Posts Tagged ‘emptiness’

He knows nothing

December 1, 2017

The best trick about writing is to start and keep writing itself. You stop writing when you stop writing. There is no secret about it.

There are many such useless thoughts that he keep pondering on while wasting hours and hours of doing whatever unspecified things. It’s not that he is not doing anything and he is not enjoying whatever something he is doing. He is trying at least.

Emptiness. He had thought he would not use this world. But perhaps that should be the word to describe his state. He runs, he plays flute, he scrolls down miles on twitter and facebook. Not that everything is boring; but the culmination of it all certainly is. Life itself is boring. Sum of it all what is interesting is somehow turning out to be boring.

This is not an ideal state of living, he knows. That most of this is self-imposed, he understands. What is one to do when they can’t feel the happiness that they ought to? These are the questions he keeps wondering about. Life slips, he knows, life slips.

What is it that stops him from being someone? He would care nothing, but it is getting clearer day by day that the someone he finds himself being unable to become is he himself. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He knows nothing.

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A caravan of mourners

December 4, 2015

I am afraid of this wretched evening.  Sitting in a corner of a whole emptiness is me.  Clock ticks its seconds.  Evening passes by.  “Waqt ke sog mein lamhoN ka juloos, jaise ek kaafila e nauhaagaraaN..”  In sorrow of time, this procession of moments, like a caravan of mourners..

Things need not be this bleak always.  But evenings are not things.  Evenings don’t understand.  Perhaps, evenings are like people trying hard to make you happy.  Evenings don’t know to leave you alone when you need to be left alone.  Evenings are hell in the same way as Sartre said “Hell is other people.” Evenings are not nights.

I woke at 1 a.m. last night.  It was the same room, but the emptiness didn’t feel empty.  It rather felt serene.  Why can’t we have all nights and no evenings?  I’ll perhaps need some other evening to find an answer.

Last night, when I was awake, I was actually feeling calm, at peace with myself.  If I think of it now, it feels like it was a complete different person.  Perhaps, it was me; a me very different from a me I am at evenings.  I checked my twitter.  I read my book.  I hummed my poems:  yuuN gumaaN hota hai garche hai abhi subah e firaq, dhal gaya hijr ka din, aa bhi gayi wasl ki raat.. It feels like – even though it’s a morning of separation – the day of staying away has just gone, here comes the night of togetherness..  At night, even separation doesn’t feel like a separation.  At least, it didn’t feel like that yesterday.

But it’s not a night yet.  It’s an evening, and a wretched one at it.  I am sitting in a corner of a whole emptiness.  The clock is ticking its seconds.  The moments are passing in a procession, like a caravan of mourners.

The end of it all

December 15, 2012

Of a weary evening

March 26, 2012

Looking for a metamorphosisIt’s a weary evening after the first working day of the week.  The empty evenings feel scary after an all eventful day.  Emptiness, sometimes it brings a kind of longing; sometimes just makes me feel awed with magnitude of the yet-not-happened, but never a sense of relief.

This empty evening.  What shall I do now?  Nothing!

P.S. The above creature is myself, yesterday, on a hair saloon chair, the same empty, looking for a metamorphosis.