worst , is it reality or melancholic thoughts forcing me to think like this, don't know. But one thing not other,s opinion but inner voice will vanish all these darkness, not any other book but own writing , own reading will help, to explore myself only, need to read own insomniac eyes, own deep silence.

Why I write

           Although  i am avoiding this question since a long, or just avoiding to write on this here that,
       "Why i write".
   A very simple answer of it is ,"It heals", yeah , it is a therapeutic , it is cathartic process for me, it  is the one which makes me free from sorrow for a while, console me when no one to share prob., preferably a shoulder to cry.
     Though i never write a routine  diary ,but what i feels only, thoughts,  only when i get disturbed, feeling melancholy, dejected , when anything happen which hurt me really or a crush. But Sometimes even-after feeling blue i don't write as i feel tired to write, at that time only i shed tears (only when i really get tired) lil-bit one or two droplets but sufficient to get relaxed. deep breath n little cry is the best solution.
      "I sit in the dark , and it would be hard to figure out
            which is worse,
       The dark inside or the darkness outside"
[Joseph Brodsky]

    I believe there shouldn't any reason to like things, passion, should be free from any logic, argument, just love love.We shouldn't have any reason to like someone, it just happens , occur to make us dream for hours, to live , exist.
    I can vividly remember days or night when i had specific person to write about, to dream . At that time all my writing belonged to them only,  whatever i start but end up on writing about them only. But now days are gone , she have gone ,but i am here lone. well  sometimes i felt i really like to write about her only, i found peace, hope , joy. For almost two years i wrote belong to them only, as like Italian poet Dante, who dreamed of  Beatrice, and wrote for years even when she died long go . I was in illusion of platonic love, that was in search of  "Anna Femore' (i remember as the Greek word for divine love). some day if i gather energy to write on this i would surely, but not now.
           read somewhere 
    "Alcohol is to writer, what heart break is to the poet".

   Things have drastically changed now, no inspiration to write now, not such harsh feelings which makes me to do so, but because of some special persons writing blog (rarely, since procrastination nature), no matter how rubbish it is, but still they read. thank to them.

theory of relationship

         what should i called the distance between you and me, how could i measure it. at least not from any means of matriculation system, can it be measure in meter's, .
         can theory of relativity tells me relative distance between you and us, when i am approaching towards you but you moving backwards. when i was statically waiting for you but moving ahead, leaving  me.  light's speed can be beat up by yours. Are you  traveling with speed of light, then why you  seems invisible.        while watching a short movie one of the character said," it takes time to forget someone, but also takes same amount of time to generate that for some one else.
   can time just be measure in hours, minutes or days or years. Is there is a different time when someone wait , take more time when we are gloomy. if it is not then why it seems time endless when we wait. Then for how long years i have to wait.
    Don;t know but today feeling like to ask Einstein about his theory  of relativity regarding relationship  to ask Newton for his action reaction equation, why there not always equal and opposite reaction , why some people remain silent , despite collision of thoughts, dear science you are still need to learn a lot from human heart, there wishes.
       "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in over selves that we are underlings"
[Shakespeare, in Julius Ceaser]

a page from my diary

     27, jan. morning 6:39 am

  Happiness haven't any specific form, sometimes it comes in such a manner , moment that we don't realize it. even a smile on our face due to any reason is also a measure of it. so life is not that bad as i usually think , it gives when we stop desiring.  Greed can be of any type not just of materialistic things but can also be of happiness, desire to love, to be loved. 
"life hai chalta hai, sab kuch to nhi milta na "
             okey, the way , in the manner i expect i didn't get, but in those unsuccessful  things there lies  little happiness, just i didn't understand . the dream i wave about life , life is not like that. it is complicated when i think it is simple and when i take it as simple it turns complicated. 
There is a thing called hope, but expectation is quite different thing, it hurts because usually not happen what we expect for. only expectation is ruining.
so if we leave things to expect ,. means to do only work without expectation , then result might be get better,.
as from Bhagavad Gita
            " karmanye aadhikarste maa phaleshu kadaachana"

need to read geeta also, as well as "autobiography of a yogi".
there are a lot of thing in our life , that we want to do, but-even we also know this we don't do that, we will not. may be just because we accustomed in our usual routine or procrastination nature or may be we can't see over self to get do all thing which we desire for,  someday suddenly that desire comes in such  intensity that we do without thinking.
        as someday, suddenly i text them and tell her what i had been feel for them. but what of it now, something will be like dream only.

 When we change our point of reference we find things easier and attractive, that is why we like other's life, may be i am wrong. i like myself when i write because I am different when i write, i turn completely isolate, this is exactly the way what i likes in reality, i felt  myself like an incomplete average boy who have his small problems of life to be worried about, who have little dreams,who have crush upon on someone but didn't tell them, just tell them when they left, an a average boy, who have all the weakness , but still we can have sympathy with him, because in his pain pain , haplessness we reflect our-self also. in a way we all have  such an average, simple person , who have small problems, small hopes and  may be special one to crush upon and the same thing nobody to say all these, so taking  help of writing. .now tell me who is writing this, seems a part of ourself only.
incomplete i am ,. little little i am, but not copmlete, 
as a song "thoda hai , thode ki jarurat hai"

       this is a page from my diary, no any editing just some sentences have cut as it may bore readers a lot. this is what exactly i write just to heal myself, console myself.