I’ve seen the world
Done it all
Had my cake now
And Bel Air now
Hot summer nights, mid July
When you and I were forever wild
The crazy days, city lights
The way you’d play with me like a child
Will you still love me
When I’m no longer young and beautiful?
Will you still love me
When I got nothing but my aching soul?
I know you will, I know you will
I know that you will
Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?
With time I have realized that war heroes matter to people only till the time of war. Goodness in men is left under the bridge till we encounter an evil. A villain will fascinate us till he hasn’t turned his face upon & preyed us. We are poisoning goodness, the more we get accustomed of being normal to hate.
What the Joker has to say :
“As you know, madness is like gravity…all it takes is a little push.”
“Nobody panics when things go “according to plan”. Even if the plan is horrifying!”
“If you’re good at something, never do it for free.”
“Smile, because it confuses people. Smile, because it’s easier than explaining what is killing you inside.”
“Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I’m a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it! You know, I just… *do* things.”
Why can’t she be rude, manipulative, and hunter as the world has been to me? Why she carries my burden as her own? Why her eyes express love to me till the death of the moon? Why she pauses for my insanity? Why her eyes role back on my imprudent jokes and yet she laughs on them to make me smile. Why does her face swell up in gratitude whenever I present her even a petite rose? Why does she hold my hand all the time as if preserving me from wandering? Her actions exclaim a kind hold for all of my inhibitions, my failures, my reveries, and my futile wisdom. Why she still has that ring made of a candy wrapper, which ingenuously I did years ago. Why she caresses my hair whenever I lay my head on her lap talking naively about my endless desires.
Is she an angel everyone desire meekly or a saint or a blessing, I don’t deserve? That touch of her fingertips, her soothing skin, and her brown celestial eyes, her benevolent vocabulary, her magical odor all mazes me to this sulky world. The way she hugs my fallacies with her gracious emotions, leaves me with a tear in my right eye.
Oh the mighty God, give me strength, such that I can scuffle my vacillation, bring out the potent me and can give her what she deserves. The honor, the pride, the imminence of a BEING…
It’s not always that I intend to be a poet or a writer or an artist or a guitarist or a sportsperson or something exceptional, I just want to do things that are categorically positive, almost everything, and that is what makes me surgical. That’s why may be I dwell between cynicism and realism all the time, quarrel in my own mind, in my own tusk, lunge between what I want to do and what I think, and that makes me critical.
I consider myself to be partly materialistic and the other part abhors the materialistic side of me coz it demands too much. I almost every day meet people who shags on materialism, the propriety of society and its flavors and almost every day don’t get them, but still have a sense of respect for them coz atleast they are not baffled personalities and know what they want from life, no matter it may eventually be redundant, but still is acceptable. They feel pleasure in discs, at parties, at museum, movies, eating etc. and I too feel the same, but then that pleasure is not absolute, coz may be that ‘absolute’ pleasure exist only in love or don’t exist at all.
And then I pause, stalk my thoughts a bit, wave the poetic and un-poetic versions of me and pray, God bless us, bless us all. May there be love for everyone and then there will be clarity.
P.s. Hopefully I had made some brains, because if I didn’t its deterrent many a times I don’t.