Astha Nagpal is a good friend, an artiste, a thinker and at times, a part time psychologist to me. She had posted this on Facebook a while ago. I had from then on been asking her to post it on my blog but she didn’t. Hence, I had to retort to this! 😀
You can find some of her work here.
When was the last time, you said “I love you” to someone? Or when was it you expressed your varnished picture of self? Or, yet another an option; when was the last time you reminded yourself of the series of hiccups? Random delusional statements with a question mark …..
Aah! Crazy seems the start but that is how and is the meaning of truly revived genre of self. Lately, I have come across the oblivious reflection of men, infact it is only in recent time I have observed how beautifully I am sliding into the abyss of thinking beyond the metal and mettle. Sounds gibberish? No doubt about that, but indeed a worthy deal which calls you to be part of the same abyss that revolves in a circular manner ‘to be’ understood as an undying spirit. You can call it another streak of madness either.
You rise from the underground to confront the trail of hiccups, which are geared up to twist you till you scream the ouch! Isn’t it? So you bury yourself again in the comfort of the warm shine that beseeches you to be the part of the innocence. You rise again, to quit the possession, to move out and face up the filthy-ness!
Now when you make a verdict of ‘no rise no gain’, you dive yourself into the brawling jerks of life! Your insight enlightens itself with some wisdom and you live that out in mere momentarily split of emotions. Leaving the traces of drops on the cheek, you smile off; patting the back for the sweat the bloody life has taken out of you. Counting the number of times you scratched till the blood and the times you swiftly ran for the fun, a sigh of relief peeps in!
Turning back the pages that carry the ink of past and the shades of present you blink the eyes in hope and yet another hiccup, for there is yet to come yet to be filled in several colored inks …. Until you wrap up the world in the Book of I and slip in loud silence of ” Life”