A way to steal time!

In the past 18 odd months, I have never actually had the time to talk to myself. No, I am not mad. I am not a recluse either. Schizophrenia, you think?! The answer is in the negative. It just happens to be the time that I should have spent with myself, and I couldn't. No regrets whatsoever, but yes! It's better late than never.

The process of moving out was very taxing. Every li'l memory, every li'l moment begged me to reconsider. To think twice before I finally took the step. But I knew I had to, and I knew I was doing it for the best. I can now proudly say that I have my space. My 12x12 is mine now. It will henceforth have my warmth, my feelings and my emotions... only.

I need to get back to a few things. I need to get back to living my life. Where do I start?

1. Reading

For a voracious reader like yours truly, having spent a considerable time away from books was distressing. One who could never get his hands off an Agatha Christie, or a Satyajit Ray, I now feel drawn towards pursuing my passion... all over again. I have my Shantaram waiting for me, blaring at me to pick it up. Oh and there's The Notebook - A decent read from what I've heard.

2. Writing

Blogging is not exactly writing. It's a degraded form of the enchanting activity. I want to write for myself now. Only for myself. However, I firmly believe that whatever has gone in this portion of the world wide web has been very personal, and completely for my recollection. I am obliged that some superior beings have appreciated it. To them, I shall ever be indebted.

3. Croaking

I haven't sung (?) in a long, long time. I need to sit with myself and get back to my favourites-from Lata to Dream Theater. Music is serotonin for my being. I need to cultivate the habit of staring blankly into space, whilst listening to every note with utmost sincerity, all over again.

4. Early to bed

I love cozying in a blanket at the strike of 10. I like it when my covering puts me to sleep. Drifting to dream-land after flipping a few pages of a novel is the best thing that can ever happen to anyone. I plan to do it right away.

I have a lot planned out for me. It's going to be a tough week ahead. Lots to do, and only 24 hours in a day. Hurry, I must! It's Rush Hour time...

Last night, True Love!

"... For you, a thousand times over."

And I ran.

I put down 'The Kite Runner' after reading it a fourth time over. How many times do we feel the urge to do something for someone 'a thousand times over'? How many of us are moved to help those who need us most? Do we realise that a mere pat on someone's back can go a long way in assuaging his pain?

I met a mortal a day,

His sorrow overpowering his being.

"Worry not! Why must you, pray?!"

I was remorseful at what I was seeing.

"Last night, I met a Mademoiselle...
She said she'll stay with me.

I dreamed a happy life ahead,

Look what she's left me to be!"

"You look battered and forlorn.

Why did you believe her right away?"

In my heart, I knew the storm

That was staring the hapless soul's way.

"Last night I didn't pretend.

I was proud of what I portrayed."

"Is this the way she befriends?

Of this Damsel, I am afraid!"

"Last night, I felt alive.

I lived my life again.

I knew not she'd connive

To bring me back the pain."

"Do you regret what ensued?"

My interrogation caught him unawares.

"No, boy! I don't." he pruned

"My love for her, it glares."

"True love is what we set to quest,

You found it in a day.

Go and proclaim to the best,

And overcome this trivial dismay."

I recall the incidence as I write,

The parallelism in it is profound.

I know the True Love's might,

By losing myself, I have found.

Last night was special, last night was true,

I preach myself everyday.

I know mortals like him are few,

The others are all astray.

PS: The above 'attempt' at poetry is not a work of fiction and bears resemblance with someone living, and certainly not dead. I am sorry, YOU! I just had to write.

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