It takes nothing to see your loved one succeed

It takes something to 'fix' your loved one in hardship

It takes everything to see that one fall, fumble and stand up by himself

It takes absolute ignorance to see that one fail himself again and again

Writing and Age

When i was young
I wrote what was in my mind
And let it float around

As i become older
I edit, re-edit and i am still not ready to let go
I have patches of text
Punctuated with criss crossing lines

Yet not in possession
of the pleasant void
when you have your thoughts out

I hope i am not the only one

The juicy meat above

withholds the fibres of memories.

of being held above the window

beneath the pink sky

above the thatched huts,

like the floating fleece.

Hard grounds, a broken nose,

And scared knees marked my growth.

Pheripherally loved,

Periodically loathed,

Befriended during junkets,

Appointed in haste

Left as an afterthought

The above i foresee.

Accustomed i am to my ways

Though these change.

i mark these fibres

with a cut for every measured time 

and  wander along, carrying them.

Laying them near the shore

Only to be washed away

And gather them again.

I was talking about this, rather i have talked a few many times than it should have been thought or spoken about. It is about my light purple couch and me. We have a love and hate relationship. I sit on it in the evenings when i am back and i blame it for the inactivity in the last evening. It is simply an endless cycle...like everything else.

Life is a cluster of infatuations, and the couch at the moment is one, and i am simply not yet satiated.

I come here in the evenings, and perform the daily web, carbon emitting rituals, by searching google for the world smallest economy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niue) and pitying my account balance at the same time. I dream of myself (at times ) of being the poster boy of my family (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter what your background is ) and at times breaking every norm set (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter who you are ). It is completely incredible that one says that one is driven by his own passions and commitments when most of them are set by the times that one lives in. Every motion, stinging nose hairs, sweating eyelids are simply grains filling up the remaining time. They are controlled by precisely randomly timed infatuations of animated beings.

If everything is so pointless, then just make it more 'cheerful pointless'. Back to the couch.

I have moved into my new home two months ago. It is a place for me, it can be made warm and can be kept damp and cold. The way i want it to. I have three plants. They are all green inspite of the biting cold outside. Additionally there are two racks, wooden. They have a dark brownish tinge to them. They hold my few possesions: books, keys, files and folders. All my possesions rise in signifance and gleam their importance from time to time. My bed is white with a white linen and is creased with white stripes. I have two persian carpets, i love them. All in all, i look forward every evening to meet them. They are my first possesions, modest ones or not.  To remind me of home a linen on the wall hangs with elephants lightly embedded in fading colours .

The balcony at my place to its side oversees a river which has a grey bridge over it. The waters flow, lest they be frozen. Every morning a silver layer of mist awakes from the river and kisses the withered plants so as to remind them of the oncoming spring, though the same might be a bit far away in time. 

The last five minutes

If I had five minutes
With no one around
Nothing to worry
No work , Nothing to do…

I would clean my place
in the first minute
Smoke in the next
looking at the sky
and maybe smile...

With the third,
I shall halve it into two.
One for my friends
And the other for strangers.
For both are alike,
halved as the minute,
as the known
and yet to be known

Thirty seconds will pass by,
alike the years of youth.
And another equal measure
to mourn the passing

With the last two
I shall lay and close my eyes.
In these moments behind the lids,
eons march through …

Not a random thought

One can react only if one chooses to, but when one from the time of existence is exposed to reactions of people to discrete situations; then this one adapts to those reactions.

Example could be death. Though it is known heuristically that all die, one reacts with sadness to the same, and if one does not, the next level is absolute mystery that eventually has further adapted to anger or diappointment (read reactions) over any conceived absence of reactions or the conceived less proportionality of the same.

The choice of anything is governed by its consequence. This consequence can again be made a 'choice' by selecting the reaction to the above governing consequence.

One has choices leading to consequences which are nothing but choices again. Perceived consequences are results of constraints called as rules. But rules themselves are collective choices made over a certain period of time.

And further even if we accept a choice based on consequences, then it is done only to lead further favorable choices. Here favorable is subjective.