The Silence of My Voice

"Y ou are, at once, both the quiet and the confusion of my heart." – Franz Kafka I had to only close my eyes, and listen to the waves galore. The raised wall, separated me from the quaint water, as I walked the other side, mapping the circumference. The whiff of damp sand, and the salty water kick me back to the times when this used to be my home.  I remember the nights I've spent beside you, adoring your beauty, your sound as you convulsed a million times in your own folds, deep in sleep. I'd walk by you. You'd laugh as I scribbled on you. You always let it stay. You'd never smudge my identity, you let me be. Sometimes I'd sketch you, but you'd never stay still, always laughing, making strange faces. I wrote you numerous letters while being apart. I don't know if you ever received them. I never forgot you. My nights which have passed beside you are etched in my memory. Out of all the places I've been to, to make memories, you...

What am I doing here? What is everybody doing here? What if I'm the only actual human and the rest are my mind's projections? What if the world doesn't exist? What if we were manufactured out of a machine and hoisted upon a matrix mind device right after the machines spit us out? Okay, moment-of-crisis over. I keep wondering all the time if what I'm studying for, isn't what I'm supposed to be in life.What if I'm supposed to be a writer, and should've pursued English(Hons.), and spent my life writing and drinking coffee with a cigarette in my mouth, carrying expensive hand-crafted diaries with fountain pens holding onto its cover? What if I was destined to be a secret agent? Or, maybe a guitarist?  They say, we're born with a purpose to pursue, and it's up to us to figure it out. Often we're faced with multiple choices in life, and narrowing them down to one, when you love all of them, is a soul-crushing act. Well, Sanya once told me that...

It's your day man. Yes, you're awesome, and yes, you're pretty amazing, Tiny-Stoned-Egghead. I never have had the better things to say when I should, actually. But you're one those people who've always known where to go if you wanted to know more.  You're a sweetheart. You always take out time to listen to others' problems before you come to terms to sharing yours. What the hell! You just don't ever share yours. Sometimes, well. Psst! Probably you had me since the beginning. Even before you gave me your number for help in Structures. Well, that didn't turn out to be so good. But, you did!  You have amazing eyes. I know that's a first, and I know I've said that before too, BUT, I love them. Your dismissal has actually been one of the many pulling factors. I-know-you-don't-give-a-shit? Yeah, yeah, I know. It's cute when you do. See? Not my fault. The cute comes out automatically. You should accept it now as a trait.  The amount o...

So what if things go wrong? If they screw up? If people end up being the wrong one? So, simply what? Let's go back to the start. Let's go back to knowing one another as a musician and a writer only. To having only a social network relationship. To not knowing anything  about each other. To never have gone beyond a Facebook chat. To never have talked about beyond music, books and work. To never have drunk-dialled/ texted each other. Hell, to never have even had each others' number. Let's add each other again on Facebook. Let's strike a first conversation again. Let's bitch about work load, and teachers again. Let's unhear all the music we shared. Let's untalk all the dumbfuck bikinis and cars and artists and bands and egghead conversations.  Let's not smoke up after my design jury. Let's unlearn each others' secrets. Let's un-christen all the nicknames we had. Let's not think about all the times we tried making the...

"The exploding vulnerability, Of the night, When it stands at its darkest,  Right before the dawn, Dangling like a lost lover, When the roads barren, And the sky hushed, The world seems bigger, Better, Enhanced by the moonlight, Looking of past, holding the essence of  the nameless, Don't blame the virgin night, It does not engulf, It invites you in, to fill it in, With your secrets, Protecting you every step of the way,  The night retrospects, In its obscurity, Lies its unkempt beauty, Exactly how a woman looks dishevelled , In the morning light,  Pouring winter into her coffee." Retrospecting, yet again, Ak.

"The world awed at her glory. Admired her for being who she was. Worshipped her for the deeds she did. Funny how all of this would have sounded to be an absurd joke only a few years ago. Because she was the one always standing out of the line, breaking the norms, embracing the unseen. So what if she was alone? So what if her gifted visions were the reason of her melancholia? For what she saw for the truthful was truth, for the sinful was sin. Each time she envisioned something, it would keep taking a piece of her. One little bite of cheese each time. But that little girl, she took the biggest part of them all. She cut her into half - half enough, to never be completed again by anyone. And she still stood there, with her eyes transfixed, each time searching for her, because it was only her she saw among everyone else, because if it weren't for her, she never had been here. Casting her own spells, she waved away the world. 'Cause God knew, she wasn't a mystery made to ...

"Through all the adversities, I saw the light, Blinding me with truth, Dancing around my eyes, Like a paradigm broadway, Because sometimes, Only sometimes, you witness, Something so surreal, Yet feeling utterly real. Corroborating its existence,  Every night, Was the only excuse to be together with them, Finding refuge in its silence, I lay atop my car, Each night, Glaring at the enormous luminaries.  I'll remember the next time, To get that bottle of wine, Which bequeaths me with the same inebriation, That my fondness for you does.  Again a part of  Kanika 's  Astonishing August . Later, peeps.  Unfeeling, Ak. 

"Everyone is a prisoner of their own mystery. Mysteries that absorb them, like a summer day's sun. Mysteries they can't conclude. Mysteries that run in a loop of oddity. Mysteries that'll consume your every chance to set free. Mysteries that rise over your back, upon your shoulders and matures like a kid - a kid who snubs to fly away. Your mysteries that tickle my fantasy. Mysteries I feed off of. Mysteries that pry me to continue looking for new mysteries everyday. Mysteries I use to fill the void. Mysteries that left a mark. Mysteries that draw the map to my daily undetermined life. You made me a prisoner to your mysteries.  Everyone is a prisoner of their own mystery. Mysteries that absorb them, like a summer day's sun." Part of  Kanika 's  Astonishing August , again. So college finally decides to upon a reopening date. Wednesday. No extra week. Right. Be back sooner.  Finally resting, Ak.

"Revelling in the resonance of gushing wind through his ears, he stood at the city's brow, yet again, second time in a decade. As the effusion gradually numbed his mind, his ear still hammered from the noises of yesterday, "Magic, is only your imagination. But what you choose to do with that imagination is up to you." He sometimes wished his imagination had a lot more power than he could muster out of it. Uncoiling his brains, sorting each memory into their worthy cabinets, he plucked his favourite one which had grown completely ripe, protected in the heat of his helixes. His sister smiling at him as she lit the very first candles of the refugee camp. He remembered her being very, very positive. Sometimes he felt that the light in her eyes provided for the hope missing in the people. Leading him to believe in the whites, she taught him the appreciation of the obscurity, as well.  He opened his eyes, holding in his hand the power of his imagination, looking to...