Common Man
I write for a common man, as I am one of them
In the glamor of being unique Now I am left with no competition
Where the sorrow is special like the smile,
The feelings are different and loves undefined.
But I write for a common man and I write of common things
The hidden is hidden to me, The unsaid never stings.
As I write for a common main, so write the words they use
I feel the pain they feel , And I write the love that shows
I live a common life, Hence a pair of rubber slippers will do
I walk the common road, I walk along with plenty of people around
Crowd is a part of me, And I am the part of the crowd
I am a common man and I have burnish skin
My common friends are red, white and blue
And share a common table
I drink the common water, In the common glass for wine
I am a common man and I write of common things
There is something different in me
I am in reality, reality of my self
I can say that because I do not hear my mind
It had been long when my heart stopped speaking to me
And it regrets now, when it looks behind.
When I lie on my bed
Flashes come, where the dimension is only time
There is a variable, you,
And nothing defined
I am referred mature now by people around
I have passed the level, called emotions
My actions have a pattern
There is no shelter of justifications
I would never say it to her
I bet she can close her eyes and can get to whatever place she wants but she won’t. Some how she feels it’s an escape from the reality. She won’t even get tears in her eyes, not that she believes it is a sign of cowardice but she feels that is not worth it. I have often seen her alone, but not with her room closed. Once or twice in a day she would challenge against the most obvious and stick to it; the only reason I could think of is that she loves doing it.
My-kinds and the Rest
I particularly hate editing the pics that I click. I, at times, try doing it and few of them comes even better after editing. But soon I started missing the imperfections in the pics. The imperfections were a symbol to me that what you see is not always the best of something. And moreover when someone comments on my edited pics sound so laconic. I miss the part of descriptive comments on my edited pictures.
Bus, Plane and the Airport
It is amazing as how frequently I can fall in love with an entirely new stranger.
It was a long 1.5 hrs journey to the airport from Tollygung; but it was an interesting one. I was accompanied by my friend. The interesting part of the journey started when my friend got up after a short nap in the volvo coach. His “I-Just-Got-Up-You-Moron” face scared a girl who just boarded the bus. She never looked at us the entire journey. I don’t know why, but for some reason it was hilarious.
Just Another Love
It is different here
You shall never know
My eyes dont speak for me
Not an emotion I expect to flow
The empty benches are strips of wood
The wood that is dead and dry
The leaves that lie are lost over them,
Actually have nothing to cry
The light below the streetlamps
I know from where they come
They were not the moonlight as we thought
Nor they were the warmth of sun
The dusty road had a creeking sound
Did you ever notice it play
Or may be it’s in my head u see
Or I have just nothing to say
But I do have so much
And words would not help me out
Or may be it is the vaccum or silence of my head
Or just a bitter doubt
Tell me, if you wish – What did I mean to you
Was I the breeze or the serene touch
Or was I the playful dove
Was I just a painless thought
Or just another love.
One night Through the window
People usually prefer sleeping at night but I am currently suffering from insomnia. No specific reason though; it happens with people here in MICA. I have been looking out through the window since 12 midnight and this is what I see.
The road right outside the window is a narrow one. There is a divider in between. But the road is so narrow that a small car has to take a reverse before it can make a turn from one side of the road to the other. At the midnight I could here some crackers; it is diwali time. Group of guys and girls keep zooming now and then. I like the typical zooming sound of vehicles on road. It is like music to me. But by 2 AM, the road was empty and no one knows that I am watching through the window.
A murder in progress
Disclaimer: A true story
It is the genral ward in Barakar Hospital, a huge room with almost 200 plus patients being attended by nurses; Mom, Dad, sis and I were moving our eyes from one bed to the other
“She is not going to recognize you guys, so search for her” were the words of the ward attendants .
My three best friends
I find it funny when I find my sister classifying people around her as friends, just friends, best friends, bestest friends etc. Funnier still when I find few girls here in my post graduation classifying exactly the same way that my 8 years younger sister does (she had been doing this since she was in 7th standard I suppose). I wonder if there is some kind of secret book that girls pass among themselves. Anyways I am not in a mood to talk about girls today, but about 3 of my best friends whom I believe can never be ever replaced in my life.
