Category Archives: Real life Essays

Of moults and renewal, a seashell…..and my lifeline inspirAtion

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Reading words of Boris Pasternak from Doctor Zhivago…
“Reshaping life! People who can say that have never understood a thing about life—they have never felt its breath, its heartbeat—however much they have seen or done. They look on it as a lump of raw material that needs to be processed by them, to be ennobled by their touch. But life is never a material, a substance to be molded. If you want to know, life is the principle of self-renewal, it is constantly renewing and remaking and changing and transfiguring itself, it is infinitely beyond your or my obtuse theories ”

Words spoke out in summating this as thus, also affected from Sartyre’s Existentialism reads I am in now, the book as refered by my lifeline inspirAtion:

moulting layers
defined conscious sheds
much pointed uptakes
but, the
overall essence
that was bound to happen
over its existence
remained a blur
from infinity:
an incomprehensive dream
a streak of falling jugnu
into nowhere

this renewal
this core

A macro-photographed seashell before weeks ago instigated descriptive ponders:
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Shell over the black hardcover
shone in cleaving whites
albeit its well made
ancient opacities
in curvaceous
tapering layers: mouth
at its apical front
opened like a craving fish

Felling off porosities
here and there
dotted blacks, one
a bigger hole
dug like an eye

Fossilized stature
screamed from past
its ‘will’ : to be ‘lived’
in the focussed ‘essential’
lights of the present

tragic tune within

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in the scanty monsoonal airs
their vivid greeny-red canopy gleams
this sunshine gulmohur tree
smiles outside my balcony

a cuckoo with sorethroat
pitches high in notes daily
ascending
accelerating
screamy compositions
announcing wide-audience
its unending tragedy

no wonder
branches are in an infectious spree
wilting along its vasculars

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even petallic painted reds
oozing life limitless
are not of any solace

that cuckoo
this gulmohur
and me

His milky pebble sculpts mulch her shorelines to sunless deaths

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Whining temples felt like beaten up cases with swollen shaky receptacles reaped out of longterm lachrymalities…and he would never knew or better dressed up diplomatically silent. Casuality of a robotic brushing, once again, yet again creeping all over her…. choking aching fringes of flowering soul

serendipitously exclusively felt quantum of This Infinite Infinity….

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Of whatever lifetime left out of soulful expanse after what remains of this irreversibly and messily shrunken eaten torn soul, the highest quantum of a man’s love lived through comes from these words,”I cannot see you tear-laden”..and true! Cannot remember any other damn thing else…. Infinitely definitely YES!!! Probably not any better until heart pounds heavy peeping out each time through throatful  lumpful memories than a complacent mindless reigning mind buried with a faintly functional vestigial heart

Woodpeckery Rousings

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Aging sounds unpleasant anytime. Coming of the age, accelerated aging may be a worrying discovery, esp. if its of non-selfdiscovery modes:). I remember someone saying my changing laughter tone as an indicator.. how harrasing that moment was only I knew! I felt like i would never ever have a rustic hearty laughter and would need to evolve those corporate-type swallowed short traceless laughter better:(
Speaking of laughter, beyond time and any captured dimensions was this morning’s surprise ,racing senses like an ageless warrior..thousand audacious ultrasonic lemons in a simultaneous blasting squeeze over sleeping senses, that laughter-like fast trumpeting beats of woodpecker’s. Was almost goosepimpilicious by their rendering of hurried duty calls re tearing amidst a perfect cool and tender breezy morning settings. Eternally sensational!!

Hospital lessons, the sterling sterility

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Wondering at how the hospital’s sickeningly sterile ambience of a variety of alcohols, phenols or whatsoever chemical groupings can erase off the junky speed one runs the life relays catching up the hastily sprinting time..a sense of silence and ease that can eat up the piles of daily tensions build upon..ushering a fertile nursery bed once again…yet some milestones in harsh hard stamps stand still ..such is this day..growing sterile year after year, this meaningless day. The day of rapturous reform rather..when a solitary reaper picks up the right way culling the sprawling weeds in hinder..rarely, the enlivening sterility holds something more than the fertility that’s dying