The Broken Lines…

helhoz-or_o.c_unframed_67x54cmCertain things in life are so weird, in response to which the supreme smiles and say ‘Hey weirdo stop assuming.’ Like, seriously if you have got a white pretty dress you’re delighted but at the same juncture a small dirt spot is unwelcoming. When there is an existence of some important being in your life who’s cuddle means the world to us we often tend to neglect our conscious cordial verdict for the real valued person and for those with no existence of the same is still upset. I wonder what we are running for. True it is that any empty pocket is the heaviest weight that takes your soul to endure, materialistic! Well an empty life where no one to share or fake one to bear is equally responsible for excruciating you’re a life’s day out.

It also strange that a person with whom you didn’t talk for long, one fine day you see their message pop up your mobile screen and you end up feeding them with information which you never even thought you could express in words, sometimes silly Friday night plans may be!

Random thoughts, the rain pouring the dark clouds, the gloomy Mondays, and the exciting September is not the same for every individuals. The dilemma of substitutions and eliminations, the adversity and happiness revolving additions, the mighty dusk and the primitive dawn, the green Iceland and the icy Greenland, one for all and all for one slogan, the rutted balance of justice and the logic of the legacies, countryside or the rhythm and blues trigger the hormones that explode the minuscule of yellow and grey in you. All projection of flashes of thoughts boil down to a single option that knells the call for one self, pretentious or indigenous?

Each day passes with the sun cycle similar in fate of one’s dream, for the glorious a day celebrate the victory and the gallant strives to be free. The same daily meals are need and variation is expensive. I laud the primal who decipher that there is a cost to pay for each thing, where thermodynamics supports the same.

I was sitting by the brook where once the reflection of the sky was as clear as it source, but today the muddy water no longer supports the image formed out of the smog. The rag pickers survive on the astute land where the king stands for them when it’s time for the blues, is when I encountered all the incomplete piles of memories in my mind when suddenly it stuck to me that hey! Take a break, not everything we see is true. The earth took pain for millions of year to shape itself so beautiful. Like the night is darkest when its few hours to dawn, maybe we should keep hoping and work toward to know ourselves, the inner I as a solution to everything.





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