He has let himself go only once: it was an emotional moment, getting to his first hundred before his adoring home fans. But his celebration after he got to his first double-hundred, a landmark he sought and will cherish, was far more subdued. There was the raising of the arms and the acknowledgment of applause from his team-mates and the crowd. But then there was also a series of little pumps of the fist, and a waving of the helmet. Those were for himself. There was an air of fulfillment, of a man celebrating privately in public. His smile touched a million hearts: his struggle to regain his place, and some would say his honour, have been among the most stirring and uplifting stories in cricket.

A silent sob, an illusionistic life and a few moving seconds.

Torn between misery and resonsibility, men walk upon this soil. Clouded by unambiguous desire and deep-rotting fear, the pair of eyes seize to capture every oppurtune moment. Where there is wind, there is no water. Where there is sun, there is no enlightening light. Left to themselves, everything rots. Moth-eaten and thought deprived, the human form transcends itself into a dangerous clawed animal bereft of any reasoning power.
Impassionate flames reduce themselves to cold ash. So cold a vapour does it effuse that the eyes feel no fear, skin feels no pain. The flames that once blinded the ever growing sky, have now left the vision clear. The vision of the blue horizon merging with the crimson clouds, but is it what we craved for ? Wasn't it the flame that made us hope for the sanctity of the sky. But then, the brain has become so thick that every emotion has turned numb.

A drop of sweet, elixir of wine has fallen into our tastebuds. Deceived by the soul-filling poison, we have chosen to be lost in its taste. Our eyes have been turned blind by our own foolery. A silent sob, an illusionistic life and a few moving seconds. The shadows have crept across the gardens, the towers, the roads and amongst hearts of men. All sets of eyes have become fearsome and fearful. Deceived by the beauty of those eyes, we haven't yet realised our folly. We now walk upon dead corpses of a land that was. Or is this my nightmare ? Or was this the way the world always was ? Is my eyes the culprit, giving me a picture of a serene landscape ? Did it never exist ?
The tumultous uproar of the sky bursts down shards of the sea. Drenched in the realisation of a mistake, a mistake we committed when our hearts dreamt. All that remains is a wet pool of mud, swivelling and spiralling amongst itself, without a beginning nor an end. The sun has been blotted out. The sky has been draped over by the consequences of our desire, the nights have become darker. A cold shrill that wasn't there before, settles into pure hearts. For others, it is an unrealised epitome of life's greed.

I used to by my own protection
but not now
My path has lost direction
somehow

And the clouds above move closer and closer
looking so dissatisfied.
And the ground below grows colder and colder
as they bind me inside.
But, the heartless wind keeps blowing and blowing.

I close both locks below the window
I blind all the light and turn away.
Sometimes, solution aren't so simple
Sometimes, goodbye is the only way.

Trying to be genuine, its not as easy as it seems
Somehow I get caught up in between.
Trying to be someone was easier than it seemed
Somehow I still got caught up in between
Between my pride and my promise
Between my lies and the truth

The vacancy these words reveal
is the only real thing that I am left to feel.
And I've got nothing to say

:D

Walking, without a compass.
Walking, with two legs.
There are only two things.
A sky above
A sky below.
Winds do blow
and I keep getting blown away.
I tried to stand tall amongst the ruins
But found that I was also amongst ruins.
Now I smile at myself.
There's Nothing to lose, or to gain, in this world.
Lets walk forth.
And enjoy walking.
Let's share our misfortunes.
Let's forget about the past.
Let's forget ourselves.
Let's dwell in this world.

A labyrinth

A lot of pages have been left unwritten. A lot of words have been left unsaid. All that was there was a mirage. A mirage formed from the heart's ever greedy desires. The day is over, mist and dew have fallen, cold-blooded night has descended upon me. I can't see myself. Vast stretches of sand move beneath my feet. My legs feel the ail of the tiring exercise. A purposeless, hard walk on sands which do not know where they are going to. I kneel before the stars, the night-sky, the cold-blooded night, the mushy sands, I kneel before myself. Show me light. Show me what I have to do. What does free-will have to do in this intricately planned out world ? I let you have your choices because my choices are heartbroken.
A few good moments on this soil is all that I ask for. The fresh air caressing my cheeks in the dawn, the palms waving under the half-knitted moon and a reek of absolutely crystal water, that shines diamond in the noon. Hand me these and I vow never to wield this pen again. For today, I am broken. I am shattered by my own treachery. I no longer have faith in myself. I am not me. My actions have no control over my thoughts. I have degraded myself into a non-humane form. So self-engrossed that there is no place for this world. Not even a sincere thought has cared to ripple across my brain. All have been in the hope of fame, admiration or sympathy.
But today, while this tap, mercilessly, lets the water flow and the pen, unthinkingly, lets the words flow, I sit. I sit, looking at mankind, looking at myself. So accustomed to the each pixel of my tiresome features. I do not weep for my heart is no longer alive. Only a being with claws on his hand and hard-toothed canines on his mouth. Ready to bite a sweet bite upon men who have walked alongside.
Where are we ? Why does it have to be so beautiful ? Why are we here and nowhere else ? Why am I falling under the weight of my own feet ? Why am I hiding myself ? Why is it that thoughts aren't transparent ? Why is it that emotions are so afraid to show themselves under the sun ?
I have answered these questions a million times over. But then, we move on. Time is like a river which keeps flowing towards the eternal ocean. The ocean is unseen. But the dipping blot of fire in the horizon tells me that the ocean will always be there. And it too dies.

Of paradoxes, emotions, life, the self and me.

It may well be just a glue of dread and drum, but it certainly is something! Paradoxes in every vision, every moment levy me with a disbelief in the whole.....thing. A sort of skeptic whom I didn't know to have existed in me before. And in this big spoof of paradoxes are put in an unexplainable thing called emotion. I don't know how emotions came to exist, or how the genes control the brain's tiresome work. But nevertheless, emotions drive man. A human is what emotion is. An individual becomes an individual only when his range of emotions and perception of emotions vary from each other, which basically means that their genes are different. This teetered dread and drum along with the quotient called emotion, minister the master paradox of all paradoxes in this conceptually paradoxical Universe, that is, time. With this newly mentioned paradox, we are able to obtain a situation where all other filthy paradoxes can interact with each other in odd kinds of permutations and combinations. And finally, we come to the word 'life'. It can simply be defined as "sigma Paradox". I won't call it as the master paradox because I have already used that adjective for time. I don't repent it either.
Onto a more philosophical and fucking viewpoint now; In this odd system, where perception is clouded by disbelief, we are meant to move forth till the paradox time no longer continues to suffocate us. By the previous sentence, I meant that we would eventually 'die' at a point of 'time'. But then this is where the emotion quotient springs up. Guided by these ticklish things found in the vacuum of the brain, humans drive forth all sorts of impish fantasies. The very fact that I consider human actions as 'impish fantasies' is an outcome of the emotion that I am experiencing now. Sages have, in the past, successfully overcome emotions and spent their 'time' plucking flowers, which sort of gave them a serene and contented emotion, which, according to them, is not an emotion.
Before further idio(ma)tic expressions, I would like to dwell more upon the meaning of 'paradox'. The simplest example of a paradox that I can think of is :
The Below statement is true
The above statement is false.
Many beautiful paradoxes like the self engrossing videos, that is, when a mirror reflects the reflection of the reflection of the .... infinitely, the reflection of you. The creepy and mindblowingly beautiful thing about paradoxes is that it sort of makes you crave to know the end of it and you tend to believe that there is an end to it, while it just loops on and on. Such is the case with Universe and atom. I used to wonder the Universe, which we are a part of, as an atom. The same atom which makes up this sheet of paper or this hands. I mean to say that we are a part of each atom present in this "Universe" and that each atom is a 'Universe' of which we are part of. I abandoned this view since I had to do my chemistry assignment.
Finally, we come to the I, the thing, the self, the me, this 172 cms of space. The feeling of entity is simply indescribable because I am me. How much ever I try to communicate how it is to have a feeling of 'me', I will never succeed, neither will you. Is it a paradox ? I don't know. Douglas. R. Hofstadter believes that 'I' is a sort of another self reflecting paradox but he wasn't able to drive any point. Nor can I be expressed in mathematical terms. 'I' just exists within the paradox of time. The 'I' might have been weaved in by a rather forbidden combination of paradoxes within 'time'. And I was born.
The 'I' weaves by itself, rather complex network of emotions, which tends to make the 'I' waste its time on this beautiful paradox.But well, its the 'I' whose got to decide which paradox he is more comfortable with, the paradox called emotion or the paradox called time ?

A theoritical explanation without using a word that comes after D.

Its too hot up here.
With all emotions churning in and out and in and out.
Put a sieve amidst all this
and be asked to sieve them off.
And sieve starts to churn along.
(chorus) Churn Churn Churn

A biology record and a clock
A chemistry record and a torn off page
A Physics sir and lots of pages
A Maths sir and 'imposition'
(chorus) Balle Balle Balle

Memory uproots and flies off
Consciousness remains
without any purpose.
Tried pushing it away,
But the rope wasn't enough.
(chorus) The ceiling is too high, The ceiling is too high

Put the opposite sex into the equation.
And what do we get ?
Life
(chorus) Life Life Life

A directionless Vector

Now, I've got to do
What I've got to do.
What I've got to do,
is the question that beats me.
There is a lot of time remaining, to be spent
And time isn't a commodity that comes with a discount
So,practically, it means I've got to live through
'To live through' - seems just three words,
which,it, infact, is
But that is not the point.
The point is that,
it is pointless.
I have kept stressing on this point,
for the past 365 days,
inorder to convince myself,
that it is pointless.
But time and event made me stray away
into an improbable arena of pointfullness
where stars are red, girls wear churidars,
boys trip you over with legs, infact, leg,
And head stays out of coverage area.

Suddenly, the light comes back on
and I am on a white room.
Alongside God Himself, snoozing in his chair
In my hand is a pen and paper
Croak! God gets startled and wakes up
And I ask for an autograph
The white room dissolves,
along with me,
and here I am
thudding away As and Ws and As and Ys
just to stress the point
which, still, continues to be that
it is quite pointless.

Did you ever think ?

When the main question of existence is asked
And the answer is found
You don't feel the need to blog anything
Thats the reason why I guess I ain't writing any stuff of recently
And mind you, this wasn't,rather, isn't a poem
Just thought of writing line by line,
To avoid the monotony.

Anyway the sun still sets in the east
And things aren't the way they should be
Well, atleast the bonds are quite volatile
with my mind doing nothing to make things simple

In your head, in your head they are fighting,
With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.
In your head, in your head, they are crying...

It's the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen.
In your head, in your head they're still fighting,
With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.
In your head, in your head, they are dying... .

The sun may set in the east but atleast its a fine location
Though a little off the block sense of direction.
Who knows if the poles didn't switch positions while we slept.
Space may be the final frontier but it was made in a hollywood basement
Go "big bang", you hear much sweeter sounds these days

The moment you are concerned about being not concerned
You start to fear life and death
Which was the revolution that kept the humans move forward
What makes them think we went forward
Couldn't it have been a little to the left ?

Bloody fools seem to think there are only two options
If it were so, I wouldn't be alive
nor would this computer
which indeed, is classified as a non-living thing.
coz it doesnt exhibit any metabolic activities resulting in growth
But it certainly is hearing, or taking in, what I have to say, rather, write.
Which is what I want, at the moment.
And certainly, non-living things are sometimes affable.
Especially a Sony Playstation.
Whistle on.

Run, fall down, smile, be jolly, get hit on the head,
be serious,get depressed, be cared for, get over
stop the story

See what you never chose to see
Enjoy on
Laugh and term it "an extra-ordinary bit of wit and acting skills"
Be alive to say those.

Love life.