The Future Is Full Of Fingertips...

“The broken part heals even stronger than

the rest,”

they say. But that takes awhile.

And, “Hurry up,” the whole world says.

They tap their feet. And it still hurts on rainy

afternoons when the same absent sun

gives no sign it will ever come back.

“What difference in a hundred years?”

The barn where Agnes hanged her child

will fall by then, and the scrawled words

erase themselves on the floor where rats’ feet

run. Boards curl up. Whole new trees

drink what the rivers bring. Things die.

“No good thing is easy.” They told us that,

while we dug our fingers into the stones

and looked beseechingly into their eyes.

They say the hurt is good for you. It makes

what comes later a gift all the more

precious in your bleeding hands.

- WILLIAM STAFFORD

Limitless...

If you're bored this week, watch Limitless.

Broken Women...

Is buying sex a better way to help Cambodian women than buying a T-shirt?

Read the comments too.

What's the way out?

And So It Is...

Opium...

You know you're are truly addicted to something, when you can't sleep without having/doing it.

In my case it's tea. I was busy the entire day today and didn't get time to have my evening chai. I come home tired and exhausted and collapse in bed, then toss and turn in bed for 1 hour and finally, give up. At 12 am, I go make myself tea.

I don't know if I can be saved, and further, if I want to be saved, which is scarier. 

The Girl With Smiles...

Divya,

I can't write beautiful poems like you do, but I just wanted to say this: You always wanted to help people, save someone, and you should know that you have already, atleast one, by way of your friendship. Thank you for being there for me, thank you for always being so strong and courageous and kind and in turn being an inspiration for me. Thank you, for just being.

Wish you love, happiness, success, good friendships, health, wealth and peace.

Happy birthday :)


Love,
A

Clipped Wings...

I am scared of being caught. Scared of being put in a pigeon-hole. Scared of someone telling me, you can't do this. I hate that. I can do anything. I want to believe that.


Friends often make fun of me when I tell them I am claustrophobic. I don't like small cramped places. Small rooms. The first time I heard about Vaishno-devi, I was scared and amazed. There's a small hole you need to pass through to enter the innermost chamber, and that to me seemed impossible. Every time someone talked about it, I saw myself stuck in it, always. As a kid, and this is funny, I believed, ardently so, that I was some sort of an angel (well, not like a nice person, but someone who could fly) and that I had come to earth for some reason and having done my job, one day, I would fly back to wherever I came from (Yep, stories, stories, I always loved listening to them and making up my own). I once dreamt in college that I could fly. I rose above the ground, very ethereal, and flew away from the living room window, like I was a light bird and my dad was trying to hold me back, like a kid who is trying to save a balloon that has escaped from its grasp. I told this to my family once, and we all laughed at how silly it was. Why am I so scared of being caught? What is all this struggle about?


I love windows, big windows; they represent freedom, an escape. As long as there's a window in the room, nothing can keep you tied down and helpless and locked. You can always flee.


I think I am running away from me. I think I am struggling to be free from my own grip.


There are so many things I want to do, and the only thing that's stopping me is, perhaps, me.