Love, the beautiful word.

A football game somewhere, a fan in distress, one watching in utmost glare.. And he scores to make thousands echo his name, just like a hope in a poor man's grave.. She comes into your life the same way as a goal in the net, some disappointed at her choice, but she's only celebrating with his name.. She cries whenever there's disruption in her heart full of gold, why can't you let her score her golden goal, yes you, her only mould.. She juggles each day with you in mind, no matter what life has to show her, that ugly grind.. And when she finds her way through all the obstacles, she scores her heart to you, and breaks all her shackles.. Don't treat her like a princess, because she's God, don't love her like a lover, because she's worth more you retard.. Don't choke her like you're clipping her wings, she won't be able to ever get onto the stage and sing.. Sing that beautiful song, with her eyeballs reflecting your picture, she's more satisfied than you at a bar, with that pitcher.. Kiss her gently and evade her off all dreams, because she sees the reality, she sees you, her only dream and scream.. She's the water to your dirt, she's here to clean you, let her, for you will be born again, a rebirth.. Her touch as gentle as a feather just fallen off a bird, her soul as pure as the first smell of rain on that mud.. Smell her, she smells of you, even when away, she comes back, to cure you, cure you.. Celebrate her existence just like you celebrate your happiness, combine both, here you are at life's most beautiful jive.. Let loose and let her take control you forever, because she's pure, just like when she killed herself with that dagger.. Love strikes only once, and when it does, you either want to love back, or bite the dust.. Destiny will slap you if you let her wrath in pain, for a change be that hand, and wipe her off, that stain.. Its you and her together, let the world be witness to your baby, life's most tender shelter.. Love not to expect the same, but live because you're born to share, because it erases agony, anguish and pain..

Write, don't connect the dots.

Auspicious day they call it, God was born, celebrated and hearts were lit.. My ride for a darshan suddenly felt weird, as I saw a body being taken away, bereaved world.. Life, as you see it, can have an impact on you, but seeing beyond it, only makes it beautiful, just like early morning dew.. I write on a tune, and I write without it, as I ejaculate some emotion, with a head bucketed with grit.. The people around you have opinions galore, some think you're a saint, but some thin you're a whore.. This impact is something you can't digest, feel stripped, exposed to that breast? What people say should be secondary to your mind, what you say is a primary tool, use it well by yourside.. I often try to connect the dots between what went wrong and why, but I'm wasting time on a lot here, I feel it's a wasted climb.. Just like a virgin won't be honest about his virginity in today's world, you hide inside that lather, come out of it, face the world.. As my battery dies, and I see an orange light blink up right on my phone, I shall continue, because writing gives me the feeling of a king, on that worthy thrown..

Let energy masturbate.

Energy, it drives you blindly.. Energy, it's next to an orgy.. Energy, you need it friend, energy it gets you your butter and bread.. Push yourself to the limit, you don't want to not sleep, hey dimwit?.. The energy in me is insane, hit the gym, work and still want to play.. I ask myself this question time and again, what if I was a pornstar, would I be vain? .. Energy, feed it with the best of your tasks, you'd know you're drained, when the mind wants to fart.. Consider yourself a nomad like I do, maybe insomnia may hit you, maybe energy won't die out too.. My journey to not exactly the center of Maharshtra begins, few days of only getting bored, I deserve.. As I get closer to myself each time I make a trip, I don't need the glucose, I don't need that drip.. Something pushes you while on the run, don't be the bullet for they'l get over, be the gun, the gun.. Seat number 83 seems quite a perfect spot to sit and write, as this queen tears into the hills, those clouds, with no respite.. Beautiful evening, made stunning with the energy I produce, as thane goes by, as the train hoots.. The dangling ear rings she's wearing the one diagonal to me, her smile making her shine more than a diamond, wow what energy.. A bowl of fruits, the energee drink, the protein shake may be a temporary prick, but the real energy comes within, let it out, and don't let it die like a shagged out dick..

Read, arre read re.

Hi, hello, hey, hola, kaisa hain, aur bata, arre bacchi, bol yaar, kya baat hain, use these in your daily verbal notes?.. Expressions, the way you use them, that glimpse, the way you show them.. Capturing them in a camera is easy, but let's try writing them down, ah it's greasy.. I stopped wishing people a Good morning, I reach work, just sit at my desk, fucking yawning.. The elderly say, "Beta subhe, shaam aur raat ko sabko wish karna chahiye" .. Acha ji, ab hume yeh bhi batao ke kya Hilane ke pehle konsa porn dekhna Chahiye? .. Your brains functionality is for you to understand, so if you feel good wish, if not, relax, people will still come to you lad.. Blackberry statuses change like sanitary pads during a period, facebook notifications come in just like excitement on a deed, so fruitful.. Express yourself, just the way I do when I write, no holds barred, bhenchoddd khul ke jiyo yaar.. As you age, people say you turn wise, but that child in you springs up time to time, a new surprise.. ExpressSHUN, should never be a substance in your life, because the medium remaining is smoking, drinking and cries.. My green and white towel kept falling off the hook since morning, see it's expressing itself, telling me to bathe, by free falling.. So let looooooooose that thought before it turns tragic, life suddenly may turn into a stage, with loads of desired magic..

Tune your life's chords.

Writing after quite long, had forgotten the tune I put to each song.. Losing interest in everything I do, something pulling me back, like the mouse to it's trapped glued.. Motivation comes and goes like each day, and suddenly I'm this formation which cannot be moved, an old piece of clay.. The beach answers a lot to what should be done next, as life actually stands still, glares and gets set for tomorrow a new quest.. Energy, energy, energy is a requisite, the force behind each story, each doing, each secret chit.. As I watch a few men catching their pinky's and walking along, and a group of footballers playing like they're the kings of the game, their worthy crown.. The sand cold and waiting for the morning tide, those insects embedded in it shall come out then and get washed to another shore with pride.. Couples, lovers, joggers and more, each human, somewhere has something to explore.. Wish I was mentally 5 and could life in a fancy pram, but unfortunately each day brings in a story, a scam.. Everyone's running behind the note which has the Mahatma, in the process we often end up damaging our soul, our atma.. Time to get up and run into the ocean, let's wash that mind away, and let's get back to steaming motion.. There's another pumping apart from your muscle tearing in a gym, there's the adrenaline gushing, running making you DO IT, let's get up with some zing.. These waves want to share a secret with you, they're telling you, you're the reason they come visit the shore, you're the appetizer to their frequency, you're a pearl so true..

You're dying.

UnpreDICKtable life, unknowing tomorrow, clueless you, but a hope lingers, keep aside sorrow.. Short life, it could be my last note, never know what's in store, a substantial note or a bloat.. I play the flute with a tune, I play the game with a purpose, the day I stop playing, I'll be friction less on that surface.. What if I collapse before clicking on the publish button, what if you crash into a bloody coffin, the moment comes by as a lucky charm, what's the safest bet you can place today, life's without relief, or balm.. My mother told me about an incident of a colleague, I'm down writing because it didn't evaporate my greed.. To puke out these emotions on a fucking friday night, as the world brings in the gala weekend, I write to remove an ugly plight.. The broom lies in a corner for it to be used again, but each passing day, it's dying with no pain.. Withering branches, corroded buildings, soon you'll be immune to the touch and tickling.. I survived 3 minutes and I'm about to share this note, just realized death also competes, and the competition is cut throat..

Puke.

Bad phase alert, life driving on that track fogged with dirt.. Each new shirt seems the oldest I wear, tomorrow is something which looks scary, that stare.. Another episode of sleeplessness, another dose of Davai, so not bliss.. Life's events are like a season of football, shocks and glory are entwined like a con call.. Writing after long so that I don't go smoke that sutta, do you feel leashed often, do you feel like a dented kutta? Toxic in the system, toxic outside, we're all polluted more in the head, than in the lungs, scripting a demise.. So not into what I write nowadays, it's just like I stopped buying those chips because the quantity didn't coincide with the price, yes Ruffle Lays.. I should write more and shagg more of what I store, because we're captivated by moments, and it's boss being life, a whore..