Alone on the top

I climb the stairs one by one
Losing my people as I come
Closer to the top
Don’t know what have I become
Is it alright?

At night I look out of my window to see
A peaceful street ever-so-lonely
Much less than my life I bet
Tricked by dreams and debts.

The streetlight suddenly shimmers and I look again outside
A few people just passed by, out of my sight
It’s about to rain and before the night starts getting wet
I quickly grab my phone and switch on the internet.

I position the camera to capture the sky
But since too tired and sick of posting stuff online
So I just capture it and print it and write this story on it’s behind

That when I leave it and someone gets it,
They have my words on their mind.
On their lips, in their hearts|
A little moment I’ll define.
This moment of theirs particularly to me I’ll confine.

I’ll tell them it’s okay to be alone
Well at least for sometime
And that life is huge and people affluent
Surely some good company you’ll find!

Don’t just adjust for anything just cause everything else seems undefined
Define it,
Give it words
Style It
Call the birds
Tell them to tell the world
At the break of dawn
About it.

That’s about it. I guess I am done for tonight.

Advertisements

Give Love, get love. Simple! :)

It’s 6 in the evening.

I come home after work, change and sit in the living room to have snacks. For company I tune in some random channel on the T.V.

Guess which movie is being telecasted?

“The Notebook”

 

My over-protective inner self: “Nikita change it. It ain’t good for ya..”

So I try to change the channel but nothing else seems to be coming and the movie had just started so that was the happy part going on, for the moment.

My inviting-vulnerabilities inner self: “What will I lose? Let me just watch it till I finish the snacks. Things are different now, maybe it wouldn’t affect me so much!”

I had first seen this movie before 4 years and with the over sensitive being that I am, I was disturbed for days, especially after knowing that a part of that stuff was real.

(Notebook is a romantic novel based on a True Story written by Nicholas Sparks in 1996, inspired by his wife’s grandparents who had been married for more than 60 sixty years when he met them.) (Source: Google)

In no time 60 minutes pass by and my roommate comes home. I am so glad that she doesn’t sit and talk with me and straight away heads towards the room. I need my space so that I can do whatever I want without being stared at.

But what is it that I want to do at the moment?

 

I cry as Martha Shaw comes in. As everyday, willingly of course, she is invited and yet rejected, loved and yet made to feel small.

When Noah takes Allie on the boat, which he built himself, and later takes her to the house, which again, he built himself.

As they sit in THE Room drinking beer and the way he looks at her.

As Allie sits there naked and paints.

When her mom drives her to this construction site and tells her that she truly loves her father but how once she was madly in love with that guy who is still working at that site and how her life could have been different if she had tried a little harder.

When Allie reads his letters sitting in the car. As they fight only to come back together. All the freakin’ time. Every time.

How they grow old together, how they die TOGETHER. Even being so old when they can hardly stand still without support, how they still kissed with that holy intense love.

I mean that’s too much to handle with closed lips so I open my mouth and cry.
And just then my roommate comes out of the room!

My conscious inner-self: “Embarrassing!! Nikita stop crying now.”

My brain and heart and other organs: “Well it’s too late now for that!”

So I keep crying no matter what and my eyes swell and mean while my roommate tries her best to divert my mind.

She cracks jokes, makes me laugh for a second only to lose me again to the movie in the next.
In a few minutes the movie gets over.
I get up, go to wash my face.

My solicitous inner self: “Nikita she tried so hard to make you laugh when you were tearing up on that movie. That was really sweet of her.”

Recently a bee had stung me on my finger and the whole area had swelled up like a potato! It was really painful and I had thought of sleeping hungry or else ordering from outside that day.

But situation’s changed now, so with that swollen hand I go to cook.

Me: “Had dinner?”

My roommate: “No.. too tired to cook!”

Me: “Okay, you wanna have Uthapam?”

My roommate: “Yea even I was wondering maybe we could order something from outside.”

Me: “Don’t even worry! I’ll prepare it. Would you like to have?”
“ukw, Better have it, it’ll be nice I promise!”

And we sleep with full stomachs.

“Give love, get love”. Simple! 🙂 🙂

 
Picture credit : Google

These Carriages

I am standing out, waiting for a carriage
To take me from here to that place away
I am waiting right at its spot, per diem, around 6
Cause it wouldn’t pick me up mid-way.

Now and again I get late and the carriage I miss!
I feel unhappy and distressed.
Occasionally I have friends who offer me a ride
And I am pleased to accept!

But until this time never had I,
Sat down and pondered
As to why do I link my happiness to these carriages?
Who are not mine, who don’t have a mind?

So how can I blame them if someday they don’t show up?
If they don’t wait for me
If they refuse to carry me
Cause they might have offered my spot to a different person

If they abandon me cause I no more make their carriage look pretty
If they can’t understand the simple fact, that if a person makes an effort to be around you,
You’ve got to reciprocate too.

But then again, these carriages
They are not mine and they don’t have a mind
So how can I blame them to not understand?
These facts, and demand
Something in return

Cause dude, at the end they are just carriages who carry us and let us link ourselves to them
When they are empty and we are beautiful
Otherwise, these carriages, oops, these people, are a completely different story…

 

 

 

 

 

 

picture credit: http://www.tripadvisor.com

giving love is so difficult?

them – it’s your birthday week, tell us what gift do you want?

me love.

them– What? We’ve got dollar bills, don’t you want something else? Dress? A watch maybe?

meno, just love.

them– Ask for something which we can give.

That’s why she writes for them

I was going through the freshly pressed blogs on WordPress and randomly opened one. Reading the post, I saw this one particular blogger making a comment which I could relate to, and felt like writing about it. The blogger said that he kept his blogs private because his friends and family ( a few of them, not all (i suppose) ) didn’t care much about what he writes and he felt ignored and hurt. So let me tell you darling, you are not alone.

There is this girl and often people ask her that why does she writes? Is she keeping a secret? If yes, then from whom?

The answer is-

YES, she is keeping many secrets from many people around her. One of it being “whom does she writes for?”.

So-

There are these “few people” for whom she writes

And surprisingly that “particular lot” belongs to the “I-don’t-like-to-read” race

who enjoy everything but reading.

Unlike expected, this strange attitude from her so called “i am writing for – people” doesn’t dull her sparkles but en kindles in her, a never extinguishing flame.

In spite of demotivating her with their ignorance, these people inspire her to write more and more. With every passing day they unwittingly help her to push herself at times when no one cares and to continue with life without falling down. That’s how they give her support to stand when the ground is trembling without even giving her a hand to hold. Ultimately, it’s what they do to her which empowers her mind. At times they enervate her and the other times help her revive. (life is supposed to have all the colors and she excepted them as a part of her spectrum)

and that’s why she writes for them.

-iwriteforyousweetheart

-ilovered