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These days, imagination seems more real than the real life..I feel perplexed many times  waking up and feeling misplaced, adjusted in the different room and different perspectives. Its been adjustment, after the year 72 that shook me so hard, I am adjusting my emotional aloofness from the supposedly closed ones to sediment and let me decant off translucent. I am trying.

I also feel mispalced,  finding myself in the class full of young students in a class, (trying) teaching, I had  hold the   vision of myself being that confident, profoundly knowledge enriched teacher (female) in my high school days, I wonder if  I have become one, (less the profoundly enriched). But In the fifty some loaded classroom, I seek in the juvenile faces, myself , my mates, my age and my time, it pinches me somewhere and I feel euphoric in nostalgia, I get overwhelmed to see how far I have come, what have left behind, who are left behind. it aches and bleeds, to bid byes to the naiveness of juveniles.

But in beneath the adult apparel, I find in me the same myself. I love the ride, lot have changed, less have made difference, many things have been just continuation and surplus, and somethings will never be same again. But I feel I am always the same, from when I was a gauche teenagers, to whatever I am today.

Meanwhile,  I think I am in transitory state. I dont know the transition yet, But I feel I am holding a feet in air to  step  into wherever, may be there will be a destined path, may be I will paved a path, May be I will fly by. May be.

In the regular life, I have come to take things lightly (trying), and amidst everything that keeps happening, I only wish things become regular, normal. I wish normal days, even though normal is these exhausting series of boring days, occupying into minutes, among people in formal decorum, the professional becomes  survival when personal are too painful to think of. Same talks, same nagging, same complains and same lingering, that is job, but thats ok, let it be normal. I don’t have energy/excitment left for expectation to surprise me. I wonder, and to my surprise, I don’t want (can’t handle ) any celebration, It mocks me. I hide past everything that makes me visible in their pictures, and priorities. I thought it was painful to be alone in eateries, and now I sigh releif to find empty table, I sneak in odd hours for lunch just to avoid people. May be this is a kind of transition as well.

More you are edged, you tend to understand your real self..less hesitant to do what you wanted to do.  Its thrilling to come out real and exposed, Its better, to be able to be so, its hard and difficult and judgemental and everything but again in amidst the insecurities,

if your heart still holds desires, you are brave.

if you are true in heart, you are brave

if you feel right, you are right.

I am unambigiously right.

(I am trying to beleive what I have written.)

And from all this comes the liberation of being yourself.  Contrast and Complements are only the adjectives, let me be noun. Realizing it is defiantely hard, but  all I am doing is trying. “Acceptance” I need to try harder.

The bunch of realization (and this past year have been a year full of realization) becomes cumulation to conclusions about things we believe.  But to summarize things in simplicity is hard, often so much that I fail to persist on it. But again I am trying.

Somebody have said it so true, the most difficult part is to make things simple. To make things simple, one needs to understand the dynamics of every difficulties it holds. Life then, how much dimensions of difficulties to understand to simplify it. Let me try.

what a tiny flower worth?

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Alone stand the tiny flower,

while monsoon drops fall

butterflies and beauty fly by then

letting happiness to ferment

helplessly in the evening,

let alone darkness engulf the life.



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where I find in disguise and in nude

Where I am sagging skin in slouching thoughts,

And tender tickle in ecstasy

I am inched high in vicious intention,

And bowing eternal in gratitude,

I am blushing,

I am gazing,

Sometimes with lovers’ eye

Or many times a pity why,

Standing staring,

I try seeking the truth

of the figure in shape

But it just a silhouette,
I see,
that seems like

Someone I know,

Someone I used to know.



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I have become empty. I have been choking as if the world has drift away from me and doing fine, completely fine without me in it. I cry hard enough to wake up in puffy eyes, why?

Not to one reason or any, Its like emptiness, of lethargy.

I think tearing is the right word for this. Like I have come to this date pulling a same strength and now it is tearing like the old piece of cloth. It is weak and tender and tear in every pull, so more I need it, more it gets teared up.

And I mourn for it. For myself of how I have become, so unwilling to see whats ahead, not because I have become a depressive cynical Psyche but I have become unwilling mouth to feed in. I don’t want to feed in, even if it the vitamins and calories god is serving me, I DON’T WANT IT.

I am occupied, but what is this bone tiring job that I do and come home to lay hollow.

I feel it is like a musical chair, you are supposed to run and run and still find a chair, and still you run. I think I kept running and without  deciding on any chair and then I kept running because it is only thing I know and now I am tired and still the game is not over. No I am not mourning for any chair.


I do think both sides

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Does ever a lotus

mourn the

root it stands

or the filth

grace in gratify

for the transcendence





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I want to see

All that glee

So reflect me,

the best memories

of a becoming bee


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While your best days are blooming in ground,

Your family and friends in around

While the world is open for you

and a lover at side

In the journey of fairy land,

Who need, Who seek


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