Staring into the horizon,
The hues in the skies run wild,
The heart won't listen to reason,
Like a petulant,wilful child
The smiles dont come easily now,
and they have no reason to stay,
Thoughts go down dark alleys
But they never go away
Don't really know what i'll find out there
with the roads covered in mist,
Just want to break the ties that bind me
To the world they say exists
The vacant eyes, the needless chatter
None of the things that really matter
The gloomy depths of fruitless desire
Wishing?That's playing with fire
The sun goes down with it's last ray
and that brings us to the end of another day.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Another poem I wrote
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Left Brain vs. Right Brain
I have chosen an elective called Management Lessons from the Liberal Arts. Why ? Because it sounded like a good idea. And we studied the creativity of the Right Brain as opposed to the rationality of the left one. So I took a quiz to see which side of my brain is more dominant and here are the results.
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(16)Anything that made me post a post can't be that bad now, can it ?? :)
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Muzings of a lazy afternoon...
The mundane is detestable. Why would one want to subject oneself to the same cyclical way of life every day? Some might say that in this disorderly universe, there is an urgent need for some semblance of order, to discover coherence and that routine fills that very need comfortably. Well, even if many would subscribe to that view, wouldn’t one rather want every day to be like the clichéd gift, the present – full of surprises, good or bad? Everyone wants their stories to be a little more interesting.
But while the above lines may sound exceedingly snooty, I shall present some background as to why I’m saying all this. And the grand reason behind my musing so is that, wait for it, I had an afternoon off
Yes, I didn’t have much to do since 2 pm (except perhaps loads of work related reading which I didn’t want to do) – which got me thinking, I have time on my hands , so what should I do with it ? Should I do what I do every day and let the immortal sands of time give me the slip yet again? Or should I try to spend some time on me and do the things I love to do. Like write.
I spent two months in Mumbai recently and wanted to write about my experiences there. But I didn’t. I also wanted to write regularly once back on campus. But I didn’t. I wanted to make better use of my time, do a bit of reading, try and get fit. But I didn’t. Therefore, this very lack of follow through on my own elaborate plans made me hate myself all that much that I took off on a solitary walk around my beautiful campus 2200 feet above sea level.
As I walked out of my room, the sun was just setting behind the clouds. The rain kissed mountains were fresh and calm and the clouds that were floating by were close enough to touch. I bought myself a hot cup of coffee and sat in one of my favourite spots, overlooking the mountains. As I sat there, I felt an ethereal sense of calm overtaking me. The kind that I haven’t felt in months.
Left alone to my thoughts I realized that we are what we make ourselves. We are what we do with our time. And I don’t understand why is it that we know how we could be better people but do nothing about it. Post coffee I decided to walk a path I hadn’t walked before, quite literally. It wound up a hill and in my one year here I do not know why I hadn’t been up it. Was I waiting for someone? What was it that had prevented me from walking up that unknown path? Even if it didn’t lead to any place important. Is all this a little metaphorical? Maybe more than I intend it to be.
But what I’m getting at is that while I’m not that great at sticking to plans, it is perhaps worse that I have stopped making them. Even if I despise the mundane and want more stories in my life. I don’t want to preach myself. I just want to prod myself. I am looking for some order. But I want it to be disorderly. To be unpredictable. And exciting. Too much to hope for? Maybe it is. But that does not mean I am not going to want it.
But while the above lines may sound exceedingly snooty, I shall present some background as to why I’m saying all this. And the grand reason behind my musing so is that, wait for it, I had an afternoon off
Yes, I didn’t have much to do since 2 pm (except perhaps loads of work related reading which I didn’t want to do) – which got me thinking, I have time on my hands , so what should I do with it ? Should I do what I do every day and let the immortal sands of time give me the slip yet again? Or should I try to spend some time on me and do the things I love to do. Like write.
I spent two months in Mumbai recently and wanted to write about my experiences there. But I didn’t. I also wanted to write regularly once back on campus. But I didn’t. I wanted to make better use of my time, do a bit of reading, try and get fit. But I didn’t. Therefore, this very lack of follow through on my own elaborate plans made me hate myself all that much that I took off on a solitary walk around my beautiful campus 2200 feet above sea level.
As I walked out of my room, the sun was just setting behind the clouds. The rain kissed mountains were fresh and calm and the clouds that were floating by were close enough to touch. I bought myself a hot cup of coffee and sat in one of my favourite spots, overlooking the mountains. As I sat there, I felt an ethereal sense of calm overtaking me. The kind that I haven’t felt in months.
Left alone to my thoughts I realized that we are what we make ourselves. We are what we do with our time. And I don’t understand why is it that we know how we could be better people but do nothing about it. Post coffee I decided to walk a path I hadn’t walked before, quite literally. It wound up a hill and in my one year here I do not know why I hadn’t been up it. Was I waiting for someone? What was it that had prevented me from walking up that unknown path? Even if it didn’t lead to any place important. Is all this a little metaphorical? Maybe more than I intend it to be.
But what I’m getting at is that while I’m not that great at sticking to plans, it is perhaps worse that I have stopped making them. Even if I despise the mundane and want more stories in my life. I don’t want to preach myself. I just want to prod myself. I am looking for some order. But I want it to be disorderly. To be unpredictable. And exciting. Too much to hope for? Maybe it is. But that does not mean I am not going to want it.
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