Confessions : Of Uncertainty

Standard

The whirlpool of “what ifs” is terrible. Running around in circles of uncertainty can make even the most confident person falter their step. I’m not sure when I wrote this little piece, for I have moved far too many times to far too distant places, dreamed of it even. But now that I re-read it, the timing seems apt and a love far too real gets left behind again.

 

 

 

 

 

This is a part of Confessions Series. Written and forgotten in old sketchbooks, bought to life again here.

Confessions : Of Hurt

Standard

I found this not-so-vindictive write-up in the sketch book and I couldn’t believe that fact that time hasn’t changed me at all. I’m still this person, unwilling to be the vulnerable one. Every time somebody takes a snippet of my feelings for them, I demand to see them giving me a part of them that nobody else had a privilege to take. When we part ways because we always do, I treasure these replacements that the other person has left with me as a new version of myself.

PS: I know this post has a slightly morbid sense of being, but I assure you, most of us want this at some point or the other, this need to let the other person be hurting without our presence.

Confessions : Of choices

Standard

The two people I always Have a love hate relationship is with art and architecture. Architecture is like a stable marriage, you don’t hate it neither do you love it after the initial throes of passion. But art is seductive and in return it makes you constantly miserable. My choices of life always oscillate between both of these men in my life. Sigh!

Findings

Standard

“The living don’t wait to die alphabetically, nor do the dead want to be arranged in an order”, I penned down, half amused by this discovery of mine. I sat beside a small obscure grave marker , hidden behind the grand gravestone of another famous person. My headache didn’t show any signs of leaving me , nor did the weather look like it was going to let the bright sunshine seep into the grey Parisian sky.

“What are you searching for? ” He asked while finding himself a place beside me. Wearing a brown bowler hat and carrying a cane , he looked like he had walked out of  a  Rene Magritte painting albeit with a face and not an apple.

” I don’t know” I replied to the vague question with the most evasive phrase coined in English language.

” Nonsense! you obviously know what you are looking for, else your eyes wouldn’t be darting around like that of a madman seeking his sanity” he declared.

I laughed, a nervous laugh afraid as ever to say things out loud lest they become real and heavy with words that I possibly cannot take back. ” I guess I was looking for some alternative life altering mechanism over here” I said. “I guess I was searching for a person who died the same day as I was born” I continued. “I guess I was searching for an everlasting connection with the obscure in a way that I can never find otherwise”

“Hmmm” he grunted. “A bit lonely aren’t you?” he asked a few minutes later. ” No, not really, but sometimes I wish I had a legacy to carry or perhaps a cross to bear, so to speak. There is an innate satisfaction in knowing a piece about a stranger that could be polar opposite to who you are , but it also sets the roots for an identity that you have been running away from” I said.

“And what maybe that you are running away from?” he asked “These findings about myself.These words to be precise” I said without thinking.

“Clever one , you are, aren’t you” he patted my head in a avuncular manner and walked away into the labyrinth of gravestones, cane not making a sound, bowler hat not blowing away despite the storm brewing and wind hissing a warning.

“Insane might be a better word” I mumbled  to myself and went back to searching and not finding anything significant or at-least deluding myself about it.

Findings

Findings

The Dance

Standard

I’ve been meaning to learn to dance for about a year now, and I somehow never get to it( largely because of my two left feet and klutzy-ness) So while I was working on some illustrations with a Nat Cole song playing in the background I stumbled across this in my old sketchbook. Maybe I did learn to dance around and with words.

take two steps towards honesty
sway my hips abandoning all,
Slip and slide and eventually lie.

YOU,

take the lead,
moving and gathering me in your arms,
walking back,
breaking away from the buzz,
needing a pause.

WE

moved well,
when the beats played fast.
took the floor by a storm.
Stopped only when,
both of us faltered and fell down.

THEY,

Whistled and hooted when we started,
gave us space while showing us off,
mocked our eagerness behind our backs.
were eventually wrongly right,
about our lasts.

Art ache !

Standard

Image

I take little sips of known  ,

I sink it all in ,

I taste a bittersweet happiness,

Along with the coffee that feels like a memory,

 

I sit , I sip.

I switch sides ,

Trying to be anything otherwise,

Trying to remember that last coffee,

Of another day ,of a lost memory.IMG-20130214-WA0000

 

I seek to see ,

To try and ignore ,

Wanting to unknow.

 

I wait to forget , only to remember another regret .

I take a sip of this bittersweet memory ,

Watching with content another sun set,

Accompanied by sighing silence and a cup of coffee .