Suffering | Growth | Birth


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A Situational Tragedy

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I confronted my fears and became the serpent you said you knew me to be. I dislocated my mouth to hold your words, and still they wouldn't call it home. My mother's tongue is foreign - now. My father's brow is lighter - now. My bedtime song is more sombre - now. Your eyes, I guess, are less distracted - now. What I wouldn't have done for myself I did for you. What I wouldn't have given for love I gave for you. What I would have had for life I surrendered to you. What I would have been, Where I could have been, How I could have been, Still leaves no blame with you - no fault - even now. I have no words for I have no face for I have no voice for I gave it all to you.  Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.
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The heat before the kitchen... (Where to start?)

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"I think of myself as something of a connoisseur of procrastination, creative and dogged in my approach to not getting things done."  - Susan Orlean Much like most people I know, I know this is about to cast a damning shadow on the company I keep, I have developed a wonderful knack for procrastination. I had to come down to the diagnosis that, however non-professionally backed it may be, I am daunted by my own genius.  As the Susan Orlean quote above so aptly puts it, I am a connoisseur. One with a refined taste for something. My something happens to be caused by my human condition. The fine placement of being a hippy at heart (#HAH - this will be a trend, I promise), an artist, having an overactive imagination and always setting tasks for myself to do albeit all at once; these are what have helped me refine my procrastination.  I am no stranger to grand tasks but as I found myself reading an entry on askmen.com titled   Top 10: Habits That Make...
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EXCERPT: Any Time

A little share of an excerpt from my short story titled: Any Time . As the flakes of ash gently floated from the tip of her cigarette – she smoked menthols “because they burn gently” – and the wisps of smoke rose in a dance above her finger tips, she could feel the depression setting in.   It was midnight, or shortly after midnight, and all the traffic in the road beneath her balcony was now gone. In summer, you can sit out on the balcony for the whole night and ponder your life away; this is what Cleo wanted to do. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.
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