There is this evanescent , hidden sweetness in the air.I cannot put a finger on it..cannot show it to you.But that's what intrigues me perhaps.Perhaps it is  all memory. my memory ....the wide open paddy fields and the contended suppleness in the air at evening.


Yes winter is coming and so are the pujas and shefali flowers

Barf

It seems there is no liking now a days..its either hate or a fetish.

"Cute" ..."cool" ..."pure" ..."fresh"...a culture that worships the children.

Yes the children are the new fetish.

Stay away folks.From where? From whom?

Why do we cry? To gather fellow  human beings? What about the muted cry? What about the cry we cry for ourselves?Of course , till absurdity rings its buzzer in the colorless scentless silence called consciousness.
And if it erases all the definition of mental pain what will we cry for? Only physical pain?

Why is it necessary to mourn a death?  To  mourn a defeat?....to smooth-en the sharp edges suspended in air?...to put a cover over the nudity of our alienness?


(Just some random thoughts on reading The old man and the sea)

Haphazard Half Hyberbole

And sometimes we looked for singularities
And sometimes we looked for home
And sometimes singularities were home

And sometimes our home a singularity

And you reached so far

And the voices died behind you

And you thought it was a white wall

As you were taught to

Anything could be painted in it

Any monster any god

And you ended in love

Slimy

Silly

Blimey! I am in love with it all.