Random

I posted this on Paisley's wonderful blog called The Ink Pot, which I think is simply fabulous. I love contributing to it...

So today I though I'd publish the postcard version of the poem here. As you all know by now that I have a personality disorder bordering on obsessive-compulsive and indeed making postcards has joined the list of my various obsessions.

...

Black doesn't reflect light
and white..
white reflects all colours
But when you generate both on a computer screen
black and white are exactly the same color
...one is just brighter than the other.

Snatched Voices

Can we live our lives in a day ?
Can that day hold more joy for us than a lifetime?
A lifetime of meaningless smiles and studied perfection?
Light and dark...
Can we take the performance any longer?
Even if we get the prize of performance
The prize for surviving... the prize for just making it through
...the party we celebrate
Populated by people laughing to cover the deafening silence
Desperately trying not to find anything meaningful
No one who wants to talk about anything that matters
And how we try to capture
Everything that happens in a moment
The history of our feelings
Of who we were once
Can anyone put that down on paper
Can anyone capture the moment
And if we do..
If we do..
Won't it start meaning less... no matter where we start

Does it matter?

... empty spaces [a very personal fear]

I am supposed to say something
I feel the weight upon me
I open my mouth
My fingers still as I type
... and I realize
What if I have nothing meaningful to say
Should I still say something
Should I still try to fill the silence
The weight of expectation
more mine than anyone else's
it weighs me down
I feel the coldness of fear
my heart constricts
and with horror I realize
what if I never had something to say?

Moments

Can you pinpoint the moment you were happy?
Can you even remember it?
And what is happiness?
A sense of possibility?
Of omnipotence and potential?
A promise of things to come?
Do we analyze it so much... .. that we miss the moment?
Can this be happiness?
Just moments?
Just the pureness of an ephereal moment?

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal - Albert Camus

There are times when you don’t belong
There are people who go through their entire lives feeling like misfits.
Like an actor trying to play his part, faltering, forgetting his lines.
Not fitting in – not knowing what to say.
They look around at everyone not knowing how to be a part of the party that is life!
Playing their role with consummate ease, fooling everyone around.
While they look at themselves from outside, observing themselves. Sneering at themselves.
Going through the motions – not unhappy, not happy.
Wishing that they could disappear
Not knowing what they want – not wanting anything
Feeling that they should want something.
Feeling that they were capable but wanting to be so much more than just capable
Wanting to be extraordinary – and if not, then wasting away
Waiting for the moment of truth to crystallize, for something to change
For something to fall in place, for the pieces to come together
Feeling fragile yet so tough. Much like a spider’s web
So delicate yet strong.
They become so good at not reflecting
Of getting immersed in the welcome mundaness everyday life
Adept at not looking life in the face
Sometimes days go without them thinking of any such thing
Without being constantly aware of their truth
Of their coldness they hide deep, deep within
A bitterness at not being what they desire
Not being great, not having that one thing
That one thing that made them different from everyone
Comfortably and blissfully numb