A mate called Me

Was sitting and talking to myself *I do that when everyone else around me can bear me no more*...and I realised that the topics that mess around scott free in our heads are absolutely and directly proportional to our age..

..the older we grow..the more we have to analyse, think, dicuss, fight, appreciate, regret, plan, aspire..and the list is endless..

Everyone everywhere in the world talk the same topics and walk the same ropes, when of a certain age..and that is when it doesn't matter whether you sit with family or friends...colleagues or aquaintances..the discussions always stream down to similar grounds...

...grounds of decisons..

decisions I hate so much..and decisions that only multiply to increase my misery..

..decisions that everyone must make sometime in life..about themselves, involving others..personal or professional..minor or those which are a matter of life and death..

...and they're tough!

Specially when the minute you make up your mind..the river starts to flow the other way...and washes away every damn grain of sand you built your sand-castle from...the irony?

There is always a decision to make a decision...!

Work, marriage, studies, lifestyle, friends, family, age, finances..almost everything and anything hangs from a big question mark over our heads...and the world speaks the same language when any of these under-cover spies are brought out into the open..the language of confusion...of uncertainity...

..of...decisions..

After a while...I got too entangled in my own thoughts...which were too confusing to continue pondering over...so I got up..walked away from them all...and when I looked back I smiled...

For the first time the silence was pleasant..

...I had not been talking alone..

*Help*

"An ode to maybe"

This is one of those times
I should have taken a tough shot,
Not drawn a long question mark
For every answer I sought..

But the same result haunts everytime..
A 'Maybe..maybe not'...

Think over and over again
I go over what I've been taught,
Wipe the slate, start over
In the end I collided with a 'What'..

The end comes close..and then..
The face of 'Maybe..maybe not'..

Told one thing, interpret as another
Look for excuses bought,
People, prices, go hand in hand
I go for an intuition, let reason rot...

Amongst the confusion..the chaos
The not so friendly..'Maybe..maybe not'..

Apprehensions...anxious in doubt
Like strangers in a parking lot..
Take an acquaintance for granted
And in a rut of monotony, I get dangerously caught..

Retracing my growing steps, I feel
The misty air of 'Maybe..maybe not..'

Ask for directions, right or left?
Tie instructions in a bundle, secured with a knot,
Whichever route I take
I end up drawing circles around dots...

Say something...
...even if its.. 'Maybe..maybe not'...

Silence, followed by more silence
It's what the cowardliness brought,
The figure fades away,
I'm poorer..with another good conversation lost..

Will we meet again?
..ah..'Maybe ..maybe not'..

...Slipping away...

..and when I got down to write I couldn't...I can't...

I don't know about others, but my blogging pace had definitely slowed down. I think it's healthy as it a fresh feeling when there is a new post..but somehow I have also run out of ideas to write..

It's been a story of life with me.

When I sit down to write..create a piece of art..a piece I myself would want to read again and again..I draw a blank...

When I am busy..too busy to even eat or drink...I have ideas running through my head ..no not running..speeding..and not enough time,space or patience inbetween those thoughts and my work..to pen any of them down..

..I think it's the patience which is failing me now..not because I have an abundance of ideas at the moment..but because I am trying to chase them..find them...hunt them down..and the search is driving me desperate...which is the first of kin of impatience..

Everyone gets tired of a hobby, but what happens then hobby gets tired of the person..and skills start to fail..or fade..lose visibilty to others..

I need to rejuvinate myself.

I want to feel that inkling to grab a piece of paper (or in our case a keyboard) and go click cluck click cluck till the darkness loses it's placidity to the insanity of sound...that rush I used to get when i created something which made me smile..smile till the cheeks hurt..from pride..and accomplishment..till I feel I reach a point when I can never write again..because this is absolutely the best I have ever done...

..and then write something fuller..more beautiful..more engrossing the next time round...

I want that glow to discover me again.

..and at the end of this all I just ask myself (and you all)..

..Will I run out of ink?...ever?

"Outage"

Ambitions soaring high
Self-conviction hiding low,
Standing up straight
Never seemed so tough before..

The back hurts, revolts
The legs seem to give way,
Knees don't help, traitors two
When I run, I only run away..

Thoughts that feed, nurture the mind
Refuse to co-operate,
Hungry for excitement
The stomach waits..and waits..and waits..

I look around, for ideas new
Hear my friends say "I told you so",
Disappointed without reason
The hand's unable to do a chore..

Not stirring to my name
My identity..I'm holding it tight,
My eyes wander aimlessly
I want to see more than black and white..

Voices seem blur,faded and far
Head is being an enemy true,
As of now, just one thing
A change of life would do..