This view is not just mine but of many who once lived here
Sometimes I feel that the greatest part of my life is that I am born amidst stories…..not just stories but between a bundle of myths. Now what you see above are not just pictures but there is life in it and I want to sustain those pure lives through my words because now they are just dying memories.
When I talk about myths many may feel it ridiculous and superstitious but I feel that they aren’t a problem if it doesn’t annoy any of you. I have been curious about people who lived there and my mom use to tell me the story with her wide opened eyes, because it was the story of a house where she lived, where the serpent gods stay.
Stories has got a power to drag us to the past. In a way I wanted to hold on to my roots where my ancestors lived. There tradition and ritual may seem to us illogical but I feel their presence can be regained through doing things that they like if it doesn’t hurt others. When I stand in front of these places with admiration and wonder I could feel that aroma of past. I thing everyone will get it if you start looking at them with admiration but not with confusion and sarcasm. Your belief and opinions may differ but just take a look at them and explore. I am sure that you will find many things to admire.
Unknown! Some of you may definitely raise your eyebrows while hearing this word. But this is something I love. I want to become unknown, where my words are not censored , my capabilities are not compared, my life is not a signed treaty. I want to fly getting rid of that feeling, that fear which is inherent in me like a shadow. All I need is someone who could drag that dark shadow from me and let me fly.
Her face was dusty
I couldn’t read anything.
Her face was wrapped in mist
again I failed.
I looked through the mirror
but it was full of scars.
She turned out a mystery,
a blurred mystery.
I took a cloth and wiped
the dust, the mist and the mirror
But nothing happened
I think my eyes need a wipe.
Like the zig zag graph in the hospital machine
my life goes now
It gave me high hope like the raised life status
Suddenly it showed a stagnant line
snatching even the bit of my hope
Life is such a mystery for me
neither I am happy nor sad
Like a sand clock it takes the turn.
Change is a routine here,
But it sounds paradoxical.
Ah!life itself is paradoxical.
Like a dry leaf in the wind
Like a loosened kite in the sky
Looking for a hand that can hold me
Taking me out of the slippery path
and thorny bushes.
His hands should hold me not tightly
My freedom should not be compressed
under his tightness
Such should be the one who like to hold me.
Sometimes things become uncontrollable and we begin to attach everything we see and experience with shades of our emotion. Then even the beautiful things around us turn pale