Like a straight line needs a ruler...

I see this.... a mass of unknwn faces and a person I knw. i see mc donalds and a culture i am alien to. In a nutshell, a foreinger and a quasi, and in this valley we are stuck. Between to mountains of philosophy and 2 mountains of thought, we are stuck.

We are by right no different from eachother, but how four different and difficult years shaped our minds is a thing yet to wonder. If in life, change is the only thing that is constant then why are our thoughts not changin on par.

There are compromises that people make, judgements that people talk of, bt while we would ideally wash it all off, we cannot baby, and we can't think that we can either.

We don't think because we cannot think. We cannot be because we are not allowed to be. We cannot change the rules because they make the world go round and round.

But is that really true, because i dun knw about u bt for me, i dunno how bad i want this really.
I dunno but i dunno if this is what is supposed to happen.
I dun think that i can do all this and still be the same person that i am.
I dun think i can go through all this and still be the one to love you the way i want to love you.

And if the window shuts and blocks out all the wind, then i wonder if it means that it's the end of ends, and the end that i still wait for and want in some weird way. For now i don't just want you, i need you. Like a straight line needs a ruler.

Comments

Celebrations

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 16 ; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . It was a hard ground that felt like sand paper. When he started his journey, it was the soles of his feet that were in contact with the ground, but now as he pulled himself closer to the station, it was his whole body. His elbows were scraped, bloody and fresh scab peeled bled out to leave a trail of red on the wicked hot dusty ground of pain and suffering. All around him slow moving bodies crawled towards the direction of hope, all along leaving patterns of blood, sweat, skin and pus. These bodies had seen civil wars, droughts, genocide and lived to tell a tale of a people who now belonged to a nation listed as one of the poorest countries in the world. This is now, but before the list, was a struggle of massive proportions, under reported and quietly hidden

Escape

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10 ; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . The Temple Widow A narrow dirt path, generously peppered with tiny pebbles, tiny miniatures of their gargantuan ancestors, leads to a bridge. It hangs, rickety and old. Old but not well used, old like abandoned and not frequently used. The bridge hangs low over a small stream that slowly gurgles past, happy unlike those that visit the place. The bridge leads to a temple. It is not very big, only perhaps the size of a small hut and at the most the size of an average temple hall. The temple has no deity; the temple has no one corner that doesn’t look like the other. It is clean, well swept, and empty. It has no furniture, and excepting a series of well spaced out windows, the walls remains uninterrupted. She stumbles in, the lady. She is not very tal

Time Travel

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8 ; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . I haven't got the memory of a vedic tantric. Neither do I ever claim to remember all. All I know is what I know, question my memory if you want to. I don't ask you to remember, I don't ask you to believe. In fact, I'm not asking you for anything at all. It is your choice to be here, to read this. So no, I don't owe you a favor. I happened to chance upon a watch, on one of my travels. Turning the dials of such a watch, could transport you to the past, to the future, to any time. But time, my friend, is not how you think it is. It is not a straight line, and you cannot just by chance hop into the world of dinosaurs and wooden weapons. It is a series of transparencies, like films of clean sheets of paper laid on top of each other. You look from above

Plate

Search This Blog