Skip to main content

Not Very Unlike You

I love life. Not that my life is any better than yours. I still love it. I do not judge my life against what it has in store me. It is neutral kind of love and it is constant. It is like breathing and will be so until it leave me wanting some day, for one more lungful of life.

Sometime I win, mostly lose. Some days I am happy, other days are sad, and like you, I do not remember most of the in-between days in my life.  I believe in God, and I love to fall in love. I respect those who love me for they are so wonderfully patient, I do not hate those who ignore me, I can't see things about me the way they do, hence, probably what they do to me is in someway right too. I am not sure if I could die for a cause, I am for sure too fickle to live by one. Some days I cry for my fellow human beings, most days I cry for myself. 

No, I don’t go ahead and take that plunge; I am yet to do those special things I always wanted to do in my life. I am sure I will never end up living those moments I wanted myself to live. In this un-living is the possibility of living… and this fuel my dreams and fires my love… for life. 

I will someday be all that I wanted to be, that someday is many days away, and I am thankful to keep it that way.

Comments

  1. very uplifting - something I needed to hear :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. In the words of I Do Not Remember, "Why do today what you can do tomorrow?"

    ReplyDelete
  3. Rajesh, getting close to a phase of dormancy in writing??? (too blunt, sorry, but couldn't help asking; I really hope that am mistaken)

    Way to go!

    ReplyDelete
  4. RG, If you define Dormancy as the pause between two seasons in writing, you are bang on. It works in cycles, like seasons :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular Posts

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

Travelers All

Not all days are the same. There are those nameless faceless ones that are born out of ennui and quickly fly into oblivion. Nothing good comes from them. All they do is burn rubber. They don't take us closer to our destination. Then there are those days when the skies open up. There is an earth scattering screech, the kind you know will give way to a loud bang. Scarred for life you limp along, again. Crying over those who died and hurting for those who refused to ride with you again, you ride, for this is the only option you have known. And then there are those rare rare fairytale days. The ones that starts off without a cause but go on to transform themselves into days of momentous impact. These are those days that leave behind magical memories. That feeble hint of a smile amidst deep furrows of pain are from days as these. Travelers in time that we are, let's pray for short burst of sunshine and a fair share of fairy tale days.