The rainy summer afternoons And petrichor drenched sweet grass The smell of hard bound old novels Merlot poured in a wine glass The squeaky colourful swing set And the rusty slides in the park The weed filled gardens that once were Painfully frightful in the dark The lanes where we would ride our bikes Under gulmohars with large orange flowers Children leisurely playing hopscotch Surrounded by scores of golden showers Feeling scared of ghosts on the roof Never ever following what was told That time where life was carefree When friendships mattered more than gold Those picnic spots around the fields Filled with daisies, jasmines and pear trees Chasing colourful butterflies all over Running after bugs and bees The stories of great wonder that contained Magical pixies, fairies and elves There is nothing more intoxicating than the Things that remind one of their youthful selves
Somewhere between nostalgia and deja vu. I'm homesick for places that I just don't remember. Of selfish interest looming, or an altruistic journey with some of you? A mystery to solve of these sparks of internal embers.
What I've seen is wedged between a dream and an illusion. Not sure of what to take as substantially real. An investigation begins to break through the fogs of confusion. No copycat ideas of others faith do I steal.
What I've seen was made for these eyes, this soul. Searching to divide the facts from emotions. It will be revealed when I fully know. No fantasies to create, no hocus pocus potions.
What I've seen is in the swirling winds of the past, present, and future. Is this wisdom, or am I lost? In this life where life should be nurtured. Doing nothing until contemplation has counted the cost.
Penning down emotions is quite difficult. But I tried.. see if y'all could relate it.
Today I am really very happy. Guess why?.
When I was in class 7 and 8, (in 2016, 2017) I had a most favourite teacher.. that's my english teacher. He was very cool, in teaching and behaviour both. When I first saw him, I thought he looks like badshah (the rapper). He had spikes, was quite healthy like him. Then I thought like, looks mein kya rakha hai, padhate kaisa hai wo matter krta hai. And then, the first day itself, he became my fav english teacher. And now even after 5 years I consider him as the best English teacher. We had many sweet memories attached with the English class. Yeah, but when he was angry, the scene cannot be described in words. The whole class was pin drop silence. He can't tolerate indiscipline, that's the thing which no teacher can ever tolerate. Specially when any student interrupted unnecessary in his class. If he got angry, he pushed desks and benches, slapped that particular student (boys) and used to tell him to get out of the class.
So you thought nightmares occur when you are lost in the realm of sleep? Are you kidding me.
Nightmare is when you crawl through a day, without smiling, eating but not relishing, working like a machine, walking as if in a trance.
Nightmare is when you see people falling around you dead and you look on, helpless and pathetic, tears dry up, pain cease to affect, it seems Thanos has actually snapped his fingers.
Stuck in the cobweb of frustrations, puppets in the hands of expectations, time flies without freeing you from suffocation, gasping for breath, eyes begging for comfort, searching for a way out.
Suddenly a familiar fragrance flows in, you get swept off by nostalgia of sunny golden days, lively breeze, teasing chuckles, cuddling moments, with a thud you come back to reality.
Nightmare goes on, a creepy smile on its dried, bitten lips, eyes cold and cruel, and the face of a Saint, calm and poetic, it shrugs and moves away, you try to follow but with glued, scratchy throat, even water fails to quench the thirst. Then like enlightenment it all comes, its a maze with no way out, its a nightmare that we live today. every day.