The greatest enemy of all time is time.
-Avishi Chug

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@writersofworld
The greatest enemy of all time is time.
-Avishi Chug
Reblog if youâre dead
Wanna see how many people are dead
Melting in the fire
I am sitting in room in paradise. Your sweat is falling on my shoulders and you are pressing them hard. I feel ablaze. Mercury is on the rise. Then I witnessed a drop of liquid trickling down your cheeks and dripping from your sharp blade chin. I open my mouth and acknowledge its savoury taste. Capturing that moment seems necessary as it is our last meeting but cameras has their limitations. So Iâll use my eyes instead. You open your hair and now they lay carefully around your neck. But I still see a shiny bobby pin entangled in your hair, your luminous face and glistening hands. A moment passes only to observe your torn dress and sweat on your back. Around all this mess there are two major objectives for me to pursue - one is this body and other is a caress. And then we burn together - two intertwined skeletons over the pyre. Now we canât move from each other. I feel an intangible wire pulling us together. The only option we are left with is to melt in this fire.
Ever since I found out that earthworms have taste buds all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies, I pause dropping apple peels into the compost bin, imagine the dark, writhing ecstasy, the sweetness of apples permeating their pores. I offer beets and parsley, avocado, and melon, the feathery tops of carrots.
Iâd always thought theirs a menial life, eyeless and hidden, almost vulgarâthough now, it seems, they bear a pleasure so sublime, so decadent, I want to contribute however I can, forgetting, a moment, my place on the menu.
Feeding the Worms by Danusha Laméris
Charles Bukowski, Pulp
We spend so much energy on made-up competitions that happen mostly in our own minds. Our culture might have made us believe that this way of being is good, but all it really does is increase our sense of separateness and put people against each other, causing useless suffering in pretty much everyone involved.
It seems to me that unlearning this habit is necessary not only for us to live more fulfilling lives but also so we can build better communities with each other.
Prarabdha and My understanding of nirvana
My friend and I were taking a walk around our hostel and as we returned to gate of hostel , he said âoh look ! We are at our prarabdhaâ. Unable to curb my curiosity I asked him what are you talking about and I know about it but thatâs not what it is. And then we took few more circles around the hostel and discussed about it at length but our discussion amounted to nothing concrete. I went back to my room , browsed on the Internet and search through library books. Prarabdha which can closely relate to an English word inception or conception. If our life is a circle, itâs perhaps the start point of it. How we all are closing the circle of our life. How we are becoming what we hated about our life the most. I remember when I was learning bicycle and it was 6th day, I was passing by a gigantic pothole which was a usual site back then if you live in Agra. I started hundred metre from the pothole and then braced my shoulders before bicycle tyres rolled on that ten inch space beside the pothole. But I was not content so I turned around and took another chance. This time as tyres reached that ten inch space , my hands trembled and my legs stopped paddling. Perhaps my whole nervous system got corrupted and the next moment I found myself inside this puddle of muddy water. Luckily, pothole was not that deep and I could stand on feet but my left calf got rubbed with the side of pothole but I jumped up to my feet and picked up my bicycle and went to home. Soon I realised a trickle of blood was also finding its way through my forehead to my cheeks and then dripping from my chin. I went to my parents and first they got shocked and worried but when I told them what happened they seemed awfully relieved. Deep furrowed lines on my fatherâs forehead faded away. My mom said âoh finally youâve learnt bicycleâ I said âno, I failed mom. Perhaps you didnât listen.â My father âbut thatâs how learn son.â That was the time I was not familiar with the concept of how you have to go through hell fire before reaching heaven. But still I hated that how they believed that learning pattern for everyone is same and I hated how confident and condescending they were about it. They saw patterns in every thing in my life and theirs. And now I see myself how Iâve become the same person as my parents used to be. The ideas that I rejected so outrightly that i called a bundle of napkins not even worthy of wiping my ass. But thatâs what I was taught in my childhood and partially believed in the cosmic way universe works without knowing the philosophy of it. now too as the circle of life is closing , Iâm getting to believe everything and become all those things that I hated about my parents. lâm starting to see pattern in everything that happens with me.
There was one more incident that deepens my belief in closing the circle of life. I think most us had that idea of running away from our home and never coming back. I too had thought and done it numerous times. There was one time when we four siblings were spending our summer vacations at our paternal auntâs house and father came to visit us. My aunt served snacks and tea for him. I was gnawing at nugget sitting at one corner of the table and my sister staring at me with her bloodshot eyes reminding me my mannerism. But that really hit hard my pride and gate was at height from the ground so I took a plunge into the street and make my way to an unexplored road. Before anyone can fathom what happened I had already crossed the last familiar street and completely lost in a labyrinth. There was only one thought in my mind that is to make my family suffer more and then blame my sister for my psychotic venture. With each turn, roads were transforming into a hazy maze. But then I see a building garnished with blue tiles as its façade. I was in a street that Iâve never been before but I was completely acquainted with the sight in front of me. I saw my cousin running towards me. I looked back and forth making my face flutter like a leaf in heavy wind. I was perplexed whether to execute my long thought plan or recede to the desire of me getting another bite of that snack. Then I felt a tight grip on my shoulders. My cousin had grabbed me with both his hands and picked me up like a trophy as a sign of his victory. But I know that wasnât his victory rather my surrender to the taste of hand made nuggets that my aunt served.
I havenât stopped runnnig since then . Even now I find myself putting all efforts to lose and never to find myself again. Probably Iâve been partially successful. How can I stop myself ?? In childhood it was so simple to hold myself just for a little piece of nugget but now itâs really hard to find anything that can put me to halt. I guess Iâve lost all sorts of lust and found nirvana or maybe my lust has grown so big that any worldly pleasure doesnât suffice. But I feel elated at the idea that at least the source of my lust lies outside this universe.
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âPeople say I love you all the time - when they say, âtake an umbrella, itâs raining,â or âhurry back,â or even âwatch out, youâll break your neck.â There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear.â
â John Patrick
âButterflies cannot see their wings. But the rest of the world can. - You. You are beautiful and while you may not see it, we can.â
â Unknown
âWhy do we close our eyes when we pray, when we cry, when we kiss, when we dream; because the most beautiful things in our life are not seen but felt only by the heart.â
â Unknown
Alright I've finished the cw man's poetry book. It's definitely a collection of journal entries written in verse, but I generally find that endearing. He doesn't have the talent of other narrative poets like Mary Oliver and Ada LimĂłn, but even though they were simple, I found many of his poems charming. Like this one:
A lot of the poems were like this, just snapshots of his day, not saying much. But it's obvious throughout the whole thing that he really just wrote what he wanted:
He even admits to not having much to say to his audience. So, all in all, a quick little read, and probably enjoyable if you like memoir poetry. I probably won't ever reread it, and I didn't find it very inspiring, but it certainly wasn't as bad as I'd been led to believe.
As I Grew Older
by Langston Hughes
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sunâ My dream. And then the wall rose, Rose slowly, Slowly, Between me and my dream. Rose until it touched the skyâ The wall. Shadow. I am black. I lie down in the shadow. No longer the light of my dream before me, Above me. Only the thick wall. Only the shadow. My hands! My dark hands! Break through the wall! Find my dream! Help me to shatter this darkness, To smash this night, To break this shadow Into a thousand lights of sun, Into a thousand whirling dreams Of sun!
âItâs become very apparent to me that the older you are the less praise youâre going to get. When youâre 3 and you paint a picture outside the lines, they give you gold stars. When youâre 10 and you score a goal, they take you out for ice-cream. But when youâre 17 and struggling to fit in, no one gives you a hug just for making it through the day. And when youâre 23 and pulling long hours at the office, no one asks if youâre alright. And you start to wonder if you are, if thereâs a point to any of it. The answer is yes. Because good work, real good work that shapes your character, doesnât need to be acknowledged. You grow in the silences, in the reflections, in the inhales and exhales that let you know youâve made it from one moment to the other.â
â Unknown
âDamaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.â
â Josephine Hart, Damage
âJust as a snake sheds its skin, we must shed our past over and over again.â
â Buddha
âApply for that job. Date that person. Buy that plane ticket. Move to that city. Do all the things that scare you, because theyâre worth it.â
â Unknown
âA happy house is all I need in life. Where there are songs, warm conversations, and soul cuddles. Where the sun rises in the smile of the people I love which are my east. I need trees outside where we can rest in the grass for a little while during chilly autumn afternoons and laugh about how there are so many poems about the moon, and maybe tonight she might begin laughing too. I need dogs without leashes and stars with a thousand wishes, and I wish for the good health of my family and friends, and my prayer every nightfall is for their melody and wellness. Iâm glad that the souls surrounding me in the present are kind, blissful, and nurturing. Iâm grateful that the souls I care for are the places I call my home. For where peace is found, there is love.â
â Juansen Ryne Dizon, SettlementÂ