Category: Observations

This morning

This morning is no unusual than any other mornings

A slight of sleeping in weather

The morning isn’t as bright as sunny days

Because it is raining outside

I put off the alarm that has been ringing for almost 5 minutes now

Half opened eyes and I walk to the washroom

I rub my eyes

And there lied a fallen brow

I placed it on my pointer finger

As gentle and slow as something of value

I made a wish

And I gave a gentle blow

And it vanished into the thin air

That is how wishes are said to be coming true

To let it fly away to places we would never even bother to think about

And today this morning I made a wish to the single thread of eyebrow

And that I am writing about it

I am wondering where did it land to

May be it fell right under my foot

Or it may be lying somewhere in the corner of the washroom

Or it must be washed away

Or it must be have been sucked by the vacuum cleaner

But wherever it may have landed to

I made a wish to the single thread of brow

That is how wishes are said to be coming true

To let it fly away to places we wouldn’t even bother to think of

But only if it was this easy to fulfil a wish

I will blow a brow every morning

Until I run out of one

To the places I wouldn’t even bother to think of

P.S: Random wandering thoughts

Someone told me look in their eyes

See if he/she shakes on your stare

See if they waver in your eyes

They may dress nice and pretty

They may be short or tall

Black or white, thin or fat

But look into their eyes

Every eye tells you a story

A language not often spoken out

I try looking at their eyes

“1..2..3..SMILE” shouts a photographer

But I look into his eyes and it tells a different story

“I…love…you, you mean the world” but something in his eyes told me another story

The hesitation in his voice, the stare away from her told me another story

“Money brought me happiness” tells a millionaire but the eyes of his tells me another story

“I need no companion” but the eyes speaks something different

We often speak what we really don’t mean

Just as “f*** off” comes easy than “sorry” and “thank you”

May be it is because we are not the beautiful blossom

Because we are not the flower that is beautiful and smells sweet

Because we are human with bunch of complicated emotions

And that is why we have the eyes

Not just to see but to tell a story

A story often not spoken out with spoken language

P.S: random wandering thoughts & for my writing pleasure

I have known this woman for as much as the beginning of her time. I have seen her transform from a toddler to a girl and now to a woman. I have seen the best of her, the worst of her, her passion, her insecurities, her smile, her tears, her dreams, her friends, her family, her happiness and her pains. As much as I know about her, she also have blind spots I am not sure of her.
I can’t recollect much of her childhood because I was engrossed in mine. In the chorus of “doctor” ambition in her little compact classroom, I saw her shouting at the top of her voice. She was chanting doctor as her ambition just as everyone was doing. She wasn’t unique. She wasn’t different from others. She didn’t standout even as a child. She was one of the students of her class. May be she did want to become a doctor or she didn’t want to, I never got to ask her that question because I don’t even know if she will recollect what she said ages ago.
If there was a movie on life, she will not be the lead actress. She may be in one of the streets where the movie is directed, but she wouldn’t be even in the script. The world doesn’t revolve around her, it revolves around the sun. And she is very far away from the sun, at a distance safe for warmth but not too close to the sun to get burnt.
I think she wasn’t planning on becoming a doctor because she isn’t one now. If she wanted to be she should be by now. I never got to ask her if she didn’t become by choice or if she didn’t work hard enough or if luck didn’t work in her favour. I never got to ask her what she really wanted to be.
The last time I met her she was crying about her broken heart. I just wiped her tears and let her lean on me. But I never got to ask her who broke her and how much it hurt. It did look bad, because she was trying to smile despite the tears. Or was she wondering if the hearts she broke hurt that much, but I never got to ask her.
And again I met her yesterday in the streets. She was wearing a smile among the crowd. She was wearing a headphone, I don’t know what she was listening to. Or was she just wearing it without actually playing anything in it like in old times? But I never got to ask her. I was trying to wave to her among the crowd. She turned away. Did she not see me? Or was she avoiding me? But I never got to ask her.

But as she walked away, her steps looked lighter. Her shoulder less tensed. May be she isn’t crying anymore. May be she is happy now. But I never got to ask her. May be I will ask her when we meet next time.

P.S: random wandering thoughts & for writing pleasure

Should I leave it to the immaturity back then?
Because we need a reason
Or just something to blame on
Something to take responsibility for our choices
Something to reason out for our decisions
A reason to stay or a reason to leave
But for the void I left in you
I want to leave it to the immaturity back then
To the reckless decisions of a teenager
I can feel the void “NOW”
There are no reset buttons
Just moving forward ways
There are no coming backs
Just looking back at times
Or maybe we can always leave to the same excuse
“We were never meant”
Isn’t much better than putting a blame?
Isn’t excuse better than blame?
Because if I have to put a blame on
I will have to put it on me
And the blame weighs heavier than the excuse
Either way the void will remain a void always
Time doesn’t heal the void, it just fills the void
May be in another time
In another life
I will not give you the void
But bear that irreplaceable void instead

P.S: Few sincere random thoughts to the one who deserves this.