Of life, Of love, Of sex

Life always fascinates me, it fascinated me as a joyful child and as a mournful loner. I was creative as far back as I could remember and I can sense it diminishing thoroughly as my memory retreats from that far back time to reach present. It has been kinda smooth for me, the life. I almost never worried much as to what I would do when I grow up, I never spared my thought to find out what are my natural instinct and dreams. I have always been lazy, sensitive to emotions, marginally insecure and broadly nonsensical. My natural instinct would be to reject any idea that I fear is superior to that of mine, instantly. But then I have come in terms with that behavior and have made it perish lately. I have learnt to accept things for the way they are, people for the way they are. And its a pleasing sense. Much better than the sadist egoistic satisfaction I used to get by rejecting them earlier. I feel more secure now, my thought remain more indifferent to the outer world that way. Life has brought me many surprises. Most of them are good and for good. I feel lucky. And thankful most of the times. Dubious incidents now make sense to me and I rejoice. I feel change is good and thrive for it. My inner most desire to cling to the things I love, things I want to preserve has faded away. This desire of holding makes you unhappy. As my heart is now relieved of any such desire, I find my thoughts falling into place, mostly filled with satisfaction and not obsession. Life as I have learnt is a set of memory, good or bad, but its just a set of memory. Imaginations take shape and I see my life, now more beautiful  and free. Free of restricted dreams, sublime fame, sense of  obvious pretense for being in a society of materialistically gone mad fellow living beings.  I now feel no sad for my fame to die or name to go bad. For my face not being recognized by college juniors, smiles not being given back by beautiful colleagues. Euphoria and ecstasy drive me away not being drifted by the magnetic fatal attraction of  wealth, fame and "sense of achievements". Life is to live, and living is synonymous to happiness. Happiness is a fairly uncomplicated term and never momentary. I feel lucky and I feel more happy as I feel I am mortal. I feel my life has just begun.

Love is a good thing to experience. It makes you smile when you are alone. Sitting on a deserted hillock or on your porch, you feel you belong to some one. Your heart race and blood pressure builds, eyes closed you delve into dreams. Pure euphoria. Love for me has never been a boon. I tried to make love my mistress may be and it cursed me. I was always longing to be in love. And I fell in it indeed. For that part of my life I would name it lovely. Yes, thats how you feel. Lovely. Concentration rich the peak it can ever get to. Always focused on the loved one. Smiles never stop, and joy seems just to be beginning every passing day. In the shadows of unknown crowd and strange land the sens of your hand being held by the one you love, the sense of you love being with you makes you sail. You embark unafraid of the storms that may await you. Just you. You defy the misfortune that may lust you. But love is too mortal like man. Its born as a cute innocent thing, grows to become a complex, confused and entangled not-so-good thing and die naturally or mutilated in an undesired way. But it dies with or before you. An unnaturally dead love, leaves scars that hurt and haunt for the rest of life. Still "peeda main anand jise ho, aye wo meri madhushala". Love is the only of its kind where even paint is ecstatic. You restlessly chase this pain, just to get possessed by it once. And this pursuit is worth it.

                 He who feels the pain of his own soul, and clings to it

                and yet thrives to spend his whole life, in that one moment of pain

               he is the man in true love, he is the man of true form

Love is the drink of gods disguise, this moment is your last chance, go get drunk.

Sex as a word makes ripples of current run through your spine as it does as an act. Its one of the best gifts nature has given to human. To love and to lust out of love. Every human act is closely associated with one thing, ego. Ego is the driving force of life. And sex is a man's alter ego. Its spells how you are. A philosopher knows everything in the world are fallacies. But lust of the beloved is a purest form of emotion like true prayer. Its unfiltered, unrestricted, soulfully desired and magnificently ecstatic. I have always been fascinated by it. Desiring to enact myself as the best lover the world has ever seen. Every one does. Often I get obsessed with it too. Not anymore. sex is life in compact. You start excited, you want it to never end, but only the end makes it worth it. And you forget how much you enjoy when you do it. Sex like life is a set of memory. A hundred small things make a complete act of passion. And you try to cling to each of them but you can not as a rule cause you have to rush for the end. That is the goal. And to enjoy it fully you must spend just enough amount of time doing it that your body naturally drives itself to. Otherwise soon its monotonous and you lose the whole purpose of it. Same, analogous to life. Let the mind drive itself. Don't drag it. Don't push it hard. Just remember you have to enjoy each moment of if but its enjoyable cause it has an end, a climax and that keeps you driving. In life you die and in sex you orgasm. Enjoy it, making love to your beloved is not a shameful act live living your life is never one too. The man who says so is the man who never lives. Sex is sin just in dead man's dictionary.

       My beloved's embrace is the heaven for me, I find solace only there

      From ruins I rise too, with the sense of my beloved's desire

     my enemies, the world how would they know, I am a man in love, my soul has caught fire.

Truly

Abinash

Love and betrayal

Under a full moon, on a rose bed she surrenders her glowing body
embraces with a pure heart and submits the bare soul
holding the gaze in eyes, she vows to renounce the world and merge in his heart
clinging to the body he desired, holding to the soul he loves
he succumbs to the faith she bestowed and believes it for life
Such is the innocence of a man in love and such is the deception of the woman with him!
Only the time  discerns the man's trust and the woman's betrayal!


- Abinash


Truly
Abinash

The fight, the smile and the day

She usually does not speak. So I make things unusual to make her speak. In my way. Fighting over nonsense issue, or just nonsense to be more accurate. Complaining over and over on the same monotonous mistakes, or just an act to be more accurate. Pampering her. Always. Overriding her on every small things. They she speaks; she speaks with conviction. And I just stare on. Smiling. With the pretension to be listening to her carefully but no word would enter me. Just the soothing voice, a song for me, I get possessed. She suddenly finishes, her explanations. Deliberation to convince me. In vain. She knows I can only be self convinced. She even knows I don't listen her explanation. I am thoughtful she believes, when she speaks. But am not. I am actually thoughtless. For I am obsessed with something else. Her. Her smile. Here eyes.
The day ends we bid adieu. The next day comes for her the next morning. For me the last day never ends, it just gets little prolonged, little too prolonged. And I start my prolonged day in a dream as she starts in a reality. And it all happen again. The fight, the day, the obsession and the prolongation.

Truly
Abinash

An evening, with her and with nothing

It was a silent evening. Little chill which can actually give the sense of warmth.
A little silence which can give the sense of calmness. People, the colors, the chill wind, the shinning lights, the starry sky and the full moon, rendered in perfection just to meet my imagination. I was restless to out reach myself. It was she who was waiting for me. I stepped up, and my eyes met hers. She was looking indirectly which was too direct to be resistible. Like always at her sight, my heart out pace itself, face became bright and the lips half open in anticipation. She remained calm and indifferent. Like always. I sat looking into her eyes. The bright face, the neatly done hair, the glow filled clothes, the weird nail polish, the smiling eyes. I wished I could behold them for ever, like this in a silent moment where it belonged to me. Only me. I took my eyes off her playing a stroke on my lips, almost a smile. I remained in the joy like my nerves had lost the apparent consciousness. Swam to and fro in that small moment I wish I could spend my life in that tiny space. I jerked back to reality, the noise playing a random symphony, the still image of crowd moving fast. And she looking away with the same indifference.
I smiled again. But It made all difference to me. To me it was few of the best moments for rest of my small life. To which she is indifferent might be.
And it was a time when anything meant absolutely nothing.

Truly
Abinash

Being outsider

Its a weird feeling. The feeling of being an outsider or worst of being an intruder. Life is like sphere. Soap bubbles in the air.. fundamentally free but practically bound by gravity. And the miracles happen and these bubbles merge to create a yet bigger bubble, merging their life and merging their horizons. But there exist people like who just stay on, being just an on looker. And suddenly driven by this irresistible desire to bump into some one'e life, the sphere. By own choice. But as soon as you realize the other life has no value for your choice, you forget the choice was yours. It hurts then. It hurts in an unending way. You are left stranded, just looking at from outside, with no strings attached, by yourself. Like the bubble heading to merge but just collided and bounced back. Being outsider.
The sense is painful. At times too overwhelming to be circumvented and you just succumb to it.
You remain an outsider, or an intruder, with dying out desires and failed dreams. Half drowned wishes and gloomy smiles.
Still you are the driver of your own life, and you can drive the bubble away from the gravity of the other. Just moving on in the search of, may be, self.

My idle mind :)

Well goes the well known adage "An idle mind is devils workshop".
I realized my idle mind is her workshop. :) Not idle actually to be honest. She is there in my working mind as well. Now its debatable when my mind is working and when its idle. Appreciate my honesty for it that I proclaim the confusing status of my mind. :) But almost every time I am conscious of my thoughts I find my self pondering on her. So not quite surprisingly my mind is mostly idle.
I see a lot of imagery and I am the director. But a director driven by the fantasies of her. The same familiar and lovable face with that I-can-die-for-it smile. The same way of looking from the corner of her eyes. The same way blushing when I smile back at her. And all at my personal space of mind.
I choose to be idle. I choose to be driven. I choose to be with her for ever.

Still Lost

In the late evening, or early morning. In the broad day light or in the night's darkest side. Amidst a million people or marooned in an island. The sense is as intense as its now. The sense of this shadowy feeling. The feeling of being lively.
A repulsive desire drifts me in an garbled fashion. And I feel lost. lost between dreams and reality. Love and rejection. Smile and frown. A node of yes and a node of no. A self too fragile and a self too strong. A life with her and a life alone. A day with her and a day in empty thoughts. A hope and a realization.
But all that remains is the fact I fell lost. I look too despicable. I jerk back to reality. I jerk back to now. Leaving the sweetness of the fantasies alone marooned in some isolation. Her being would clearly transit form reality to just a desire, from I reached her to I am lost. I jerk back to reality and I move on. Smiling. Still Lost. :)

Truly
Abinash