Has the moon lost her memory

I'm Shravani. I love- Eucalyptus trees, The Sky. I write sometimes, and yes my url is too literal but I really dont wanna make it cool. I'd love to talk to people. Tell me something, anything at all.

[impulsivewriting]

better to have suffered than to have imposed

to own painful nobility

than feigned remorse

to be the charred remains of your once body, your home

than to be the blazing fire that consumed it whole

[impulsivewriting]

save me from myself

[impulsivewriting]

Thank you little girl

After an exhausting day of incessant mental chatter on my presence and purpose in a place for which I have nothing but platitudes with drained inspiration and irrational uncertainties I finally found a place to sit in the bus. She was a mushroom haired girl of about 7 or 8, the one who offered me the seat. She was writing in a beautiful pink handcrafted book with a gilded title ‘Notebook’. she was writing a note to herself perhaps. That thought interested me. I’ve always felt nostalgic when people, usually children write in their ‘rough’ notebooks. Mostly because I spent most of my childhood doing just that. I’m 16 and consider myself very much out of childhood due to the way I’m living, things that I’m thinking, motives of everyday, unfulfilling perspectives and narrow mindset. I’m not narrow. I’m as broad as the ocean stretching to be as deep as it’s waters but thoroughly lacking its pertinence, patience and direction. Im broad enough to have unconventional perspective but not strong enough to be and feel different, neither do I have the drive. She was writing an apology note. How cute. How pretty really. A time where fulfillment and relations stood strong on notes and justification of their actions with no rejections once they expressed how they felt. All you have to do is tell people what you feel and why you feel that way. ( I have never come across any rejections or disappointments for this act). People, young children, are so palpable to simple emotions. They look at the emotion for what it is. Happiness for happiness, apology for apology and disappointment for disappointment. The never transcend into any other filaments of the emotion like what they would feel on forgiving what they would feel on sharing happiness with others. Is this the right person to be happy with? Is there more? Should I let go? Adults find themselves rather blank on these questions and leave them, untethered. Oh how I don’t want to grow up. I’m losing my ability to retain happiness. I recklessly blame it on growing up. Growing up means it is more difficult feel to feel human and normal than it was then. It means decrease of attention span, and fulfillment and decrease of the rate at which life will bombard you with inspiration. It means you search for your own and and you’re out of this stable haven.

[impulsivewriting]

It's okay behen

I took out the last piece of cashew nut out of my mouth from the otherwise perfect apple pie. It was a sunny morning and despite my nagging workload I managed to enjoy my favourite weather. Overwhelmed by the frustration of not getting a single auto on meter, I did not seem to like the sun seeping though the leaves anymore. I crossed the road and well almost collided with an auto. ‘ bhaiyya BDA, meter pe’ ‘Meter repair karna hai. Jitna denge utna’ I hopped into it and was confused about how much to pay him. Ive never been on a single auto that comes till HSR on meter, how would I ? Around 50 I guessed. ‘ Behenji sorry’ ‘Huh?’ ‘ aapko chhot hua? Voh na. mein ab tak so raha tha’ It was 12 noon. He just lost like half his daily income . ‘ mein rath bhar hospital mein tha. Or ab time dekha. . Kya kare’ I make it sound like he was really laid back but he was not. He was cursing himself and was thoroughly disappointed. ‘ Aspathaal kyun gaye? ‘ I said ‘Meri bachchi ko , Voh uh Voh ‘ he said pointing to his upper stomach ‘ Voh operation huah. Kya hoga nahi patha..’ I didn’t say anything. I had money in my bag and was ready to give him then and there. I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t know if he was being honest. I just wanted to really genuinely help someone and see what I feel when I do. Apart from the fact that I feel for the person, I have wanted that gratitude from someone. I’m always looking for these moments. Looking for these moments of gratitude and generosity. These points in life where you feel sort of soulful and fulfilled, atleast for a moment. You can sense them when they are close, but you’re not quiet sure how to tackle them. After a long silence he said ‘ aap bura math maniyega. I don’t know you you don’t know me’ he started speaking in English. ‘ but, Voh, upar waala, sees everything. Mein subah se kuchch kamaya nahi. Aap Meri beti ko madhadh karenege tho achcha hoga..’ Suddenly apprehensive about giving the money. I asked, ‘ Kaunsi Aspathaal ? ‘ ‘ Vani Vilas, city market’ Was I actually planning on going there? When the moments are there, everything else is just not quite right. I got off the auto to pay him. I gave him a 100 rupee note. I don’t know if it was wise or not, I just did. He did not look satisfied. I was taken aback. He wasn’t a liar, I knew that. Pretending to search for more I told him I was sorry. ‘ it’s okay behen’ and the moment passed.

[impulsivewriting]

Hollow coconut

On days like these Of heavy breaths and weary heart Of soaking eyes and cherry cheeks I can’t help but question We’re so young, so palpable And yet The mere volatility of the mind The mere permanency of the pain Why so let down? So Helpless? So Hopeless? So objective. Why so conclusive? So decisive? So quick. Why so affected and affected and affected? Hollow on the inside.

[impulsivewriting]

Blank

One thing I thought I’ll never run out of. Thoughts. But when you stop thinking. Blankness hits you like your face out of the window of a plane. Morbid fear of never knowing crawls up your spine and bites you bitter at your neck base. You long for pain you cry for pain your plead for pain. The untitled swims around your bloody brain to unplug very single neuron that let you feel what you ever felt.

[impulsivewriting]

Amy

‘i feel lonely’ said amy. amy lived in the valley of flowers, part of the most beautiful hills of Uttarakhand along with the other fairies. She sat on the edge of the rhododendron leaf, her hair wet from the due drops and her eyes red on reflecting the vivid colour of the flower. In contrast to her somewhat totalitarian beauty sat a rather repulsive creature. His name was Koti. ( Koteshwar Narayan Mahadev, named from a well worshiped deity of the Garwhal region). Koti was a short dark man with somewhat a thicket for hair. He had 2 deep dimples but he barely smiled. Koti was a milkman in the nearby town of Josimath. He was amy’s best friend. ‘But amy’ said Koti ’ You are a beautiful fairy and a synonym to happiness, wonderland and beauty. No, you are beauty, happiness and wonderland. All the fairies love you and they are as sweet as a fairy should be. And i love you so much too. Amongst such uncompromising utopian reality, how can there be feelings? How can there be loneliness when there is togetherness all around even in the often misunderstood inanimate ‘objects’ ? ’ Loneliness is an often misunderstood word’ said amy. ’ You are deserted by such beauty or you find it empty? ’ asked Koti ’ Im not deserted by the beauty. I like the way you put that. yes I find it so empty. I can be filled only when the loneliness in me detaches itself. I maybe surrounded by fairies who love me, well fairies and a person. I am a fairy who has found thought, the unacceptable, revolting, ignited thought. I’m alone with my thoughts. I feel alone. for the simple feeling of not belonging anywhere. They love parts of me but they dont love parts of me that i want them to love’ ‘Then why dont you share those parts or thoughts? ’ asked Koti like a bored school teacher who is asked to explain the same thing for the last time. ’ Because they are mine. They are my thoughts. They are unique and I am special and extraordinary. No fairy would have found her thoughts yet. But I have. They are imbeciles and I have penetrated into more layers than anyone else. I cant not share and feel like an alien . If i share, i will either lose my uniqueness or they will just prove their imbecility to me, again’ Koti dimpled as he plucked some grass and said ’ What you seek Amy, is inspiration. You are unique. You are on the quest of your uniqueness and you want to transcend yourself. You want to go on being inspired into greater depths and never stop. You cant possibly be irritated by imbecility just because you are superior in the mind can you? Youre searching for one of the ‘imbeciles’ to turn out to be your inspirer perhaps’ ‘They might make me notice that im overlooking something simple but they, they can never inspire me to a great’ replied amy ‘Inspiration lurks around all the time. Don’t question the inertia of your being. For what i know the inertia of your quest for inspiration wore out to what you call ‘loneliness’ Your loneliness will now transcend itself to something bigger, with a greater inertia. Keep the faith’

[impulsivewriting]

Plasmodium has a nice cyst. 
Oblong smooth and neat.
 Not afraid of losing its ability to really feel things.
 But the cyst broke down and so did the plasmodium vivax 
 Into a thousand sad pieces to grow on their own now
 Each piece will grow and grow and then grow a cyst to go back to numbness
 But in growth, the turbulence is inevitable.
 Feeeeeling is inevitable. 
So I lie like a malarial parasite.
 Unthinking, just feeling without any awareness 
 Drowning drowning drowning 
Till I grow numb again

[impulsivewriting]

moment

She stood on the freezing blue tiles, her feet slightly red from the cold. The girl gazed at her reflection acidly, brushing her frizzy brown locks. The vents flashed open, caressing her face, when her auburn eyes glanced quickly outside. The breeze smelled like the nascent monsoon and the sky was in a light hue of grey, the soil , moist from the drizzle. A midst the gloom, stood a tree. A eucalyptus tree, swaying gently with the wind. She stared at the tree, nostalgically, reminiscing her past with the old friend who was felled.She suddenly pulled back , afraid that someone would read her mind, but sunk back into her thoughts, pretty quickly. The girl remembered that verdant meadow, that azure sky and that bigger tree, When that sun shone brightly from the west. That time when the world couldn’t have looked more alluring to her eyes; That feeling when she was more of an aesthete then ever, tasting happiness at its simplest and purest form.
Oh how many attempts i have made to describe that moment she sighed. At that moment when she was, infinite.

[impulsivewriting]

Im really anxious and depressed and I dont know why I’ve never felt so turbulent nothing can allow me to atleast pretend to be okay not even food I want to run far away but hide under my covers I want to be optimistic but Im overun by numbness Im so I dont know what to do or where to go I just cant stay inside my body I want help I’ve never not known what Im feeling no matter how complicated it is I dont know I might burst into pieces or internally bury in gravel I dont know I want to scream but I want to hide

[a-joyfuljourney]

Rachael Johnson

[wnq-writers]

Loving me isn’t easy, I have sharp edges, I have missing parts.

Donte Collins (via homet0wn)

[impulsivewriting]

Where the mind is free 
 And the soul is hushed
 by its own gentle whispers
 whispers of query, whispers of truth 
The subtleties in many Where the mind drifts through all little things in merry
 Simple in its orders, hopeful in its desires
 As it cherishes the unconventional and unabridged
 That’s a mind with wings Where the mind grows thoughts
 And the thoughts grow wings 
 For them to fly about in the deep blue sky 
And then perch on the walls of an eerie well 
Only when they’re tired When the mind transcends all that is dry and overdone Into big mossed wells of great depth
 To find in it meaning Either as clear as its water, or as ugly as its moss sky
 And then perch on the walls of an eerie well
 Only when they’re tired The mind is an object of insanity 
A freely moulded clay piece
 Half fill it with faith
 half leave it bare
 For it to make its own stories
 To satiate its hunger of reason and purpose

[minimango]

If I can love the wrong person this much, think of how much more I could love the right one.

(via legitcelebrity)

[impulsivewriting]

When sage ashtavakra was in his mother's womb he corrected his father's understanding of the Vedas. Infuriated, his father cursed him to be born with eight deformities. Unknowingly he had threatened his father.

Ashtavakra told janaka “ animals fight to defend their bodies. Humans curse to defend their imagination of themselves. The imagined notion of who we are and how others are supposed to us is called aham. Aham constantly seeks validation from the external world. When that is not forthcoming it becomes insecure. Aham makes humans accumulate things through things we hope people will look upon as we imagine ourselves. That is why janaka people display power and wealth and knowledge. It yearns to be seen.”

[impulsivewriting]

Reading, un reading , re reading the Ramayana and the Mahabharata with consistent epiphanies. These are epics alright.

Ironically, I feel these are books with no subtleties. They speak volumes of truth with the sole intention of delivering the truth comprehensibly and nothing else. However to the restless mind that reads them, it is a quiet introspection, a new flower of thought and wisdom blooming in the light of its sermonizing redeeming nature.

Although subtleties are the spaces in a sentence for your thoughts and words, subtleties are the prime players in allowing your personal connection in what you read, such a not so subtle complex yet preachy story like Ramayana directs your thoughts quickly to that one idea or logic it preaches, and then immerses you in it. Completely. Till you realize how vast it is, how magnificent. Such an intelligent way to analyze what the author wants you to and what he feels greatly about.

My interpretation maybe quite far from reality, when in actuality Vedic science was passed on in a strict structure. Maybe the great humans that wrote it did have such a single lined intention to only “culture” the society. This is just the way it made ME feel. There could have surely been people like me? Even 7000 years ago?

[observando]

She was lost in her longing to understand.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez (via observando)