Blissful escape…

Beyond all this, the wish to be alone,
Beyond all this the desire for oblivion runs.
Besides the artful tensions of the calendar,
Be the bank balance or the missed menstrual cycles;
Because the family is photographed under aspirations.
Beyond it all, the wish to be alone,
Besides it all this the desire for oblivion runs,
Beneath it all the craving for oblivion shuns.

Being me…

I was born two months before on the rainy rather stormy evening of the 3^rd day of May 1987. When my mother first set my eyes on me she found me a philosopher, blissfully unaware of all around, rather oblivious of my being, somewhat of a thinker. I feel compelled to add ‘so I have been told.’

I deliberately use this special tense that allows distinguishing hear say from something not seen with eyes, say be relating dreams, fairy tales, or past events not witnessed I find it rather apt to use this tense. It is a useful distinction to make remember the earliest of life experiences, be it the cradle, the most adored teddy ted, the very first rhymes, as told by parents, stories which I seem to listen with some rapt attention. It’s a sensation as sweet as seeing thyself in dreams.

That is the tendency I still indulge in without getting bored. It is a kind of get away for me, a kind of relief I seek. Though the process has gained maturity and momentum over time, I still tend to lose control every time imagining the place I am seated the bed room, the sitting room, government office, the bus stop as somewhere else. When I have exhausted the energy to day dream I take refuge in the photographs that sits on every wall, table and desk. The tendency so very innate in me often yells back complaining of confusing routes.