Excerpts from my diary...

18. September, 2013

There is an enemy inside me that nags me all day and all night. Like the Panopticon head marking surveillance over me. My self others me from myself. I am separated from inside. I am fragmented from within. I see the blades of the fan stirring along the air and forming a uniform circular motion. Constant rotation lets one see through it...the ceiling painted white. I see the black wall of the blog and my words turning white and green. The thoughts deepening down in a circular motion inside my head but blurring away my vision.

BEYOND

There is a sky beyond trees,
 A horizon beyond vision…

 An End past an end,
Which blurs your limited vision.

 The word is followed by a word,
 The world is followed by a world,
 Within and outside...

There is chaos within a chaos
 And system within a system.

 Break away the concentrics
 of round about vision,

 look behind, look beyond,
 go beyond the limits of reason.

I feel... I am

Excerpts from my diary...
I felt so stupid in the morning. Realized and discovered a few things. The unconscious messages, the insecurities, the immature acts. Everything. The internalization. But when did it begin? What sort of repression and suppression am I going through? I feel so alone in front of good bounded people. I feel intimidated in front of two women. Why do I feel alienated. I am also a woman. or may be I want to get so much dissolved in the male domain that I have stopped identifying myself as a woman. I realize that I don't show emotions und Ich verachte die Leute, die tief gefühlvoll sich darstellen können. warum ist es so? I despite knowing what's happening cannot stop it. I can go deep and understand how the colours of different emotions of different people are being mixed but I don't feel camouflaged with it.

Its either of the extremes. Either I am given too much or I am given too little. That's the reason that I can't show emotions. I feel..yes I ''feel''... the moment I realize that I feel, I realize it is through language that I realize that can ''feel''. I feel lonely. Yes, I write and that's how I feel... the process of feeling. Is it that when I feel I write that I am lonely or is it that when I write so I start feeling lonely. but I feel... I definitely feel. It feels such a relief to ''feel''.

It overflows today...

I am drowning,

into my own shallowness

Dear Diary,

It is unusual today that I am addressing it to you before penning down my thoughts. You see, today I don’t want to talk to myself but somewhere, these overflowing thoughts have to go…

The subtle thinking yet overflowing, rather I would say the thinking stimulated by the feelings. Today I went through myriad emotions which kept me highly engrossed because too many streams of reception and production simply… not simply, but complicatedly brimmed upto the level from where it seemed easier to pour out. I have to make lesser effort now to tilt the glass of my bubbling feelings because its fullness to the brim prevents from further tilting and the words pour out effortlessly.

I couldn’t stop the Champagne which is bubbling within me and it is absolutely like Champagne because I have never tasted champagne and neither do I know how am I feeling.but I just felt like bringing it out since it is too much bottled inside me.

Well, what I just did, I couldn’t stop myself, and then further couldn’t stop myself from introspection.

My forconceit about myself doesn’t come along with the reality. If ‘reality’ is what I can call it. The very act of penning down my notion has somewhat reduced it,but…
And that’s why now I am thinking again what I should think as if ‘to think’ are like pebbles which have to be put into the pot to bring up the level to the brim again. So now I need to pebble down some ‘to think ’s into my Champagne bottle inorder to taste the feelings that I am going through.

Sometimes, I am quiet and I like it when I am quiet and many times I speak when I don’t know where I am. The shifting boundaries and shapes of the self, as created by the self make the situation more plane.
How to spell, plain or plane?
By plain(or plane) , do I mean smooth, if smooth then is it going smooth?
No?
Yes.
No!
May be yes…

Am I going into some depth? Into which core am I going? Do I have any depth ? Am I deep within?

How does it matter. ‘matter’, that’s what I mean?
So, matter again… that’s what matters.

Am I writing too muchor I mean , am I thinking too much? Why am I introspecting? Am I really introspecting?

Well, I am unable to answer these questions myself, that’s not my job… atleast not right now. Otherwise I will be prejudicing the taste of my Champagne and may be I refuse to drink it then!

But drinking, drinking it to myself? Again?
Then, where does it go… again back to the self?
Oh I am too much absorbed and soaking myself to myself.

May be nobody would like its taste. So, do I have to drink it all by myself. Nobody to share the Champagne? Well, the glass is mine , the bottle is mine, the champagne is mine, so it all goes back to me.

The diary is mine, the thoughts are mine, so all goes back to me.

Enclosure of my thoughts

Love At Last Sight

I am still ‘ I am’,
When I’ll become, ‘was’…
Presence is not so much relished,
As much valued is the loss.

When against the invincible destiny,
I will fight…,
What if, you hold me,
Out of fright.

First and the last time,
You may kiss me gently,
And I’ll call it...
Love At Last Sight.

DROPPED

From behind the Soft,
silently it emerged.

Pure and pearly,
trickles down the flow.

Gradual...down the slope,
not gushing, but a silent stroke.

Blurring by...the vision,
but what's left to see?

Shattered and abandoned,
From the last hope,

its free...