Castle on clouds

Whispers
You will hear it, eventually.
The whispers of life, they are quite; very quite. Sometimes it sounds like a school-boy dragging his canvass shoes in the corridor tired, thinking about buried treasures waiting to be excavated, other times it’s like a train passing through a dark tunnel.
The sound of the rush of wind in an empty vessel, that’s what life, is. And we are the bottomless vessels, the empty incarnations of whispers.
Money morality sex music jealousy love pain acid peace hate fame adrenalin booze fear cult food Povertyreligion Travel hemp Obsessions war Toy-trains charity pleasure take your pick and plug up the vessel… still the whispers find a way out.
Seeking ultimate truth is easy. Living with it is tough.
You are born then you die.
Line yourself with false sense of standards, confirm to sold-out notions. Find a passion block all the whispers with experience. Till your echo carries applaud, laughter, cries.
Keep hoarding adjectives into the vessel. Happy. Rich. Young. Beautiful. Kind.
Satisfied?
Never.
Confused?
Yes.
Death is not a fatal eventuality, hearing life is.
It’s like standing in a dark tunnel and being hit by the force of two trains simultaneously doing 150 on opposite tracks with you in-between. Whispers amplify into howls of desert storm. Emptiness shines on moonlit bed-sheets. Passions stagger down the street. Somewhere a hollow echo is weeping your name.
That’s when everything falls apart, when the sanctity of a cosy reason of existence is violated the body becomes a bottomless vessel again. An empty passage for whispers unhindered by passions of existence.
Now. Your echo carries you.
All that you hoarded before won’t make sense because reason has lost meaning. Like the castle made on clouds you know you can walk because you have built the floor, each stone laid; hard-work of years but eventually truth remains- the stones are clouds.

Too lazy to fight

I am terrible with fights. I am bad because I am chicken shit yellow, I just cant fight if I am in a scene I would rather mutter an apology or move along but don’t have the nerve to fight. Maybe that’s because I hate confrontation scenes, ok I am lying I am yellow. Or maybe I have attention span of 3 seconds and I keep getting waylaid by how the person is frothing at mouth for some lame stuff that I don’t give two-hoots to. It is hard to concentrate when people holler for things that won’t matter 5 years down the line or even 5 days, I tend to get highly spiritual during such encounters. Plus I can’t even think of a smart repartee at such times, mostly because I don’t pay attention or I am thinking of something else. I think a lot about something else when people bawl.
But I think about them after, a lot. I mean yesterday I was all sore about not breaking the jaw of some guy back in class 11th for something I can’t remember now. So desperate I was with hate for him that I spent 2 hours on Orkut to find him and settle scores.
The last major confrontation I had was in 2004 and that too when a friend goaded me saying I should stand up for myself, I mean I do respect myself but I see no reason to scream on who-say-what-to-whom and as I was highly de-motivated I ended up getting emotional and preaching on ethics and love.