Last Thoughts...

I look at the peaks far in the distance,
glaring at them without the slightest sign of hesitance,
Its far b4 dawn and late after dusk,
no soul in sight but a watch is a must.

Sitting in the dark, I wonder why I'm here,
why can't I just go home and have a jug of beer.
Why cant I just see my children play,
why can't I just sit home and listen to the Dj.

As I sit here thoughts linger by the million,
but I simply cant reach a stable conclusion.
Who is responsible for this mayhem and massacre?
what has one to gain from capture and conquer?

Life seems like a mess,
but its my duty to protect the rest.
The Kings and the Knights sit comfortably indoors,
Leaving us pawns to fight their dirty wars.

Day in and day out I sit here thinking,
about my wife and my children who yearn for my coming.
Freedom is fine and I'm glad it is free,
but why does it take so much from me...

Depression...

Hi guys I have taken this article from http://www.warwickrendell.com/2008/09/17/depression-in-my-own-words/
He explains the term beautifully...

You can’t explain to someone who hasn’t been there what it’s like to wake up, and the black curtain of storm clouds have suddenly dropped around you. How do you face the people around you, silently mouthing to each other “again?”. How can you explain that the objectively irrational impulses seem subjectively rational? That you understand that you’re not OK, but there’s nothing you can do to change it, while the world goes on making demands as if you still felt “normal”.

Your partner still wants you to be able to be there for her. The kids still want to get hugs from you - and they still need to eat. The boss still wants you to output widgets. The bank still wants you to make payments on the credit cards you used to survive when things went pear-shaped last time. The landlord still wants his rent.

There are two ways things can go from here. Sometimes with a good night’s sleep (or two, or more), and some looking after yourself, things will be OK again, and you’ll pick up your stuff, and keep moving forwards.

Sometimes, things don’t get better. The wiring isn’t just on the fritz, it’s burnt out. If you ask for help, they’ll insist on chemical assistance. They don’t really understand quite why or how the chemicals work, but “they should help”. They might (will) have side effects. The cure might end up being worse than the disease. If that one doesn’t work, they have others. Or a cocktail of medications, each one to deal with the side effects of another. That way lies its own unique madness.

With the meds, they might prescribe talking. Lots of talking, in the vain hope that like the infinite monkeys with their infinite typewriters might turn out some Shakespeare, if you say enough words for long enough, everything might fall into place. Sometimes they’re good at listening, sometimes they’re not. With the right person, it helps.

Some sift your words carefully, picking out the little nuggets of truth that help you understand a little better who you are. Others nod, grunt, and write you another prescription. I’ve known both. And it’s expensive to sit in a little room and talk. When you’re in a situation where you need to sit in a little room and talk, there’s a good chance that you’re not in a position to be able to afford it.

Fortunately, for me, most days now resemble ordinary. I wake up. I stare at the face in the mirror worn with lines I don’t remember collecting, and stubble that feels like it belongs on someone older than me. I go to work, and try to fit into “normal” like a cheap suit that I bought in a hurry and can’t take back.

She... By Tapas Mohanty

She stood there alone ,on the lonely street,
The chill bit her hard, but her cold feet,
Dead as a corpse, she waited in the dark,
Wilted she waited, like a dying spark,

Just a piece of flesh and that's what they need,
Just a "need" I am, on which they always feed,
They don't feel a thing, they can't see my scars,
Just a "thing" I am ,sold in the bazaars,

I don't curse my fate, I don't cry a tear,
Never do I regret coz I know my life won't steer,
Yes! I slander at times, about a thing or two,
Why did He give me life and why do I love it too,

I don't pray for a hero, who would hold my hand,
I never prayed for a fairy with her magic wand,
All I need is a day, where I could "live" for a while
A day in my days, that would make me smile,

A stranger of a man ,who'll love me with his eyes,
The sweetest of truths, that could kill the holy lies...
The tunes hummed deeper , as she laid on the bed,
The night wanted tears but she laughed instead,

Her dreams were mauled, her hopes were raped,
Her heart laid still, her shivers coldly draped,
Just a piece of flesh, just a "thing" she was,
Just a sorry truth, in their gory claws.

Mirror Mirrior...

Mirror Mirror on the wall,
Am I looking at myself at all.
I don't recognise the one I see,
So shallow but still so deep.

Somehow this picture is still not clear,
I see too many scar's which look like fear.
Fear of thoughts which are so unclear,
Fear of people who were so near.

But the harder I stare,
I see a picture which is true and fair.
Below the scar's on my face,
I see a glow similar to that of a mace.

I wonder how I got this way,
I wonder how the near one's went away.
But in the end these scar's don't matter,
Right now I wanna dissapear, just fly away on my zephyr.

Three Men in a Boat...

About two month back when I was in Bangalore I picked up this book called "Three Men in a Boat" by Jerome K Jerome from Blossoms...Although I'm not much of a reader the sheer joy of so many books being sold at such low prices made me pick up a couple.

Recently after nearly 11/2 month I finally started reading this one "Three Men in a Boat". The book starts off quite okay and since I'm not a book enthusiast initially I couldn't go past a page. But guys even for a person like me, for whom reading books in the school days would be more of a burden than pleasure while the other children would flock to the libraries and get books by the dozen and somehow manage to finish them in a week (Quite a Herculean task for me), this one has really caught on to me. In the simplest of words this guy is FANTASTIC. The book is mainly about 3 men (George, Harris and Jerome himself) and their dog Montmorency (By the way the title also mentions "To say nothing of the Dog" in italics neatly put in a bracket)who decide to spend a fortnight on the river Thames. You simply keep turning pages laughing your guts out at every single page of this extremely witty composition. The author not only sticks to his story but at the same time highlights the different facets of human nature. Each character is unique in its own way but when put together they fit perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle. And trust me this dog can make you fall off the bed, the timely gestures of the dog simply puts the reader at his wits end.

I would surely give this book a big thumps up, a must buy for all you book freaks and also a must read for all who hate reading...