Slinging scribbles

For the past few years, I have reduced my writing to pretty much nothing barring a few poems. While writing for me essentially is to share my pain, it hardly means that I haven't been sad, because that would mean I beat the crap out of the World Records for being the happiest guy in the world. Perhaps,I was being human, being lazy I mean. Also, the 'me' time has been taken over by lot of formalities that  are either been self-inflicted or perhaps, had something to do with 'being Indian'. There is something about going to office day in and day out, It is called monotony. All your dream find spaces, not in the cubicles. actually, only in your brains. Perhaps, offices are meant to give you that 'kick'. They are meant for you to realise your worth, and thereby, your work, equally montonous.  The only way, we break the monotony, is by changing jobs, then bosses, either or all, till you are forty. Ofcourse, but before breaking into forty, you do read a lo...

Eyes, they failed to meet the seen, Smile, that faded for they lacked the feel, Love, a question that hounded for an answer, a mystery! Words, a conquest won by the business interests over hearty feelings, Life,  remained  on Facebook, yet a book devoid of real faces,                                             All of it, a Routine; a root with a route in search for the lost water,                           Maybe, for that Beauty, he expressed to all, yet couldn't name one, Aroused and confused, he saw them in his dreams and fantasized to the hilt, Yet, remained pure for, not a skin, he touched although blamed. Bruised,at times and vented back with vengeance yet a mi...

I saw you striking the pose, Or maybe you tried, With those blissful eyes, Pausing at the tiny device. The cheeks burnt for the brunt of the sun, Filled up with blisters instead of the smoothness one savours for, But unfettered you were, Least interested in what the skin did fare. The lips smeared with rashes, Trying hard to kiss one another, But you showed no sign of grudges, Perhaps being used to those nudges. The hands confident of a striking pose, That similiar to the city girl, Perhaps even similiar the dreams, O girl,can you reach the limits of  its beams? The legs stronger than them, But for the cracks edging out the toes, Like a dry passage, Reaching an undelivered message, But, O Geeta,I fell for you, For those mischievous eyes, For that parody of pose, For those blisters,so even the cracks. For i found what i never found all over here at your age, The pumping breast breathing for me in disguise, Letting me smell you,kiss you and caress you ...

While i adjust the speed of the fan to suit me and my placid surroundings,listening to keith's tonight i wanna cry just makes me nostalgic.I know it sounds like a wannabe who's trying to be sensitive at the drop of a hat but trust me,this song wont least disappoint you.It just reminds you of all the sacrifices you made,how much you loved and got depressed in the process and all that you observed within yourself and went unexpressed.While i write about it i wish to share the joy of the drink of tango that i had just had now.I know its a really diminutive pleasure to have in this materialistic world especially if one comes down to quantifying the extent of pleasures which is often we have always indulged in,it is rare and ravening.Hence let me share this wonderful moment with you all in case you feel like sharing it with me and i mean both,the idea of sharing it or meeting me up to have one. Unlike all days when i gulp the entire drink at one go to suffice my thirst today it wa...