Writing

Have been putting together a few lines since last night. Not sure if they’re any good, but the drive creating them felt like a sense of something strong.

Sometimes I wish the fish I was swimming with, just like the ocean, they were blue too
That way, when we swam, I won’t know anything about you
It scares me though, will they forget all about me too

बुझी बुझी आखों से देखते हो तुम
सोचते हो तुम कहीं छुप जाएं
छुप जाएं दूर, उस जहान में जहां डर ना हो ना हो बंदिशें
छुप जाएं उन बाहों में, उन आखों में, उनकी छाओं में जहां ज़िन्दगी बस ख़ुशी हो
जहां ना तो ये मायूसी हो और ना ये सूनी आवारगी हो

छुप जाएं उन पत्तियों की खिल खिलाहट में, उन भीनी हवाओं के झोकों में, उस गीली मिटटी की खुशबू में
कभी छुपें ऐसे कि बचपन की यादों में खो जाएँ
कभी छुपे ऐसे कि फिर कभी न मिल पाएँ

मेरे शब्दों में शायद वो बात ना हो, शायद अब वो एहसास ना हो
पर इन ख्यालों, ख्वाबों, लफ़्ज़ों, इन अल्फाजों को गर मैं कागज़ पे न उतारू
तो शायद आज जो मेरे साथ है, कल वो मौका भी मेरे पास ना हो


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Fuel for my words ?

If there’s a place called “limbo” for real, it has to be this one, the one I live in right now. Its directionless; neither a happy nor a sad one; pretty much the stop-start mornings; idle, lethargic afternoons; vacant evenings, and long, tiring nights; this is a lazy place and its pretty much as meaningless as “vovomp” is (although I believe vovomp will have its fair share of google results). I don’t know how things led to other things, which finally led to my being here, but here I am, and there’s no reason to believe this is going anywhere.

In this place, you’re a procrastinator to dreaming; your work just passes you by; unmotivated, too tired to act, you walk around, laugh as people do, cringe when it comes to doing anything you don’t like; nothing amuses you anyways, you’re just putting up a smile, just so that you don’t seem to be outside. You have no thoughts on your future, in fact it scares you; you have no interest looking back into the past because it doesn’t hold anything you’d want to go back to; and the present, the present is just existence, gliding through time, ticking the seconds, the minutes and the hours by; from one eerie Floyd to another, as days come and go, from one weekend to another, from one guilt-ridden morning after a night of “binging” to another;  endless, recurring, endless

By now, it must be clear how difficult it should be putting these thoughts together into words as I write here, given my “condition”; but its time I did, if not for anything/anyone (and most of what people write, has always been about someone or another), just for keeping a record of this time, this place, this moment in this life. In all probability, this piece will make for some very boring reading (for anyone who bothers to read it at all), but then much of what is out there to read, is boring (again, for me, and right now).

I’ll probably end with some words I remember from this movie I happened to watch sometime back, pointless and blunt just like I am right now –

Look out the window. And doesn’t this remind you of when you were in the boat, and then later than night, you were lying, looking up at the ceiling, and the water in your head was not dissimilar from the landscape, and you think to yourself, “Why is it that the landscape is moving, but the boat is still?”

Life, when its passing you by, is as seen from that funny little boat, and the sky is pale blue, and the water, pale and still too.

 

(Disclaimer – All images are snapshots from IGN’s 2010 game Limbo. No copyright violation intended)