~ iMingLity 42 ~

"Life smells like the leaves that fell on the clotted sewage channels..."

-

Take me cross the tracks to a land unknown beyond the gives and takes of existence. I'm burning out here to the good of money makers-- for me dying out fuels them who knows how to strive in this world, a mathematical equation of elucidation, just halt, face and solve. What value has hence remained in living this irresolvable life, that creeps to the soul like thorns of a rose!

-

~iMingLity 41~

Time, a Standing Walkman.

-

~ iMingLity 40 ~

Colors of the Colorless Past.

-

There is quite a distinct patience in our being at this regular form of affectation, when we listen earnestly to the people we love, narrating the same incidents, the same stories over and again to new people coming in their lives in multiplicity, the story, and us remaining as it were, always the same.

-

Don't have words enough to cover up my emotions, all that I've shared. The joy and the longing behind all those days bygone, talking of books, writing on writing, heartbreak, and what not.

-

Sracblmed Existence > 8.

Inside tangling trees and golden leaves, behind sad springs and prolonged heat of the day, there's life, not as clear as the summer sky, but neither as painful, or say if you didn't notice, life eavesdrops like some purple ponderings of breathing passages at dusk that bring rain: the rain long awaited, not fully accomplished~ and hence like some missed out horizons or some deferred dreams, life calls out its presence, appearing late yet still remaining, lingering behind its struggling doors of existence.

-

its varying speech, of flight and crumbles, the cries that mumbles, yet unto the disappearing silence, the speech which is not of light, but of our presence in light.

-

Return to feeling what your heart speaks is often the best experience that somebody can get. Like some crunchy meadow, it gives us the pleasure of pressing the arteries a bit more, and move on, or all of a sudden come back hence to sniff, that bushy smell of the grass that brings about from the sweat under your arms, or maybe to sit, sit henceforth gazing the sky on the tears the soft little cheeks that bears them on it, ah, the meadow ahead is such vast a kingdom. Return to the heart is like that feeling of getting a scoop view of the kingdom you've wept at all along, moved on for work to another kingdom, and it's dusk now, it's time you get back home. It's time you weep again. It's time you visit your heart again.

-

I was young when I chose love, some banal uniform of the high school select still guiding me at college. Touch me nots had not been my touch all along. I had touched people by the storm of my mind and soul, the sinking sand that took within all the shadows that crossed my river, yet had I been the river through and through, the sand covering me on top would not have covered me from shining under the sun. I chose love and mask, river and sinking sand. I had loved and loved all under my skin, and yet with this uniform I had upon me all over, the sinking sand, I've never seen the sun, sparkling on my lapping limbs onto the shores of dead animals, ah so dead. I've chosen love so early I suppose, they're all dead along the bank. And I was blind. I chose to be blind. Hatred would possibly have been the proper touchstone to love. I've loved all along. I cry. I cry now with the river inside me. The sinking sand sinks not further. It's ugly. Ugly shedding of love. It's hatred.

-