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

It hurts

Its not new. At all. Its painful instead.The sense of being cornered,the feel of being ignored. The desire to be closer. All are painful. Equally. Something wrong happens every time. And I come to realize the space and gravity I hold. I hold a space like air. Expected to be squeezed in to a small balloon and expected to be leaked too. Expected to be ever expanding and at times and expected to be like air, inert to all these. So color, no taste.Just stay inert. And then it come in like the air trying to going out of the boundary of the balloon. But It remains to regain its space,when the balloon bursts. It waits.Like I do, with hope.

Truly
Abinash

The loner

Abandoned, silently it lied there. Moist on the ground. It had someone's company. Sometime, some where. It had the sense of belonging. The beauty of decoration and the fragrance of admiration. It had all, in it. But its felt aside, it has lived its stint. Left over on the ground, no beauty it looks anymore, no fragrance it dispels in the coll air that touches it. It just lies there waiting. Waiting in the hope that the air will bring it its company, its beauty back. The air will take away the loner with it. And it will rejoice again, now in hope and then in possession. Possession of the one who left. It alone, uncared.

Truly
Abinash

Indifference Hurts

It cuts sharp and it hurts. It hurts right where it hurts the most.
An indifferent disposition, a lax attitude shown deliberately, I believe. Just to show you worth nothing. You just worth nothing. It wont even take a moment to forget you because you have never been remembered. The depreciating love. The wearing out memories. The not so long company. The few good moments. Its not new. Its been there since long, I always ignored it. Now it doe snot ignore me. It catches me right at my eyes. And I just ask one question. Why?

Truly
Abinash

A trust I lost

Not many times I do it. Not even once in a while. Last I felt my cheeks
wet, eyes closed, mind blank and lips trembling some years back on what I
don't remember.
Standing at the edge of the balcony, facing the chilly wind with bare body
gave a soothing pleasure as I felt the salty liquid on my tongue, running
all the way from the eyes, like a moist fountain coming to life. A respect lost, a trust lost. The birth of tear take the deaths of many. Trust, respect, smiles, love. To live is to stand by a code, a code of values. It was a great day till then. When suddenly it perished. Turned around staring right at my face, laughing at my helpless disposition. I felt nothing, no pain, no chill of the winter, no danger of falling, no sense of love, no sense of loathe, just a cord of apathy. I moved back. few steps to a safer position, to realize the fountain had died again. And no more I could feel the salty taste on my tongue. The mark of tear remained like a scar on earth's face by a dead river in a summer too hot to survive. The river succumbed, so as the tears. I moved back, smiled. Shrugged off everything in the hope tomorrow I will revive the day. The same way like yesterday and wont let the dark win. Never. I wont be a looser tomorrow. My lost faith was nonexistence. Its dead now, with the passing day. It will revive. It will reborn. I am not giving up. My trust and love will rejoice again. With sunrise, like the sunshine.