Fallen Asteroids

He wanders in thought, running away from his reflections. He would’ve burnt them to the ground, only if…he could find the fire that would burn water down.       The picture he had confidently put up on display for the world, was a pleasant surprise to him when he had first found it recently. He had never, in more than three decades, had seen this particular picture ever. There was something about this guy, he felt, as he looked back in time at himself. This two foot tall guy was happy. His smile was infectiously confident. What was he so happy and confident about? He was happy, but for what? Could he remember a moment from three decades and before, especially when he has just recently come across this event?          He clung to the image as if a baby kangaroo clings to mother. He cropped out others, and just let himself take the stage. He felt as if he had found a lost and forgotten piece of himself, and so, for the first time in a long time, and...

How often had he rejected, and how often was he? The kick back from rejected love, kept hurting him eternally. It felt like a sharp sword  Was passing through his skin,  Piercing through the membranes, The hurt had made its way in him. Torn skin could be stitched back Self-inflicted scars were a proof of it How would a pierced heart... beat again... When the sword... had sliced it clean? She was here, there, everywhere In every face he found her... neat and clean Like teeth of a wild beast feasting on a carcass... All of her faces bit him deep within... One experience he always desired,  The lack of which was now killing him... He was one man, looking for one woman But found acceptance from the dead and rejection from all things living... Is it the cyclic curse  Of his bitter causes and their effects ill? For all the rejections he had caused, Their effects were the leeches eating the soul out of him... Will he be ever forgiven...? Will he find her, her lips, and her ...

There are similarities in the moon and his face. The surface scars are what the world sees. What lies beneath is not your cup of tea.               Trying to catch the moon sprinting west, he realized the spots on the moon and the dark shade on them is exactly like the scars of his face. The pits on his face were as many as the craters on the moon. He did love the moon. He didn't love his face. Everything in the world is in plenty. But not the Moon or the Sun. And yet, they benefit all of mankind everyday almost equally. These two lonely, ever working, co-traveling spheres of the earth had learned to become his friend.                 Forced solitude had taught him acceptance of self and of the world. Mistakes, fear, guilt and grief had to be sent back. A new circle of influential friends from the galaxy was on the celestial horizon. While the lower emotions were packing bags to prepare for the return journe...

 It is the scars.              It is the scars. The scars on my face. There are so many of them scars on one face. My face. Must have been some good curse, or karma . Now I realise, my expectations are totally wrong. One of them recently told me, I looked as if a jallaad . I agree now. The reference is not what hurts, the reality is that does. I wish I wasn’t what I am, from the outside as well from the inside. Anyway what I am I am.                I think today is the first time I am facing these scars myself. This mode of expression is good. It’s like self therapy. Self induced epiphany. I am noticing new scars everyday. What was I doing when I got them?! And why was I?!                The history of me is depressing the present of the remnants of ashes that I am. Life is not yet well lived even for a while. Illusion wraps reality. Powerful thoughts induce virtual jo...

Times when I find the will to live, I crave for someone, an adviser, a guide, to tell what’s right to do and what’s not.                            The way I am is an undesired anchor, holding me against my absent will to propel ahead. Too bad I can’t seem to have figured out how to pull up the anchor and use it in the right situation. The struggle is unjustified as these problems are not complex or crucial. These are simple problems that can be resolved. But the fear of my own act is what is controlling the controls of the mechanism.         Fear is the hijacker of will. Fear is masked so it cannot be identified. Fear is hiding under the order line of the difference between intuition and unreasonable insecurity. I have often pondered jumping to the hard surface of eternal silence that often requires the experience of intense pain to make it happen. Oh death, the people who crave you must...

Something major is wrong with me… or is it with the World?                     Vacant spaces in life, are sucking the will out of my soul. The desperate feel of the desperate need to have someone love me unconditionally... is the murderer of my dreams. The more my mind auto controls me, the more I feel the need of someone other than me to love me...unconditionally. And so, I find myself dragged behind... every time I try to reach the Dreams I had once seen... maybe when I was about two feet tall or shorter.                        All my life till date, I have found myself defending attacks from a double-edged sharp sword. One sharp edge is of the above vacancy.  The other sharp edge is that of unfulfilled dreams, laced with a dead stockpile of tremendous yet unrealized potential. What troubles me most, is the sensibility of my own essence. When I walk towards the reali...