Farce

To think that to be great is to have no flaws is a folly. For one that thinks that being great requires you to have no flaws, is no great man, as it is essential to be flawed for one to be great. Acceptance makes you great. A great man is very well acquainted with his flaws, and understands that others are flawed too. A man pretending to be great is pretending to have no flaws. Well, for them greatness lies in that, but little do they know, that there is no greater killer of the truth, than pretence. These men aren't great because great men stand for the truth, no matter what string pulls them back. And with truth out of the picture, greatness remains nothing but a farce. A great man is one with virtues as strong as his opinions, and ideals as just as his calls. But, does that mean every great man is a hero? No . For, great men aren't bound with their strings of extremist righteousness. Heroes can be great men, but not every hero is a great man. So to ask me, I'...

To all the days that I spent not acting upon my anger, to all the emotions I did not show. I have been wondering if I could ever make up for the time I lost, or ever could get back the pieces of me that once constituted what I called me. When you listen to what caused me to get angry, you would agree to my stand. I knew that anger was a rational response, but I understood that I wouldn't show it, for the world. It would be easy for anyone to say that I was being a pushover, but once you feel what I felt, you may beg to differ. Amidst the monotony of the daily struggle to be a 'better me' for the world, I started to think I found someone I was the 'best' for. I just couldn't get angry or upset, not because I adored and admired him, but because I knew, that the pieces I saw, may not have been mine, but were identical to them, for we both were broken, possibly in a similar fashion. Moreover, I let go of it. Of everytime I got angry, or upset, or annoyed, becau...

Contrarian, weird, crazy, and what not. I don't appreciate monsoon, but that doesn't mean I'm pessimistic. I like drenching my body, soul and mind in the rain, and I love petrichor, but I do not love the gloom the season brings with itself. I love the sun. I find it intriguing, and can relate to it. I love it's magnificence and the power it signifies. But, that doesn't mean that I hold this view only to stand out. I may not love chocolate, or order the dish everyone loves to order, and I am not a fan of mango, that is considered the king of fruits. I may not love staring at the faces of my co workers when I don't have work, and that clearly doesn't symbolise my laziness or inability to appreciate things. I may not be your type, but that doesn't mean I'm weird, because I may be what others find unusual, but my caliber ranges far from your reach. I'm not clingy if I notice too much, and certainly not finicky if I can outperform you. If you h...

I had given my heart and soul to the person who didn't have either. My affection for him was like the tempest, wrecking any ship that'd take me safe to the  shore, making my soul drench, then drown. Ironically enough, just like a soulless body is lost at sea, with no efforts to swim up to the rim, my soul drifted and swayed. For that's when I thought, to be lost is to love, and I thought I loved with my heart and soul, not knowing that the day I realise what I thought to be his guard, was a farce, and my love for him, light refracted by glass, is near. For when light is refracted by glass- probably my compulsion to reciprocate his love here,  you see colours to be different, for I mistook the wavelength of my passion for love.

In the moments that I have nothing to say to you, I wonder how I'd express my emptiness. The pain of not reciprocating what you give me consumes me. All the times that I want to look at you with the passion you look at me with, all the times I want to touch your soul with the hunger you have in you. It's funny how the world laughs at the one who doesn't receive love in return for love, for everytime I look at myself against you, I find the irony funny. For I admire you much more than you can ever love me, I long for you much more than a mere mortal longs for salvation, but I can't love you even a bit in comparison to the vast sea of love you have within you for me. Even with all the admiration I have for you, all the restlessness you induce in me, all I feel is a body deprived of love, for love and affection can be synonyms, but never the same.

Every time I speak to you, it's a different side of you that trickles down from the wall you've built. The wall that doesn't allow me to look through, but I very well know what lies behind. For everytime that you push me away, my curiosity brings me closer to you. For everytime you say something I don't understand, makes way for me understanding who you are. It's a mystery to me how people fall out of love. The actions they once found adorable, turn into abominable factions of their reality. The face they admired, the depiction of the cell they're locked in. It's a mystery because everytime I look at you, I fall in love with your smile, over and over again. For everytime I see how miserable you are at something, it makes me feel, maybe annoyance, for a speck, but that feeling is only there because of love. Everytime you get angry, I fall in love with your sensitivity, and everytime you're jealous, I can't help falling for your insecurity​. Maybe ...

Everytime I contemplate about a relationship, the biggest concern I have, is a six letter word- belong. To many, to belong to someone means to be at his disposition, that he owns you. Further, some of them clearly object this thought. The propagators of self esteem, those who defy all odds and stand fast against the idea of being the object of disposal of someone's apparent 'right' over them. The others? The propagators of the ballad of selfless love. The ones that think that their loved ones have all sorts of rights over them. The ones that think love is about being owned. About being the most prized possession to somebody. The passion that reeks of the consuming fire of what they call love, and eyes that lurk amongst the dark of losing yourself in love and it's immeasurable depth. For the prior, an equation of individuals is what matters, whereas the latter prefer getting lost in the wilderness of love, forgetting all tools, man made, to measure, fathom and to gathe...