To be Liked or Not to be Liked?

It is kind of amusing how human beings can be the both utterly pompous and shockingly self depreciating.

I won't lie, I often tend to just sit and wonder how much do I dwell in self pity and how highly influenced I really am by others' opinion. A human being is a social animal and that's no secret but we just tend to deny that at times. I wonder 'Why?'

In one of such moments of over thinking I arrived at this rather absurd conclusion. I don't believe it is something new and I surely don't believe it is the 'truth' but there sure is no harm to present it to my lovely readers.

What I believe is that we almost all of us have this innate need to stand apart. To be remarkable and if possible, unforgettable. We seek approval but won't dare to show that explicitly as to avoid looking needy. We say we don't give 'a rat's ass' but there is always that one person whose proud gleaming eyes make us gay and hopping crazy!

One thing I know for sure is that people like being liked. I won't want to be liked if I ought to compromise on the values I have set up for myself...yet, being liked is a lovely feeling.

In case you are wondering, I am well aware this is a big fat public ramble. But then again at times it is a relief when someone voices everything you fear to blabber about. I just want to be that sigh of relief.

Drop your thoughts and opinions as a comment or PM me. Your acknowledgement is highly appreciated.

A Stained Night

One night she lost her cool. Things were broken being her rage's token. There lay broken glass pieces piercing her sole. She was numb though; time had numbed her.
Sleepless nights that were a diurnal  occurrence now, had numbed her. The silent sobs, they numbed her. Broken hearts and promises had numbed her.

The temperature dropped, the fire died. Her rage, she tamed. Those heavy tired eyes sung sad sagas. She gathered bits and pieces of herself and cleaned the blood stained floor. Got rid of the Kohl stained sheets and disposed the lipstick stained half drunk glass of whiskey.

It seemed normal now as she shed her clothes preparing to embrace yet another sleepless night.

The Final Seal

I’ve breathed my way to a long life,
Disengaged of emotions;
Dragging this stoic existence,
Looking for the awaited disclosure.

Passive, my way of being.
Waiting for the one whose exodus left my spirit it a state of blur.
Sigh. Here I am, holding those severed ties,
Which once weaved my whole world.

Love, is such a droll.
Fall in it my dear; the only face you’ll see is theirs,
When they’re out of it, every soul seems faceless.
Every argument, baseless.

That love’s withdrawal took a toll on me,
I hear Rihanna no more,
Blessed Sinatra goes on till three.

Resignation has resided in this intoxicated heart,
It’s the end, I know
Uncanny, how it feels like a new start.
This is just the final seal;
My lover in some ancient time had already taken my beating part.

Adios.

Disenthralled.

She lay in his arms,
Disenthralled from the ghosts of the past,
When her mascara had stained those sheets
And silent sobs had screamed.

Her catalyst to liberation lay right beside her,
He'd walked in,
But not swept her off her feet,
That man, let her ameliorate.
Rather than gloat in her miseries.

Her nights were flawless,
His days had a bounce
Those boulevard of broken dreams
Had been washed out.

Gawking at the pillars of life;
Life full of experience,
From her land of surreal realities.
She reminisced the time they'd met
And assassinated every foul fragment of memory.

She'd caved herself too long,
Bemoaning the end of that journey.
But gone were those days and nights
'cause my dear,
He hadn't rescued her,
She had rescued herself,
Caving her path to love and victory.

Bruised Conqueror

Waking up in the middle of the night,
Gasping for air
Struggling to breath,
Reaching out for some comfort—
She realized he wasn't there.

Sauntering down those memory lanes
Brimming with love and unforgotten pain
She laughed her misery away,
Thinking how it all went in vain.

Looking at those ruins of the walls
Her half hearted walk came to a halt.
Contemplating it's similarity to her own,
She knew it was her sister, they could stand tall.
Why not, wasn't it their life after all?

Seeking solace in the scars she bore,
She danced on the tunes of those ruffling leaves,
With an unsurmountable panache, gathering pieces of her broken believes.

Aimlessly she strived forward
Looking for a cocoon to settle,
A place she could conquer.

Faces

A vibrant vivacious wilding when the sun shines,
Epitome of enigma as the night befalls.
She had many facets to that face.
She had a demeanor so fickle,
Laughing along with the world,
Dare she let a tear drop trickle.

Search of an Indomitable Spirit

A while ago I had parted ways from writing.

At times, in life, one just loses motivation, inspiration or the mere drive that gets you going. It is no mystery I had lost that drive. But one morning I had this sudden urge to write—write about anything that came to my mind.

So, there I was, typing away aimlessly, experiencing this weird sense of satisfaction. 

Yes, weird.

I was still capable of writing but my words had lost their charm, my work did not reflect my personality. 

I was lost.

The rush I used to get had dissolved. That feeling of emptiness was extremely frustrating. 

I was well aware that I ought to introspect, but was clueless as to how to start. Answers were and are needed but the source is unknown. Hence, I kept on failing abjectly. 

Honestly, I have got to find the path meant for me. Having figured out everyone else's problem is of no joy if yours are unresolved. 

Anyone who thinks they have been through this or have experienced something similar or might have any problem at all, feel free to email me or Whatsapp me. Maybe we could talk it out. And hey, if you have answers or any abstract advice buzz me right away. 

I hope to seek help and provide too.

Adios :)

Scrutinizing the Act of Intimacy

Intimacy has multiple meanings for Anna.
There is one side which is defined by the way two lovers hold each other's hands; the way their fingers entwine amidst a conversation; the way they hug and prolong that embracement a bit longer; the way they kiss and devour each other's taste; the way they undress each other...imprinting that sight in their souls to reminisce and cherish.

It sure is intimate, I agree.

Although it needs to be defined by the way they talk to each other; the way they keep a constant eye contact as they slip into a deep conversation; the way one tiptoes out of their cocoon to let the other in—a simple act of making space for another; the way one confides into another, voicing those demons in order to swivel out of it; and the way one's dark side receives love and affection coming it's way...with open arms or a cold demeanour.
Let's explore this territory of intimacy too lover.

Can We?

An Ode To The Stranger

You haven't arrived yet,
Or just passed by without affecting my being.
I am unknown to you, you're the unfamiliar soul to me.
I am a stranger to you, you to me.
Your sagas are unheard of, I haven't unfolded my sheet of stories.
It scares you, it scares me.
Destiny doesn't make sense to you, in the same light it baffles me.
Alas, dear stranger, you are in for an adventure;
An adventure full of stories and possibilities,
Of change and stagnancy,
Of growth and downfall.
Oh dear stranger, those judgments you fear are impotent now. 'Cause I come with no assumptions,
I hold no preconceived notions.
For me, you are the painting you paint,
The sculpture you sculpt,
The dream you make me wish for
The lie you tell as a truth.
For me, you are what you are at this moment;
Your sins of past and plans for the future, are buried under the moist land of unfamiliarity.
Oh dear stranger,
You can be you.
Oh dear stranger,
You can, just for a moment, let loose.

Unsolicited Advice

There are times, when nothing seems to make sense. When nothing seems to be 'perfect'.
In such moments, be vulnerable. But stop, stop after a while. Breathe. And think:
Did I sign up for a perfect life or a life that is remotely worth living?
Why am I cribbing now when I wasn't grateful enough in the moment of happiness?
And lastly, why am I behaving as if this is the last day of my life. And, if it actually is, damn why in the hell would I spend it fussing and crying?
Breathe. At times breathing is what you need.

I know it seems preachy and rather romantic. Alas, it might make sense to some and work wonders for a few others.

Have a lovely weekend! :*

Yet Another Woman

She was fierce,
A fire burnt inside that broken heart.

Tears came easily
But so did that sloppy smile.

That velvet body moved seamlessly,
Dancing away the pain.

Melody of the waves, the moonlit sky,
The grainy sand-- is all she had to embrace.

-abha mehra