Running lines, zigzag running lines fuel the mind often. Like lost in a busy city, burning with shiny lights, where no one knows whether it is day or night, I am lost walking, running, gliding on a zigzag path.
Neither snow white wintry nor swoony soft summery winds can be heard here, who knows why.
All I can hear is the hub-dub of my heart.
Trapped in this maze, facing dead ends and memory monsters, I solemnly walk ahead. And after an endless time passes by, I walk out of the maze. Exhausted, yes, but hopeful, why, for I kept walking.
Looking back from the mountain top I can see a cloud of zigzag lines, an imprint of time, a link between battles and victories, between a structured confusion and a messy exuberance. Ah! It goes on and on.
My heart is eager and my mind alert for the future to reveal itself.
I am not afraid anymore for the zigzag lines are transparent and always in a rush.
That feeling of sadness when you realise that you could have done something else, something better but you cannot because time has defeated you, leaving you alone with the mighty Fate.
That moment when your heart is full of love and your mind full of confusion and you hesitate to take a step forward; sometimes you console yourself and sometimes you scold yourself…all you are left with is pain.
Pain is known to everyone who knows love, hope, desire and ego.
Why don’t we get rid of this pain and live happily ever after?
Maybe because we need pain…just to understand the importance of everything around us, to learn to value every little thing.
Maybe because pain teaches us to move forward, it gives us only one choice which is to change with time.
If seen in this light, pain helps us to realise our transient nature but not to lament over it, rather cherish every second of it and to make the best of it.
Yes, this will mean to be ALIVE always but this is just how we should live, shouldn’t we?
Why be in grief when neither the reason for the grief nor you, the sufferer, will stay forever? What stays is the wish to live life to the fullest.
I am walking on a mysterious road… what passes me enters me and then it vanishes, leaving a feeling within me, giving me pain and hope… I walk ahead in the search of love… I cannot see the path, just one step after the other… it is thrilling… the silky air around me is what I can feel and the music of the cosmos that whispers in my ears, telling me to hum along.
The sun was fiery, it was a blazing fire. And the path was fiery. The moon was serene, it was peaceful. And the path was peaceful. The trees canopied the earth, it knew all the secrets. And the path knew the secrets. The rivulet played music, it amplified the magic. And the path was magical. The soil was alive, it was the love of the plants. And the path felt the love too.
The traveller was walking on this path, barefooted. His feet could feel the path. The wind was also telling him something. The music he heard was intoxicating. Trees above him silently told him to stay, relish the hidden secret, because what is hidden could be found. He agreed and changed his path. A rough fresh path took him deep in the forest. He settled in the lap of a gigantic tree.
Lush greenery tickled him, relaxed him, and made him quiet. Time was moving but he had no knowledge of it. With eyes closed he was slowly seeping into the life around him. He could now feel their pulse. Some creepers were crawling on him. He was ignorant of it and soon was at bliss. The nature took over him. He became one with the nature – green, thriving, beautiful and tranquil.
A day came when he was overwhelmed to such an extent that his third eye opened. It spread a ray that was fiery, serene, quiet, magical, alive and full of love. That day his body became dust and we know nothing else as words, language and intellect falls short when magnificence takes birth.
I don’t know where the path is leading, Broken footsteps lost the meaning. Shouted calmness to me, Something of nothing everywhere to see. Work, work…don’t just think, Cry baby, doll face…my hands still pink.
Numb and dull still very much vain, After all we humans reign. Conquer the war, do it, do, Push and pull if you can, pass the zoo. Hello dear, how are you?? Fake greetings all so true.
Shy shy me, I don’t speak much, Step on the quiet, world is such. Move on, keep going, Not living, just moaning.
Can see the sunrise, but I choose nightfall, I hear the light, let me make a call. Tall shadow, my mind reads, Tear the earth and plant seeds.
A roguish year, 2020, I believe was a twist in our LIVE story. Terrible, oh, terrible things happened. Let us nurture hope, let us learn from our mistakes, let us help each other and contribute honestly to this change.
Let the old charm of stories work, let stories heal your tired heart.
This colossal twist proves that the great writer is planning to finish a chapter, but the story is far from over. Dawn is about to break, the sun rays will fall on a new beginning soon.
Come to Chiming Stories, pocket old and new posts and watch, along with me, the horizon.
Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Godard… Breathless and Alive
A Tribute to Jean-Luc Godard, the Film Philologist who Reinvented Cinema.
Arthdal Chronicles is a South Korean fantasy drama TV series that takes us back to the Bronze Age in a mythical land named Arth, where different human species and tribes struggle to be on the top of the power pyramid.
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Universe’s a Disciplined Place
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?