A Tribute to Amazement

Exquisiteness lies in the suggestion that we can surprise people. To be capable of inspiring awe in another. That you are still alive, admirable, estimable. That hearts can be given reasons to flip. That the most laudable person can be speechless at the thought of you. That in the push of common existence, a pause can come worth cleaving to.In the middle of a companionable silence after a bout of situational analysis the other day, my mother suddenly turned to me and asked out of the blue how i became the person i am today. That i amaze her. That my life and my decisions are astounding. That lovers and believers are never this balanced between their heart and mind. This blend of realism and romance. Calm and excitement. Logic and emotion.
It made my day. Its been a while since someone perceived me as more than the level of me im 'supposed' to maintain. A lil appreciation can go the extra mile. I wonder if people realise the powers they wield? To be admirable. And to admire. To be adorable. And to adore. The stuff of life. So enriching if you bother. So average if you dont. The best is the most someone can do. Do you?
I replied with credit where it is due. She gave me the ability to think for myself. That i know how to use freedom, intelligence and experience to do and be. Confidence is contagious and born of loving, i thank the Sun for that to a degree wrapped in purple. All this is alot more vast than the paltriness my words express. That we are not alone if we chose. That we have the power to be alone if it should come to pass. To be at peace when we're right. To willingly admit when we're wrong. To be free of taintedness and judgement. That laughter is the best medicine. That those who deserve, get.
That life, after all is said and done... is just a box of chocolates. And i love that i dont know which im gonna get. And you love that you dont know which you're gonna get. That time and chance are flavours to taste. As you move through life. Strolling, shifting, simmering, sprinting, still, surrounded.

Called Life

These are the two versions of life that i find the most fascinating. Alot of mine swings somewhere in the vast middle ground. Bitter realism. Sweet drifting. Loving it the whole way! Whichever way.
Optimism. Pragmatism. Cynicism. I incline toward the left :)

Trainspotting:
'Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday night. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?'

59th Bridge Street Song:
'Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the mornin' last.
Just kickin' down the cobblestones,
Lookin' for fun and feelin' groovy.

Hello, lamppost, whatcha knowin'?
I come to watch your flowers growin'.
Ain'tcha got no rhymes for me?
Doo it doo doo, feelin' groovy.

I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morningtime drop all it's petals on me,
Life, I love you, all is groovy!'

Why i love Rain

Perhaps rain has pleasent associations. It reminds me of my childhood, my family and the mad dash of all cousins and neighbours within shouting distance to their roofs or gardens. To twirl or just stand around laughing pointlessly with our clothes sticking to us and our mothers beaming at our enthusiasm in their benign motherly manner. The smiles on the blades of grass and on the leaves of the trees in our yard. They literally look happy when it rains. And clean. That in itself has connotations aplenty. Its typical of the monsoon storms to hit in the late afternoon. So it transitions from the hot glare of an orange father figure sun to the mellow blur of a grey soothing concept. Its cold because of the drops. Its warm and humid for the temperature in the first few minutes doesnt fall. Rain, my childlike enthusiasm I hold on to. I am alive for it. I run around my house with it.

Perhaps rain is fulfillment. It brings with it the attainment of desires. It doesnt rain enough in Karachi. Its always delicious when it does. Whatever age i may feel. Singing in the rain. Raindrops keep falling on my head. I am in love with music. Getting what you want. I want so much. And it all comes true in the rain. It gives me hope. It is the back drop of an idiosyncrasy between the two. It awashes my mind with the connection between my physical and my mental. Whatever the soul may be. Mine is with the rain. The musical pitter patter. The light sting. The skies alight with streaks. The dimmed vision of the one you're standing right infront of. The scent of the damp earth. The melting mingling of sweetness and clarity with the tongue. Sound. Touch. Sight. Smell. Taste. Those are my senses. Consumated, complete.

Perhaps rain is emotion. Its signifies a change. Velocity. Chance. Excitement. It makes the earthy transcend. It encourages freedom. I would do alot in the rain that i wouldnt divine in the dryness of the crude day. I would take a leap. I stand in the middle of my drive way with the cynic, cluthing both his hands in mine, telling him that i love, i am, the inconceivable. And in the poignant moment, the non believer believes... Rain, inhibitions cant fight with abandonment in watercolour. Candor, you know what i want. Shower upon me my need. Wash away 'i cant'.

Prayer

What dreams may come, let there be plenty. See through all the talk of whats right. No one supports the dreamer. So i send out a prayer for us all. To the great beyond, God, whoever is out there. Who asks about what matters most to the dreamer? Does anyone? Even while he struggles with mundanity that is bleeding him, cutting deeper than any blade can. No interest to anyone. But to me. Care for the impossible. To make it possible. I am with you. Dont let go. Simple as that.
God. Please?

*Maybe*

If i fall

Emotion. Laboured breathing. Memory. Bittersweet. Loss. Gain. Down that lane... All the world's a stage and all men mere players. I must've butchered that. Shakespeare was mine, my fingertips knew him well. But its been so long now, the dryness of medicine has sucked that love out of me. Almost. My heart thuds in my chest for the some times in the middle of my surety that a rush of something less worthy pulses in my veins. All players, what do those do who play not? A non role. Play in its most mundane sense of games to win or lose. I cannot think straight. Why? Because i have desires. But i dont indulge in the games people play to get what they desire. Where is that going to lead me? This silk is so cool and smooth on my skin yet it feels like theres a river of tiny round pebbles underneath it, flowing in the opposite direction. Can you hear the soft sound of 's' it makes on it way, caressing my limbs. Silk is like that. It even flows while its still. At times my emotions are similar. Its okay to win and lose. But i dont seem to care. Im too blunt. I like names. I like to name every game i can. I can play. But i dont. It doesnt suit me and i dont suit it. That has something to do with having had enough of growing up in a home of strife and pain. Enough word mincing and careful torture to prove who won, who won. Round thee thousand. I cannot suffer insincerity. Playing in itself doesnt make people insincere. They just seem to become SO used to it that thay can never stop. Even when they come across a soul who they dont need to play with. Who isnt trying to this or that with them. What if you could step into the shoes of that person?
The one who goes through life just saying and doing what they feel. What they feel being in tune with their sense of spreading joy. Yes, im back to me again. It would feel something like this tumble of ideals, ideas:
You give and you give and you give yourself away. Make the world a happier place, one good deed at a time. Selflessness. Helping people when they dont even ask for it. The vast majority will not care or appreciate. But it is for you to judge whether putting yourself up for a lack of nourishment is worth that someone you will meet who will recognize you for who you tried to be for all these years, who will be your bridge over troubled water. Whether it is worth it for the satisfaction that you are the kind of person you can love. The former worth and the latter worth blend into my reason. Not selfish. Not selfless. I dont know. Some people are effected by nature. Some by silence. Some by their ambition. Some by music. Some by the people who surround them. I am that last. All the obsession and effect people have on me is my choice and inclination. I am best at that. It is what makes me me. The ease, laughter, companionship, love and sharing. My shoulder has been cried upon.

Through the years you drain, you gain. I drain, i gain. And then one day. Validation. And the joy of a lifetime. Both ways. Tears stream down my face because i write in the throes of throes. Imagine exuberance. Peace. Truth. Luck. Faith. Then imagine having it taken away inexplicably. I dont have the words. I pray that those moments in life that make one lose their sense of self never come my way. I am a vulnerable person. It is my strength that i chose to be so. I hope the world isnt cruel. I wont let it be if i can help it. And when i go the distance, i hope i wont have come to the crossroads that lead me away from innocence. Because honestly, i dont think its human to desire amnesia. To forget the perfection of love, of everything made to fit. Who are those fortunate few who find the one who reciprocates? Can a person give up? I dont want to be a person if thats what people are capable of.

I cant complain. I cant run away. I cant always make sense. I cant be incomplete. I cant flip a switch. I cant let anyone take my free will.

I can feel pity. I can cry. I can laugh. I can be successful. I can go. I can come. I can.

Its terrible how words are not enough. At times. Like right now. I need touch. I wish upon a star. If it falls, if i fall, catch me.

From Me to You

Disclaimer to explain my intent. (Yes, poetic licence aside id prefer you know what im on about. Its habitual :P)
Seemingly i write about myself. Actually i write about philosophies. About all i observe. And all i see through the glass pane seperating the Me from the You. That humankind is interesting is the basis of my being. I state no facts other than the fact that i state what i think.

I believe Faith is stronger than Luck and Time, if you chose to make things operate thus. Life is too short to be afraid of abstracts. Risks are yours alone to judge and no one else can take them for you. Failure is merely a part of experience to treasure. When all is said and done, if i can make things happen, living TO experience is all i care for.

I admit i love cliché’s as long as they let me chose them as i please. And hate them norms disguised as whispers you cant find the source of when you turn to look for them: be like everyone else, sane, safe, okay, SO okay... that you're normal, just normal. How DARE you round pegs walk around in a square land?

Most people are merely slaves to what their minds can conceive. It’s the next level of being to go beyond your self. I respect that. I dont underestimate. I dont misunderstand. I. I. I. My sense of self is well evolved, but not so that it over rules my principle of being for the people and ideals i love.

The big bad 'forever' does not effect me in a big bad way. Afterall, the time-space theories are set up by scientists to explain the workings of the universe on logic alone. Practicality and logic arent always at war with emotions and beliefs in the world of black and white, you and I, here and there, stitch and tear. Does it make a person pompous or precious to believe in themselves as much as i do? Flip sides. I consider myself fortunate that im not all consumed with making sense of that which needs a 3 year old's innocent spontaniety, arm flailing and twirling around in pajamas and flip flops on its balcony while conservativism shouts to stop it this instant! Before anyone sees how little I care for being anyone other than me.

I dont abide settling for less than the rain, the sun and all the seasons i want to breathe in. I dont convince myself that im satisfied with being ordinary in comparison to being extra ordinary just because one is safer. Obstacles pile up at times despite my best efforts. At these times i have no qualms admitting i am not a rock or an island and i think it isnt neccessarily stronger to be so... As a peoples’ person my shoes have been many: mine and yours and theirs. From the ashes of despair i arise in peace. Yes *satisfied purr*

The secret of my smile is that i need and i can give.
Simultaneously :)

Life taught me there is no extremity of right or wrong, weak or strong. Life taught me its just not THAT big a deal all the time. Life taught me im not being tested on perfection and that reward and punishment aren't the only ways to 'make' everything fit. Life taught me people will not love you for who you are but what you do that makes them love themselves just a little more. Life taught me the rarity of finding love, appreciation and sharing. That even once, its enough to know. And i already know.

I can teach you. Because i still want to learn. The only magic is in knowing no one knows everything. And Caring. There isnt enough of that left to spread over the bread. Blessed are those who have the butter.

It is either the dream, or just reality. The former is worth all its ifs. The latter is merely what happens to everyone.

I am not everyone.