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.

PROMISE and WAIT

            Some people come in life , make us to promise , then they suddenly went away...disappear. I wait, wait again and then that wait turn endless, but not the mean less. because there lies a hope, also a question, why suddenly they went away living besides a promise which is to be fulfil for them only.

       old memories, new grief, this winter's morning and cloudy day, "gulzar" lyriced song, dilemma , some  regret. and prepraining mind for copmliting old promise, but suddenly found that for the person whom i am is no more here now. then for whom all these- now for own happiness, to get feeling of content.

     still lies a hope, they will come . there is a place which is far away , beyond distance. May be  from there one day wind will blow and touch me so swiftly that it will give me the feel of there presence, they are reading me, looking me.
     ohh wind..! i am waiting, i will till a long  time. what else i can do, i have learned  only a few things, one of them is wait, the other one is to breath and tolerate. rest torments, memory , nostalgia. & remember if you come , i will be there, but don't come too late, possibly my waiting eyes get tired & it cause blurry in my eyes or when it came to end you came.
the last moment is the best , rejoice.
     "True paradise are the paradise which we lost"
while writing , if i use my brain i am nothing, i have nothing to write, it should be just from the heart. for me writing is truly when i write without thinking, like free style dancing. without any boundation, any rule, limits. only occurring naturally , in its own rhythm. like poetry, sketching, reading and nature, like the one which i never...people should know that this 300grams muscle called heart, have entire world in itself.
i did what i say, now you have to come to find it, wherever you are, you have to come  because you also promise me  something. and the promise i have given is to you not for the people. so wind you blow fast, eyes you wait for some,  almighty make me to breath some more time..& you dear fate now please don't ruin my life. stop ruining...