Archive for milestones

The flame that made you light.

All your life you’ve been as bright as someone else wanted you to be.

Its time that changed.


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The world across.

Thoughts. Words. Actions. Habbits. Life.

Nothing you have ever done is uncountable for.

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The simple life.

I know a place where blessings are struck every once in a while- and then they are poured.
I know a place where everyone one smiles every time it rains – not worry about offices being closed down of the traffic being unbearable.
I know a place where mothers gather up the clothes hanging from ropes in their backyard, grab their chairs, and sit beside the rain – sipping tea. Where sleeping children wake in excitement at the sound of thunder and rush naked into the dripping rain.
I know a place where the smell of water soaked in the soil mingles with the smell of fried curry ( where the air smells like anything but industrialization).
I know a place where fathers don’t have to worry about getting to work on time, or whether the driver will be late again today.
I know a place where there are things so much more important than getting a new purse or that blue pair of shoes you always wanted.
I know a place where grandmothers still tell you stories about how things in their time were – no matter how old you are.
I know a place where there is fire to cook – not electric ovens or fancy restaurants – and the food cooked in it is the most delicious of food you have tasted.
I know a place where the tv only plays two channels – the news channel, and the news channel.
I know a place where there is no cell phone service – but deep down you are still satisfied.
I know a place where you don’t have to worry about what clothes to wear or whether you have already made the same hairstyle this week.
I know a place where people don’t have more than three pairs of clothing – in total.
I know a place where honesty is not a requirement rather an acceptance of human nature.
I know a place where there are no cops, no police stations, no stone slabs with laws written and hung – where people don’t need hypocrites who make laws to tell them what to do.
I know a place where children still sit on mats in school and write on wooden boards with ink.
I know a place where children are the most knowledge-seeking children there are.
I know a place where love is free and time is given to the ones you love – not things you want to have.

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Because simple is not you.

You are a complex being dissolved in its own presence. You are caught; and there won’t be a way out unless everything you have is shattered and re-built. The re-construction takes time. And your complexity will make it harder for you to survive like this.

But you trying to be simple will not help either. Because simple is not you. Its just not you. It could have been you but it isn’t. You are complicated. And alone.

But creative. And so you will create wonders.

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I write.

I write, because I want to write. Not becuase I have to or if I don’t something terrible will happen.

I write, because its the simplest way of expressing the most complicated of things. I write, because I don’t want to be complicated. I want to be simple. I want the curve on my lip to be honest- as if the source of the strings that shapes this smile are coming straight from the left side.

I write, because I want to be able to look in the mirror and see no difference between the two halves of my face. I want to see consistency. I want to be consistent. I want to be single-faced, an open book, an image.

I want to be every word in this book; I want to be the its rise.

I write, because I want to be blank and dignified.  I want to be a part of every happy person I have ever met.

I write, because I like to write; because I know if I don’t, I will not be. Here. Like this. Like me.

I write because I know if I don’t, I will not try to be a better person after every pause of the running of this pen and the shutting of this book.

I write because there is so much to write about;  because there are words, wandering. And if I don’t capture them now, they’ll fade away.

I write because I see, and observe, and I can’t just gaze.

I write, because the essence of everything has to be given life.

I write, because sometimes I want to say something to something – not someone.

I write, because I can see, feel, hear, and touch – and I am unwilling to let any of that go barren.

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The mountains of dreams.

All they give you is inspiration, and you are to build an entire pyramid from it.

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Happy Mother’s Day!

“All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.” – Oscar Wilde

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