Who am I?

Something I wrote long back..
Pasting it here, sticking to my existential agenda

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Who am I?

Trepidation saturates, no rationale why,

On qualm grounds, never found a purpose for I,

Restless echoes, desperate in an unforeseen plea,

Untaught among mystics, slaved to imagination,

Diffident to warm affection, embracing the hushed frost,

Refrained I ask this fanatic lie,

Who am I?

All my senses high,

Fresh Desires, yearning to fly,

In creation's obscurity I cry,

Who am I?

Comfort withers, soaked in malicious sacrilege,

In living epics, my conviction in no golden page,

Haunting tunes, astray in a nonchalant rage,

Undead among hopes, living in this concluding cage.

Starved, echoing the query of mine,

Who am I?

My entire wisdom try,

Pledged wished, crisis stanch to untie,

In faith's anarchy I stray,

Who am I?

Since spawn desires ablaze,

Belief's Outlandish, life perplex,

Who am I?

Too tired to lie,

Too tired to die,

Too tired to try,

Who am I?

To you I pray,

Tell me where I Stray,

Tell me where I lay,

Tell me why?

Who am I?

The Dust Speck

Four black frames. One boy six words.

Bill Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes is the greatest.

They say Alan Moore’s Epic “ Watchmen” is The Greatest Comic and one of the most profound, deep and philosophical piece of literature. I say all that is the masterpiece above.

A city’s greatest curse is the missing stars. The heavenly pool of immense wonder and euphoric splendour. We don’t see it. I used to spend some of my nights in college laying on the dirty floor of my terrace, sometimes “high”, gazing into the open starry skies. A whole cauldron of possibilities starts to bubble in my brain. Sometimes I used to be space traveller hovering from star to star, skimming the velvet space between the stars. Sometimes I am on the Star Ship Enterprise, and sometimes I am Mr Mulder being abducted But most of the days it used to be one single question that echoed in my upstairs. “Am I significant?”

I gaze at the stars wondering if there was anyone out there, looking up into their skies and looking directly at our earth, at me and wondering the same thing. It could be possible.

We, humans, with our extended arrogance and boundless self importance can never ever be significant. Millions of multiverses, billions of galaxies in them, and again gazillions of stars in them. We are nothing but a dust speck on a dust speck on another dust speck on a dust speck on another dust speck among billions of other dust specs.

How I wish I could just pop my head out the window stare at the stars. Damn the cruel damages of development and cities.

Every little moment we live on this messed up planet, we are in the shadows and lights of a billion mysteries hovering around us. Every single particle linking and bounding to form a human being, every particle that forms a thought to make me write this, the same particles that react and act making you read this, is also a cog in this whole system that we can never comprehend in our life time. But we move on, with the sneering contentment of a lion that eats a baby rabbit. We just live, survive. Walking paths everyone else walks, polishing thoughts everyone has, decaying from birth to death, our bodies and minds slowing poisoned.

I always hope I wont be one of them, Decaying, slowly poisoned. I want stare at the heavens and realise one day that amidst the infinite expanse of space, I am alive, living a life of empathic contentment. I hope I would realise that I am a dust speck that has realised that I am the dust speck that is a part of this immense spectacle of creation.

I always love to gaze up at the stars. Every time I do that, I fall sleep curl under this vast existential fantasy, with wet eyes. Those never are the tears of joy, depression anger or fear, but of overwhelming sense of beauty, of admiration, of immense satisfaction, of immense significance.

I shall .....Again

I have tried before, and failed. I can remember two times. Well this is the third. My third attempt at writing down stuff for the whole world to see it. Now probably I will give up tomorrow. But I hope to keep going, the reason being that life has become really boring and busy. Busy doing really boring stuff.

So my big epic novel plan is spiralling and spiralling near the drain’s ugly opening, And my glorious idea slowly burying itself under all that dirt.

So I start writing again muddle up the effortless spiralling and hope all that dirt clogs up the drain.

If I was any more brilliant I will start to glow.

So coming soon, most of the stuff that grows in the weird landscapes of my brain, that generally waits for a few drinks and a couple of friends. All the chaotic verses, the existential ramblings, the mind numbing scenarios and a whole lot of junk maybe be headed to you, who might decide to read further on , in the near future.

To all those in an “anandamine” high ….Cheers to the chaotic mind that searches for what to search for in life.