A Mortal On An Immortal Bridge.

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“Is this your first breath there, or is it your last here?

Who has written your story? Do you know your story? “

I’ll put on a coat now, I’ll tell you stories now.

You could walk with me if you like or turn away

Either way is just fine.

Beneath my coat you won’t find a dress,

Because I’m a perfect mess.

My sweater and my jeans comfort me. Keep me warm.

On the banks of the river, I shall walk.

The trees are giving away,

The leaves now grow old, gracefully.

Red, as though the lord had put in a little bit of fire in them.

They shall burn, they shall give light.

All before they let go.

Of themselves, of forgetting their names.

Someone will take over, they have to.

The bridge will still stand, strong. People will walk.

The benches and public phones will stay.

They’ll always lead to the Eiffel.

Like the bridges in our life. They’ll lead us to where we belong.

Sit under that tree, oh! It’s beautiful.

“Linden”; It’s name.

Every step on that path shouts love and purity.

That’s how our lives should feel.

You, your loved one(s)

Happiness. Purity.

Beauty. Eternal love.

Sit on that bench,

Upon your head will you see, the tree smiling at you

Guarding you, protecting you

Like your innocence, and childhood.

As though it’s blessing you.

Its leaves the shape of a heart.

God’s the best writer,

You don’t have to have a private plane,

And you don’t have to have a grand wedding.

It’s all there.

Nature has it all, laid out for you.

Life’s not a burden, it’s not a game.

He sent you down, to be a part of him.

To marvel at his works of perfection,

The one we, mortals would never create.

Sit there, look at that river

Breathe.

Breathe the air that brings life

Not the one that causes cancer.

He may not be your soul mate,

He may not be your brother,

Not even your father.

She may not be your sister,

Maybe not your mother,

But embrace them,

Embrace them all.

Those who stand by you, hold their hand.

Take a while,

Walk with them.

Not in metro’s, not in the office, not on Skype

But in real life.

Feel the touch of human skin,

The supple creation, designed to comfort.

How does it feel?

To know you have the warmth on the cold winter night?

Maybe that’s why this road was made,

Probably why it was never the same.

Maybe the leaf of the tree over your head will eventually fall,

And tree will one day have new leaves,

But it will always.

Life goes on.

And it’s okay to sit there, pamper yourself

Let the tree and its leaves heal you,

To hold the hand of those you love,

Before your journey ends,

Till you reach your destination.

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Getting to the core- Neurotic Writers Diary- Page 5

images (2)They’ll wait for you patiently,

People however patient. It’s these small things, they hurt you.

You don’t have to be physically hurt  someone to make them feel detached, low and lost.

Love is a bridge, the one you have to build and trust it’s material. It’s authenticity.

The stronger, the finer and purer, more the love. But, does it end there? We wish it did.

Every one of us despite our ethics, our backgrounds, our religions and our principles are born to love.

We’re hungry for it. You in your very core know that.

We can hide it and never show it, but you can’t escape the fact.

To physically survive man needs food and shelter.

To emotionally survive, love is the only cure.

 

 Notes-  Getting to the core is another series of my writings, where the questions and answers of introspection are typed down. According to me, they are the most important part of being anything; introvert or an extrovert. To ask yourself questions, to ask yourself where you belong, your identity, you sanity. You don’t need to wait for the day when you’ve lost all that you had and you have to visit a psychiatrist  Because he/she does not have the answers; you do.  I hope these little notes of questions, and my neurotic diary continues to be read if not by you then by me. To remind myself, of me. 

Let’s Get To Work! Let’s Write!

Pick up a pen my love,

If you’re up for some fancy writing,

Let the fountain pen flow it’s way down the hand made paper.

The happiness is something to savor 

A fat old yellow paged book,

It’ll get you to a hook.

Ah, the longing of being in another era.

Read slowly, capture moments of every race,

Turn the pages, solve the mystery ! You must find a trace.

Let’s get to work.

Put on your glasses that make you look so fine.

Grab your over coats , who cares what is the time?

Walk around and embrace the midnight beauty 

 Let go of all the ambiguity! 

Dusk or dawn maybe? 

Let’s get to work.

Spray paints here and there.

Look, watch, observe.

Feel.

All you can!

Fill yourself with knowledge and observance.

Rejoice it and it shall make all the sense! 

Let’s get to work.

When you’re just too happy and overjoyed.

When the world just doesn’t get any better,

When you’re cold and you need a sweater.

When you’re depressed,

When you’re fatigue and life’s a complete mess.

Get to work.

Pick up a pen.

Ball, gel, black, blue.

Pencils  too.

A spiral diary, 

A keyboard fiery!

 

Write. Write for the immortality of words.

Write for the joy is splendid.

Forget the world, this joy is it. 

 

 

Open-ess.( Neurotic Writer’s Diary- Page 2)

“Redefining open minds
And if you ask me
The feeling that I’m feeling is overjoyed
And it’s golden, it goes to show then” – Jason Mraz

The world wants to know and read because they absolutely love gossip. Tell me if I’m wrong!

There are days when I wish I was quite, just numb, silent. Moments where it’s just our scents, closeness, and breathes talking.

I cherish those moments, they make me feel good. Like a cup of coffee or a smoke as you write, it  seems to enhance everything… but, in my general character I’m open.

A lot of people tell me it’s a great thing, I think that too but let’s not mistake it for availability because that’s just plain wrong.

Sorry but like many other dumb girls when my idea of ‘right’ comes into my life , I fall for it. My mind is a story book, my version of awesomeness.  I’m wrong at times, so ? At least I have a life to look back to. I’ve grown up reading fairy tales and watching movies where it’s okay to be yourself.

If I really had to look around and follow other’s way of living, my first kiss would have been in Grade 1 ( I was in International school of Paris) and by the time I got to my age,  I would have been screwed.

Or if I followed the systems of Dubai, I would have chosen to shy away from any boy and yet fantasize in my head.

So I chose to stick to the way I am, me. Open, open to truth, to friendship, love, experience and people!

My judgement about you is probably based on an incidence or two. A gossip maybe, but in the end we all  are right.

‘ Right, according to our principle of life.’

My right is open-ess. and freedom. The right to do what the moment begs you to before it goes away.

They’ll always be people against it, people who’ll pull you back and say be ‘normal’. That’s when I think, honestly what’s fun about normal?  I would probably suicide if I compared myself to normal.

Right and wrong are relative. You are the only one who is allowed to choose. If your inner conscience says it’s right, Believe it. Let go of the dogma, the trauma, of it being right and wrong and if nothing ? Stop judging others versions of it. 

P.s. This is a note to self. I’m extremely judgmental of my own acts. 

The Neurotic Writer’s Diary- Page 1

The Neurotic Writer's Diary- Page 1

Most people prefer to keep secrets, big and small. Some like to discuss it with their friends far and close. And some like me? We tend to experience what we want to write (Not a very productive thing to do.)

I wouldn’t really call myself a writer but I’m on the path of it and that’s pretty evident. Upon great observation I came to realize that my life and it’s events and directly proportional to what I would write in the near future. This has, in fact landed me in deep trouble a couple of times.

I’m plain crazy, and that’s probably what gives me the ability to write. I recently saw this movie, even though her writing was just a part of the movie, it did really strike me.

The problem with our category of people or maybe everyone else too, ( not too sure) is that no matter what, whether we are extremely happy, an emotional wreck or just anything, we want to write it.

Why is that? Well, my fingers itch to write it down, and I’m not satisfied till a brilliant piece( my standards) is achieved.

I’d like to give narrate an extract from the movie;  This lady has almost fallen in love with this man and he too feels for her. With a very true heart he exclaims- ‘you’re a woman to love.’

Well, any woman would be delighted to hear that, and she was too. Later when things turned bitter she used the same tag line as her play’s title to narrate her short affair followed by a heart break. Here’s the difference :

For him, it was something that he would have wanted to keep as a little secret, something that was probably just  for them to know. It was equally special for her, except, she wanted to show it to the world. She wanted the world to know that ‘he’ told ‘her’( only and only her!) that.

There lies the problem, people like me want to shout it out to the world and later we are made to realize that’s it’s the wrong thing to do, that’s when my dilemma really begins!

To top it all we want our life to go not like a fairy tale but like a movie, drama, lot’s and lot’s of drama! What’s a love story without it, but what I forget is that, it’s my life! I’m ready to mess it up for a piece of writing in my head? That’s a little too much don’t you think?

I don’t really think there is much I can do about it. All I can do, is accept the fact that I want my life to be a neat movie in my head with well, a perfect ending. Is that too much to ask?

And to all the friends, brothers, boyfriends, crushes, bitches, best friends, sisters and family. Each one of you are really important in the play of my head’s story, you’re doing an amazing job! It’s me who needs to change just a little bit.

Signing off for now,

Will be back soon with another neurotic back stage scene.