Status: connecting

I little longer than usual for one. Apologies. Work and everything makes the creative bird within you die. Anyways, she’s back. I’m back. More to come. Stay tuned. Follow, if not done already.
Love,
insanets

I am a hundred thousand words
Wrapped inside layers and layers
Of an impatient, undone soul
Waiting to get inside.

Can you tell me where
Years of hard work and mundane
Work pattern leads you?
Or better yet, leads me?

I am in constant fear of
Giving up on almost anything-
So I need to know what I could miss.
Can you tell me what ‘us’ are running towards?

What exactly is as bright as nebula?
Everyone is a suspect of something,
When everyone has tried not to be.
And today, it all ends to hands of inifinity.

Make sure today you wrap yourself
In best of what you’ve got
Because in moments to come
Time will stretch itself into a gigantic cube.

A cube? Yes. A cube of infinite possibilities,
A cube of answers, a cube of reasons.
More like the concept of utopia by Sir Thomas More
Only much more recent, thus more ‘trendy’.

What would you know if everything you knew
Is lost to fragments of truth-
The plain white truth of instinct and consequences.
Is now, the entire literature changed?

You thought of ideas as practical blocks,
I saw them as definite romance.
What are words if not an attempt,
To connect the bridge between us and gone.

Sitting right here in my chair,
In my words of escape from linings of sense,
You have been plotted inside my gigantic cube.
And worry not- I won’t kick you in the butt.

Jigsaw Pieces

I watch people and I sigh,
They all wish to be big.
Imagine my friend,
A world full of riches,
Imagine the possibilities,
Of giving each man,
Wealth of equal hand,
Who, then, will work,
And for whom I shall ask,
But why would they care?
They are the riches they dreamt.
Watch them closely,
The puppets are not to think,
The breed gives life,
To compound minds,
And sincere peace,
But must it all come,
Only today, dear child?
Then what would the master,
Teach with gratitude,
And what would the life,
In it’s nutshell behold?
I have a place for each knight,
For a knight is no king,
And a king is no God,
And God, is not in this era.
I have a piece of the pie,
But I can’t have it all,
I must die then,
With attempts of gluttony.
Each piece commands his own way,
And so the road starts to show,
Slowly with ease and faith,
The jigsaw must unfold.

The usual response

On a lonesome street on a monday morning
An appartment room of a single accommodation
Found a young man of about thirty
Dead, wrapped in sheets of sheer agony.
For the ambiance of the place was such
The shattered crockery at a nearby distance
Walls painted with unambitious designs
Screaming the state of mind of a ‘sane’ meadow.
In no time mourners shall arrive
The mechnical hands of some anonymous dream
Working aimlessly and sexually insane
A mere irony to the young man’s game.
His cause of death is uncertain
But as one might be so logical enough to realise
Overpowering stress and underwhelming satisfaction
Has made many lives accustomed to death.
Do you have a purpose in life?
Yoing boys like you should go all the way out
Running, shinning, dreaming the big picture
But what if the canvas holds shy of my unusual nature.
I am a mere character in His mysteries
A mere unit of the production gone wrong
The world that is the assembly line
Would only but replace the sad life.

Her fears

When you reach the ground bottom,
You are not afraid.
For you know nothing worse can happen. But what if, in the strangest of hours, a stranger, he who is gutsy blind,
Rises.
It only takes about a second or two,
And she takes it all away- that silence.
The humane element of life is disturbed, the life in its essence is rising;
Nirvana.
I see no hope for me and you,
I see none of us say the words. But I see the shine, the same ache in yours too-
Love.
The fear won’t let me speak, your unborn heart won’t let you. I see us in shade of some cool shelter, breathing, in laughter, dreams of our lives with our
Friends.
No one has ever won the battle of sentiments. Sentiments always burn the giver, a notion of bullshit and defeat, never ever,
Won.

Tears from then

I don’t have to tell you or this world,
How I miss you larger than life,
Every once in a while.
People need not know my longings of love,
For they are those who made me fear
Days from the past, days of my future.
Why must I shed any tear for a humanly soul,
That shredded my devotion into grains of dust,
And her-my life! Why should I waste her anymore than today.
I have come a long way from that visiting,
And yet fragments of it strive along,
Needing an outburst every one fortnight.
Children around my home play along,
At ease with anonymous sentiment of triumph,
But do they feel defeat just as hard?
I remember days of my childhood,
How it all went and how I lost,
I did feel terrible and ugliest.
She was a bright sunshine I longed for,
Her aroma aroused the dead,
Sadly, hers was the way of the devil-bleek.
I remember my years of growing up,
I did see some victory then,
But initial failure struck a little too longer than forever.
Memories are bittersweet
And with them comes tears;
tears of joy, tears of sorrow,
Tears that leave an entire lifetime in wound,
Tear that roar the soul of a lifeless cold man.

Adolescent

I have been in love,
Not once, not twice, but numerous times,
Not for her, or her, or her, but with almost everyone,
No! I am not a pervert. No,
I am just a nature guy.
I love anything and everything that leaves me wandering.
Yes, I am a guy,
Yes, I am not a grown up,
But no! When I say I am in love,
I don’t mean absurdity.
When I say I love her,
I love the way she talk,
Or the way she looks at me,
Or the way her  hairs are when she dances,
Or the way she looks when she is in tears,
I love her for countless different reasons,
And no, I am not ready to be taken,
Yes,  I live in a constant fear of anxiety,
I choke myself completely in fear of unknown and unheard,
I fear unaccustomed to your noises,
I feel guilty of being near.

Tender (love)

What I feel each time I see her,
I cannot call it love, for it will only
Abuse or praise my tender heart
Who is yet to know either and judge.
And how she looks back at me
Dancing her eyes, rolling them all over me is something else.
My friends, older than me, tell me she is big enough, out of my reach,
Yet in my heart I know that I love her and the sense of her being.
I love the way I wait hours to look at her when I go down to play,
And when she comes in early morning, as fresh as she bathed.
Isn’t it all love? I asked them who mock me.
And in return they say,
She’s only to give you a chocolate or two,Not the things you don’t even know of.
I turn around and walk towards home,
I didn’t understand what they said.
Yet another morning in the scorching heat,
Outside her house in the society park,
Holding my bat, I’m waiting in sweat for her to step out and smile back.

Dreams

Bring out my dreams,
In bundled stacks of papers,
Rainbow coloured, so lustrous from distance,
Skillfully- designed and wrapped,
Presented to each one of us,
Standing in queues, gazing wide open,
The labyrinth that is to break,
To come past it and win is this game.
‘Give me my dreams’, I screamed at them,
Those who carried the skeptic  box from the dominating doors of His majesty.
‘It is, dear child, for the worthy,
And you are just as spoilt as a smoker.
At the sight of those words I was infuriated,
I took the box and beat it hard,
Tried my best, exhausted and wasted,
I summoned to try one last attempt.
I closed my eyes and focused hard,
And spend some hours to my use,
My vision was finite yet I saw white,
But by the time I managed the light,
The box was gone. Someone else,
Worthy in time,
Embraced himself for this devotion he had.
In the box was nothing tangible,
And for that matter,
Nothing at all.
Yet the sight of an open big black box,
Made my dream too distant in a while,
Nightmare! it was all by chance,
That a meek tamed pet, was taken off to streets,
And killed, ruthlessly thereby!

The lost one

Where would you go
If the winds would let you fly,
Across the street to the bakery shop,
Or into the mountains for a quiet laugh?
What would you be inside the place
where you belong,
Would you be honest and have the will,
Or just sinfully play along?
Would you dream of the names,
Memories of your childhood,
People as they were then,
And how lively you have been in past?
Would you for me
Watch the snow through the window,
And race your mind into a memory of us?
Considering the things lost, would you let me in?
Would you let me sneak through your thoughts
And for a moment let me think,
The person you were and that you dream of
Isn’t inside the greedy skin.
Should you stay at all today?
Today when I have lost,
All of life inside  me that is,
Is disturbed dramatically- wholly or still.

Deserted

Who are we to blame in this crucial crime
Of tenderness and bliss, of fortune and sin?
For our reach is of mere our own hands guiding us
The way to the broken meadow
With nothing beside us but our own shadow,
In the silence no one shall lead the way.
Our crime is just and must be done with.
For such like us are lovers who seek the shelter of hope and comfort,
The founding stones of which, we with our blood, put to work.
Our journey is of patience and virtue,
No gold or silver one can extract.
Sleepless nights, hunger and thirst shall accompany our lives,
As we work to shield the lovers who defy the world.
For such o world you must pave their ways,
Their dignity restored shall only sum up to their pacified world,
I today for such lovers vow to die,
My death, my sacrifice history must know,
These lovers, such who fear, shall never be thrown.