Farce

Look how suddenly the world you thought to be immutable, is changing. You had definitely taken a back seat during the whole time, but when you decided to give up, you did. It scares me. It scares me, for when I look back, I remember everything that scared me, scarred me. I remember how everything I understood would sum up to be my salvation, my boon, scarred me and left me in pieces. Pieces I couldn't imagine to bring together to construct myself again. I wandered. Hither and thither, hopelessly in the dark, in search of light. Lost, as I was, I wanted the faintest of splinter to bring me back to who I was. As I wandered through the alleys at nightfall, every nook and corner hinted towards me leaving the pieces of the broken me behind. But, I didn't. I held on to them, as tightly as I could, till the pieces weren't left for me to be held. That is when it came to me. Holding onto the pieces made my night longer, and the quest for the splinter in the night that I opted fo...

A flower vase is a pretty sight for everyone. Pretty, poise and perfect. But that’s not art, is it? You may say it’s pretty but that thought lasts only for that moment. You see it, but you never look. For that matter, you look at a pretty, poise and perfect girl and find it a pretty sight too. But the question is, do you appreciate that sight? I’ll leave you there. Anything perfect gets only that momentary praise. For that compliment to turn into appreciation, it needs something more. The mind will always find perfect pretty, but never more than that. Why? Appreciation comes from imperfection. A vase is looked up at only for inspiration for a perfect art class project submission. It’s not looked at as art. The mind appreciates things it can relate to. Anything broken. Being broken is never bad, as broken is what we are.