Soumya Scribbles...

There is a lot of truth in a parabola. No two souls at either ends are equi-distant. Sometimes too close, at times too far, we are. Some say, acceptance is one form of resignation! I believe, its to know when we need to take the parched leaf out of the book and remember how to forget; vice-versa. Life is too direct for an abstract figure or may be an opulent realization.   So, our little moments of truth hide and seek and lie and die    somewhere near the rear window, the broken chairs and the old books and granny's mahogany bed. In these points, where facts and figures and favours and follies intermix- boil- burn- vaporize and condense again, You get back life, unaltered. Need not you say, philosophies are born where one looks up to the sky for a daylight and the Sun is eclipsed, just then! SoUmY@ [Little moment of reckoning this! :) ]

Perhaps there is more to life than a blunt punctuality, that is mine. I have always come early but been late. In a life where I never intended to intrude in your sensitivities always fearing that , oozing is inevitable when its me, I have waited sheepishly. Haemocyanin- blue blood, oh its mine. Like the improper misplacement above, I have waited and drenched in rain just to feel what is it to be close to you. Have spent sleepless nights Just to know how pure is the Sun That touches you first. Today, as you tie a bolder knot With the one who could say before (and me? nay ever) I will be there, mute, Silently waving at your graceful departure and wish, if for once you do the cliche ', Turn back and smile, perhaps. Even if you do, I promise, you won't see how an ice drowned and choked in its own fate. Can we reverse the moment and never let it melt? SoUmY@ [No more complexities for today. Just a blunt and simple life. :)]

Entwined in the heart are I and You. Let us lock them up in the closet today and watch her , him and them. Let us talk about lazy crows, dead fish, a wet metro or hustling bazaar. I for once (err, I was to put in the s(h)elf) will choose that hawker boy who sells roses and buys his dreams, We buy dreams and sail our romance - We complement them. Then you for twice can select your prey in the old age homes. Look, there in the balcony, that sorry old lady. We are together, still counting stars They are so alone and tired of stars - They contradict us. In this com-n-con game, we watch as I and you come out of locked worlds and mix in the crowd of her , him and them . They say, "its an illusion that you are different. We have but one life" SoUmY@