Even out odd tides.

31/08/2011. I am packing my stuff again. Where am I off to this time? Well, Delhi (again). So I am cleaning dust off my book rack and I open a little, brown colored note-book. I come across an article I had written more than a year back. On 6th Jan 2010 to be precise. The words made sense to me when I first wrote them. And now, I don't have many options.

So this is how it goes:

Delhi. Hmmm... Vroom goes a car, every second second. I shuffle my handgloves one at a time. One hand, one glove, that is. Curiosity. I always got an A+ in it. I now shuffle my interest, one at a time. One thought, one hour, that is. Eager to do many-a-things, juggle everything, all at once. Just that I want to chill at a convocation evening. I only wish it was today. Now actually. I would throw my hat the highest and plunge into the world of " my " dreams. The highest dreams.

Yet I don't want time to fly by. I love my curls. All other ladies can graciously accept fly-aways. BLAH!

I say give me the night. The light. The flight. The might. The knight. The tide. Now, its easy to pick the odd one out. But didn't you know that tides were almost always odd? So yeah! Give me the tide. I'll even out the odd. Even if I have to live with it and live it forever.

I want to raise a sub-infeudation model you see. Pass on the even tide, tidier in our even courts, to my little ones and their littler ones.

Bright sunlight. Brighter sunflower. Soft moonlight. Softer shoreline. I want. This is it - MJ can Rest In Peace. And I want to Rest In PIECE. Remember I said, one thing at a time? Morning dew. Nightly smog. Warm and cheerful pansies. Elsuive, virgin violets. Give me one, give me all. Well, give me the day and give me the night.

But, most of all give me the " tide ". Even if its odd.

Thanks for keeping up with all the pandemonium. :)

...tantalized

And the renegade trailed on the ground on a sweltering May afternoon, leaving behind a little pitcher and reached the well which was a distant sight an orbit ago. What was to be witnessed could have easily been anticipated, had the tramp not disdained the voices in ALL his heads. It was a chasm full of dust, relics and grit. Even the skies were a bittersweet spread. Not a single bead of water... What could be done?

Its not a new story.
This is a story of you and me.

If I call us sailors,
We've all been lured by the sweet humming of the sirens.
Caged and tormented at least once.

We take pink for granted and run after blacks and grays.

Its as though somebody sang a song so chimerical,
blew a whammy, whacks and spells-
and caught us derelict.

To address my fellow greedy and ignorant sophomores, I'd like to use a much simpler dialect.
Life tantalizes us all the time. Life is a trap. Beauty a bait. Need I tell who the rat here be? :-)

We often turn a blind eye to what lies in front of us. Like the renegade did with the pitcher which was in reality, full of elixir and not even water. Showing no love to his dead salivary glands, he drags himself in adverse circumstances to a pit full of misfortune.

The cliched " Life is too short to err " comes into play. It would be so much better if we could put to use the paraphernalia granted to us.

Let us all open our minds,
Let us all learn when to kill a wish,
Let us all LIVE BEFORE WE DIE.