Of the monotonous life and ignored blog

"Said my goodbyes and now

This journey's just beginning

Time to move on ahead and drive..."

(by Dream Out Loud)

.....And suddenly I’m inspired to revive this ignored shell of mine.

Anonymous writer

Of colors and weirdest thoughts,

Ditching the messiness of the murkiness,

The weary grey winter mornings, 

Years of drunk wanderings.

His quieter eyes,

A shadow haunting in disguise,

Standing with his smoke,

Emerging half forgotten dreams.

When the voices sleep,

The ego of faceless man weeps,

Crumbling inside,

His soul writes.

  

Setback.

What a web of life we create for us by letting the forces change the directions beyond our understanding.The pebbles we plant, one each at a time, accumulate to build the bridges that knocks it all off at once and just like the ignored roses, the charisma is long lost, the neck down not willing to look up ever again.This post isn't going to be heart wrenching beautiful.In fact I'm clueless what all I'm pouring out but then i need to write even if the words fail to crawl and enlighten the darkest corners of hearts and there's no denying I'm just useless.

And the interesting thing about writing is that words kicks you while you are down to bash and break the plethora of thoughts to linger the scent of immense dumbness till your words starts spinning.All at a time and out of anxiety you end up setting up a draft to finish, someday.

The prison so wide

It's for nth time i listened from them that they're in love.The cliched idea of falling in and out of love is still amusing.It's witty how we spend days and months and if patient enough then years too, nourishing it, validating the so called better half until we get fed up with it and it seldom dies but then what resides in the core of nut sized brain is the tagged failed love, while somewhere part of ours know the feelings existed even though if it was for a particular phase.As the time passes by and distances grows, sooner or later it is packed up labelled with "Not in love anymore." The words are merely just words not making sense and eventually it loses the charisma to nothingness, dragging the connection.We pretend we never loved, we pretend we cannot love anyone , may be because we understand the pain of letting someone go, because no matter what, we had someone, and that was for real.The pain which takes shelter, as if we are not capable of loving anybody anymore.The stage where you're perfectly indifferent, where nothing really matters.

....Sliding, stumbling, rambling through the helter-skelter of life, We move out of such place just to fall again.

To tell the story of all the times,

Toxin of footsteps in sun and rain,

Some days, Of the stale rhymes, 

Through the perennial fiction.