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I am so tired of faking…fake world, fake smiles, fake pictures. There is no one who wants to share your pain. Not a single real friend in this world, or virtual world, who would be willing to scream and shout at this world, at all the dissapointments and pain. Noone who would be honest enough to admit that they are going through the same s**t, and that we should just sit together and admit it, rather than posting pictures with smiling faces, partying and group pictures, and pictures of food and travel and beautiful places. You post a song which is real, a song which talks about pain…and noone bl**dy likes it, while there must be 100 others going through that s**t. You post a pic about butterflies, and beautiful flowers and those same 100 fakers are going to like it, as if their life is all about those beautiful things and they hate to admit their real feelings, their real loneliness, and they don’t want to share it, cos they will appear weak. Why are we so afraid to share our moments of darkness or even like it? Though all of us go through it? Why does it always have to be so fake??
He would call her everyday or almost everyday. it became months, and then years. He still did not change. They moved away and lived in faraway states, and yet he would call her everyday. But the fun things they used to talk about, wihch used to make her laugh, slowly became boring. They became mundane, uninteresting. He was as attentive as before, but she started dreading the calls. She was tired of talking. She loved him still, so she didn’t want to hurt him. But its strange, that though he was always around, always attentive she felt her love fading.
So one day she told him “Do you want our love to be forever?” . He said, “Yes”. “Then don’t call everyday”. “But I like to talk to you everyday”, he said. But when he called he talked about his problems, and how he dreamt of becoming more successful, and his dreams, his big dreams. And it all started to become like a broken record which keeps playing over and over again. She did not tell him, “love is not easy. Love is a game. Love goes hand in hand with pain. Its the pain of longing, of missing someone. You have got to feel the pain of missing me, by not calling me. You have to let me have my space, to fill my heart with thoughts of you, of missing you, wondering what you are doing, whether you are thinking about me, or not. Love has to be unpredictable, not solid. It has to have the feeling of something soft, something pliable, something fleeting, something which you might lose. And thats when it remains precious. You have to let me feel the pain of you not being there, and let me have the chance of missing you. Give me the chance to call you.”.
Someday….She had to tell him. “Don’t call me everyday, because I want to love you forever”.
Maybe someday you may make a mistake…
and wander into my streets, by mistake, my love.
My love remained inside, unsaid, captive in my heart,
Never got a chance to be free and flowing like a
Meandering carefree stream.
It just fluttered inside like a captive bird, and then
Sat quietly, hopeless and giving up.
Longingly I looked for the blue,
The blue of your eyes, the blue of your smile.
The sun set and closed another day.
And I asked you yet again,
Cant I be with you for a while,
I don’t ask a lifetime, for that is too long,
Stay and hold me close and let me feel your heart
Beating near my face,
Under the shade of the tree lets sit,
And forget time, age and place…
RuPaul in an interview with The Vulture. This sums up the reasons I have considered Clinton more qualified than any candidate in 4 dozen years. LBJ is probably the last candidate that could pull off what I think Clinton is capable of. I have found Sanders ideals attractive. But Clinton shows all the grime and […]
Each day I can see myself die
Just a little each day,
Losing the sparkle in my eye
Just a little each day,
No, I dare not think of it,
for fear I will just sit and cry,
So I smile with my honey lips
The smile of a ghost, who was
dead long ago,
Died in the monotony of everyday chores
and dishes to be washed,
and daily dinners and lunches,
There was no time to live,
to paint the beautiful skies,
in colors of blue, and yellow and gold,
There was only the boiling pot,
of meat, and potatoes and beans,
rice and tomatoes and spices,
colors of brown, red, and green,
They washed each day away,
and ushered in the darkness,
The moon was just a ghostly light,
Not to be looked at for long,
With smiling eyes, hands touched by warm hands,
Yes, I die each day little by little,
Each day the same as the day past,
The colors are gone to the faraway land
of smiles, and laughter, and sunshine,
and I can only see them, when I sleep
my darkest sleep, one day.
Tumhare liye the ansoon.
Jinka mol magar kuch nahi tha.
Bas bathe the apni dhun mein..
Kabhi shaamon ko kabhi subah
Tum the apne khayalon mein
Rangeen thi tumhari duniya
Dost the tumhare bahot…
Khamosh thi magar..meri duniya
Na awaaz koi, na hi koi umang..
Bas yaadein thi tumhari..aur wohi
thi meri choti si duniya..