I know I'm late... But... This is my tribute to #sushantrajput (I know it's not nice, cause I've never been an expert in giving tributes, but bear with me. Please.)
I'm never the one for tributes, but this is an exception. Maybe.... Because he was a warrior and actor who inspired me.. Still does, will forever do... _____________________________________
"Suicide is never an option.... "
People have known him for being a versatile and talented actor. But did they know that acting was just his escape, his way of escaping his internal wars? That he acted, so that he could be distracted from his depressed mind and shattered heart?
// He acted it out, But don't we all thrive Because we act to survive This masquerade called life? //
He was a broken mess; and nobody understood him, because his walls of defense were unreachable. He killed himself everyday behind those walls, but outside he smiled. Smiled his way through his sadness, he smiled his way through his tears.
// He was broken, But aren't we all In our own specific ways Resisting that fall? //
He was way too deep into the abyss of depression, where his emotions were suffocating his breath. He was helpless, truly helpless because he saw his life slip away. He lost his hope, because there was nothing there for him to hold on to. His life was falling apart in front of his eyes, and he couldn't do a thing.
// He lost hope, But don't we too Waiting for A loved one To never bid adieu? //
He inspired millions of people. He filled them with hope. He led them to the right path. He saved lives. But at last he couldn't save himself.
// He was a savior of lives That weren't his to begin with, Now that he's gone The world would face that fatal hit. //
And now, here we are making him immortal, because he was strong. Because many of us would have died faster, had his struggles been ours.
// Au Revoir warrior; Your story has come to a halt, But we all know that It wasn't all your fault. //
My yesterday's post might have given you an idea about what I think about love. How love is everything you want and everything you want to run away from. Love dies, and sometimes it runs away(or do you?) (I did)
Love is not a person you are attracted towards. It's not only knowing them. It's them knowing you too! It's not complete unless you both know a dark part of each other's soul and then you choose to stay.
I am obsessed with flowers and with love, so for me love is a flower. It has thorns but the petals are divine.
If you find yourself saying that it was all so sudden, I never saw it ending, I didn't know when it was over. Stop yourself right there and think. Are you sure you didn't see it? Or did you look sideways. A flower never dies after one day of you not watering it. It's a slow process. One petal at a time. One tinge of colour at a time. Don't call it ugly. Don't run away. (I did. What good did it do? I carry regrets on my shoulders that increase in weight with every sunrise.)
Love is like a flower, which can grow back. But it won't if the water poured is the perfect amount but sunlight is insufficient. Love needs two gardeners to flourish.
Most of us are so naive to understand how delicate a flower can be, we step on it later write about how love is toxic. Love is just a flower. A beautiful one.
Love is more than just four letters. It's a pillar hearts rely on. Hope relies on.
@sangfroid_soul I learnt from you that once in a while writing exactly what you feel, raw can be a good thing. This is raw.
I am not capable enough to write about love because I have let it down. But my words keep on trying to make up for it. Hence I write on love under #loveandr
@shashagilbert_ ( this one made me feel everything anew like a toddler again. And made me want to be more silly cause it's more fun that way. Thank you so much for this experience. And I've written this solely for fun so forgive me for the lack of sanity.) #thingsiliketodofornogoodreason
1. Imagining myself as the different elements of the universe and wondering what I would say . ( For instance when I imagined myself as the wind I asked myself if freedom was really as beautiful as humans describe it cause it would sometimes be nice to have a home after all.)
2. Writing letters to different versions of my past self and burning them and blowing them away hoping that the universe will read and heal and hold maybe (god knows its weird)
3. Wondering if people would be happier if we all looked the same and then realising how very dull of an existence that would be and then wondering why we even try to conform if we innately know it's pointless.
4. Doodling conversations between my heart and my mind to find some sort of rational conclusion but never arriving at one .
5. Inventing pet names for my sister from every novel I read and pretending that she is a new character in my life I can perform fictional storylines with.
6. Recording irrational amount of audios of letters addressed to the creator. Asking him/her Everything I can't ask anyone else not even myself.(For instance , why war ? Or sometimes what's real?)
7. Reopening my childhood photographs endlessly and trying to find some sort of resemblance to my present self.
8. Trying to look at myself from the point of view of a stranger and feeling unbelievably lonely and sometimes unbelievably connected and happy all at the same time because nobody can truly know me as much as me.
9. Waking up just a little early so that I could sleep again knowing that I still have time.
10. Listening to Coldplay followed by Prateek kuhad followed by Sleeping at last ending with falling slowly(by Glen Hansard) and sometimes la vie en rose and reading a novel of murakami followed by Anita Desai followed by a random stranger to feel that everything is way too good when savoured together.
"How did you know that I needed a strong tea and head massage, how do you know what i feel though i hide it so well, yeah i do i know that very well okay", she said while yawning, feeling her eyes getting drowsy and all chaotic as she looked in his green orbs. This was a feeling she could get used to, she thought, laying lazily on the bed with her head in his lap as he massaged her scalp so softly with one hand and used the other one to draw circles on her cheek. Pure bliss.
"Yupp, I know you can hide your emotions and feelings quite well and i also know that you take a lot of pride in that, though it's not a thing to be proud about you know", he said with a teasing smile. "You smile so much for everyone else that your cheeks hurt from all the sugar, you are the shoulder everyone seeks when they are upset but i know sometimes you need one too, you cheer people, motivate them, and try making them realise their worth and in that effort you forget your own value, so give me chance to soothe you with my words, and who knows you might just swoon over them fall head over heals for me and I know you already love my tea, so I'll put a love potion in it too maybe." He said with a smirk and then a sheepish smile took over, all while his fingers were running through her silky strands of hair. She couldn't help but blush and in order to hide the crimson hues, all she did was roll her eyes which he knew too well was just an action she used quite often when she was tongue tied.
They just stared at each other for a moment, a moment that felt like an eternity.
"You know how much i love and admire you, and i've never been shy about it because i think saying something in the moment and being embarresed about it for some time is better than regretting not saying it for a lifetime." "Yeah, i exactly know how many times you have embarresed yourself and me too by your oh so rash actions.", she interrupted and squinted her eyes, unable to suppress a smile. "Ah, yes and i know you secretly love it." He laughed. "And so as i was saying, before you interrupted me like you always do, i adore you the way you adore books and me ofcourse and i'll always know what you feel however hard you try to veil, and now i'll stop blabbering before you fall asleep.", his smile again, did he not realise how many butterflies it created and how calm it made her feel.
"You are my eureka and serendipity, i hope you know that.", she said with a smile that held so many emotions, each one trying to be on the front. "Yes. And you are mine.", he said as he kissed her forhead. ______________________________________________
In the end, we are all mere stars of a constellation that may or may not be the favourite one of a little child who longs to float across the sparkling galaxy shimmering with stardust of the charred ones. Children are told that their loved ones who are no more physically present with them become some distant star that shines brighter than the rest and somehow guides them through a harsh journey called life. My star is the closest one, the sun. How lovely it would be to take a stroll in the garden of cosmos, take a whiff of the beguiling clouds, maybe crush the unearthly soil of mars in your hands, pluck a few stars and press them between the pages of your favourite novel so you can catch a glimpse of nostalgia two light years later, take a few pictures of the mesmerising nebula and later find some flaws in it's skin that you thought was perfect and also maybe probe the depth of the black hole, see if it's deeper than your soul. Oh how lovely it would be.
In the end, we are all just shallow figures in the polaroid of a tired photographer who claims to capture moments with a snap of fingers. A photographer who tries to find happiness in others for he lost his a long time ago, the way a bird loses it's feathers. How blessed are we to be able to relive the memories, or are we cursed that memories have such a strong grip on us? The same smiles that were so charming back then, now haunt a trail with no train that hits the nerve cord out of the blue and announces the innocent soul brain dead. And no miracle is capable enough to revive a wrecked soul, for it has lost it's essence, the sole purpose of living.
In the end, we are just splashes of colours on the canvas of a trifing artist, whose works may or may not become masterpieces, for he is a lonely soul who paints with the dull shades oozing from the cracks of his fragile heart wrapped in bandages of grey, now torn and tattered. Colours are not mere colours, they are hues of emotions felt by only a few lucky ones. Can one live with a lonely shade for their whole life? Would it be better to blend them all and take the risk or play safe and maybe later regret and clench fists? To be immersed in the silk of purple or drenched in the rain of blue, how about both or maybe all? But life isn't so kind, for what about the colourblind?
In the end, we are just scant words of a forlorn lover inking woes of his unrequited love hoping it would bloom into something not in it's roots. Sometimes words don't heal, they just give a feeling of unwanted numbness added to the misery resides in the dark corners of heart and refuses to pay any charge. A poet doesn't necessarily write from the core of his heart, sometimes the words are shallow, deceiving and laced with spells to keep you hooked, to keep you from peeking inside the heart, the heart that's as caliginous as the cloudy sky before the storm, that is so grotesque and tender that no verses of poetry can dissolve the coat of rusty acid enveloping the surface completely.
In the end, we are just mere actors waiting to be hired for the play of the season, thinking, to live it would be a significant enough reason. Trying to fit in, to stand out like the rest, rehearsing the same script over and over again, not realising it's meant to be a candid play and not some elegant broadway. Some get tired of being the backup artists and leave everything half way because they fail to see it's how they perceive and not what the world deems to be fit. I was desperately trying to be the brightest star, the one that sheds light to infinities so far, the one who is better and different, but then I met the moon, so pale and full of scars, and yet I was swooned. Whether to steal someone else's limelight or create your own from a galaxy full of charms and potions bright, is a simple choice.
So in the end, we are just humans endeavouring to find who we are in the end.
The moon gave up on the oceans, just to watch the silence embrace its waves. They no longer feel like rising for the love they earlier felt. Emotions that are lost in the darkness of this night, never returns back to the shores. They are drowned to the deepest floors and buried underneath he moist sand. Soon they will decay and perish, as if they never existed like this dream.
The warmth of the winds that touch your face are gentle reminders of the coldness within your heart. Change isn't sudden, but gradual.
You heal at your own pace. It can be hours, days, months or even years, that will make you realise that you are so much more than the things that you choose hold within.
Secrets that you narrate to the sea, aren't the only truths that you want to let go. But they are selected versions of your reality that you seek to cover with a blanket of hope.
The answers that you are seeking along these shores, are the ones you wrote on sand. Washed away from those memories and into the emptiness of your thoughts. Somethings are meant to stay the same, yet they can be re-lived differently.
The stars will soon cover these skies, falling for the ocean that never rose for them.
Ps. Silent confessions in empty rooms are the ones truly heard by God. Take your chances and wish for a beautiful story.
there's this magic often situated when the clouds start to pour. and i always wonder underneath the brittle branches and the abstract leaves how we wear a part of the sky most of the time but not everyone gets to notice.
rain and their puddles are artists and their palettes. how we usually scatter and mix our words into pieces of the same color as if they're enough to speak that reflections don't tell you that you matter.
there's always this mirrored surface that splits us from the rest of the world. as you keep on staring on that plain canvas above through that vague puddle reflecting, would it have been a privilege to become a part of those broken skies separated by the protruding branches of the mango trees outside a stucture you used to term home?
the ocean unmoved resembled the same thing but there weren't trees out there and you refused to believe that space wasn't less than a number whose fractions are multiplied by its stars and the constellations we call factors.
there's always a universe hidden in the tiny details of life and the things around. people just often forget that the artistry also lies in how you read the reflections on the puddle and not just by how it was formed.