“It’s amazing how a little tomorrow can make up for a whole lot of yesterday.”― John Guare, Landscape of the Body draped in gold,dripping dreams,exciting, enticing and enthralling –a vision of timely beauty is life tomorrow. a cradle of delightful mistakeslearning, growing and finally seeingterrified and horrified but stunnedat the humanity of it all. for the world […]
That’s one thing about cities. It strips us of our choice and forces us to witness life not as we want it to be but from other people’s stories. It makes us watch and experience and be a part of something much bigger than ourselves – something that’s too random to ever occur again. There are far too many stories on the streets and so little time but this beauty can be tackled all the same – one bus ride at a time.
A shadow is all that remains – of the glory days,
Where words stayed true to themselves.
While you decline to cry,
high on the mountainside
a single stalk of plumegrass wilts.
Brilliant skyscrapers,
Mosaic paths sway to songs
Of crushed bricks and rocks,
This gleaming concrete jungle –
Spews blinding diversity.
“I want to give up my bearings, slip out of who I am, shed everything, the way a snake discards old skin.”― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed The Christmas lights are fading, half-made-up trees on the verge of being completely disassembled and stored away in dark shelves and rooms until their time comes again. Festive smiles […]
The world outside cowers under nature’s wrath,
While words fail to appear,
These thoughts scream themselves sore;
Silenced by the downpour
But forever inspired by the falling leaf.
I came across a weird train of thought the other day while watching a few kids be the happiest they possibly could be at the time – one that I’ve often entertained before. It’s not necessarily true but it often feeds anxious thoughts. It was that growing up takes away one’s liberty to make mistakes as responsibilities start cropping up. There’s nothing wrong with being wrong, but life isn’t as experimental as it was when I was considered a child.
cherished firsts and fleeting scraps of thoughts;
these cold words – dear, are they
for bitter freedom do I hold when they soar away.
“Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.”― Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities There’s a park around the corner,A dainty human construct,With cobblestone pavements and plastic domes.There’s a park around the cornerThat saves a swing just […]
Random Specific Thoughts 