The Nondescript Anonymous

"“Every man builds his world in his own image. He has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice.” – Ayn Rand

Tag: pensive

All the lost souls…

A stranger who smiled,

A swindler who didn’t cheat,

A villain who wasn’t,

An official who refused to be bribed,

A prayer which was answered,

A lottery that you won,

A miracle that happened,

An idea when impossibility tried to take you down,

A warm hug that had eased you once,

A brief love that made your heart throb with joy,

A reckless youth that belonged to you,

An old friend; your revered stupidity; the inane fights;

 

The cloudless laughter of a child,

Her chimera… her castles of sand,

 

A stark reminder from your nemesis or a friendly advice,

A familiar face when no one else was in sight.

 

 

A silent reminiscence, a cruel past,

A requiem you had carefully shielded, that too has breathed its last,

A sudden longing, an intense desire;

Your spirits unbound; a dash of hope…

 

                  To all the lost souls out there, this is for you. 

Epiphany…

There are the lucky ones – who are born without any physical or psychological difficulties, who are always several steps ahead of their time, who break records and earn accolades, the kind which makes their generation proud, the archetype which sets precedence, they are the standard by which every other is measured. They are the loyal servants who never question…they are programmed to follow. They are the evil grins behind an innocuous masquerade, the hidden enemies in your list of trusted friends, the invisible dagger at your throat.

Then, there are those miserable fools who are abnormally usual by birth. They are wild, free and careless…they are unfazed by the status quo and its relentless pursuit in trying to rein them in. In a demesne of straight lines, they are the grotesque bends; the misfits in a world of blind faith. They think the unthinkable, dream the unimaginable. They are the ones you diplomatically avoid. In a baffling crowd, it is their voice you hear. You hate them because they perplex you. By your standards of imagination, they are unashamedly overstretched.

 You look for them, you see them everywhere…you look further, they are gone.

Psychedelia

Being indecisive is the worst form of depravity.

It is like being stuck in limbo…or a time warp. You pray, you wait for a sign to show you the way. You see miracles but they ignore you. You hope; your lamp burns out. You protest, you lose your sleep. You rebel or at most, you give up… You seek motivation, you seek help; it is your hand alone that reaches out. You cry foul, you plan revenge…you try to break free, you try to break out. You see the angels, they are here to take you home. Your tilted hour glass, your memory frozen in time… a distant Moonlight Sonata, a hallucinating mind. You are tired; you see…your soul needs rest.

You drown yourself in your glass of wine; your burnt pride; that helpless red in your eyes are all yours to keep. Who are you trying to kill? Immortal apathy never dies.

Up Close

What do you think defines a person?

Is it the accumulated reputation of impeccability that he has built over the years, behind the veil of conceited sanctity or is it the unusual careless, naked self  that rebels against the obscene moratorium of vanity ?

Which is more important – truth or admissible interpretations of it? 

If a moment of truth can destroy a person, the premise on which this foundation of ‘characterization’ lies must be severely scrutinized. They are contradictory and hence, they nullify each other.  

 

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