from dusty notepad files, found again in years old piles of data
--Directionless rambling---
Ask any man, the fondest memories of love will always spring from childhood, about that lovely girl from the younger years.
The tragedy of life to me, is the fact that of the all the men on this planet a percentage tending to zero, would have actually held on to those childhood loves.
To be honest the way of living of humans hardly provides the opportunity to continue to hold on to these childhood loves.
The family might move, you shift homes, you change school an endless list of external factors conspiring to just make sure that a man looses probably the only thing worth holding on to.
As a child if you remember, liking some one wasn't really thought through, it wasn't a step of logical deductions by which you learn to like people as grown ups.
Its also definitely not yet about sex, for obvious biological constraints, for a man can surely fall in 'love' with any woman, in a moment of pure 'lust', well yes in childhood we all are free of this beautiful feeling of 'lust'.
So that brings me back, what is it that trigger love in our hearts in childhood?
I wonder, with no forthcoming answers really, other than a few cues and deductions.
Was it that you like a girls face, or may be just her voice, no it cannot be that superficial. There must be a larger design to falling in love when we are all children. for we still go soft thinking of that one childhood sweetheart, if it was so shallow a feeling, you wouldn't even remember it forget feeling nostalgic or warm within.
I have read/ heard it often, that as a child you are closest to god, and then with the growing up comes the distance between god and you. And we continue to drift apart, until every person at sometime or another reaches a cross road in life, where you feel alone and forsaken.
Sometimes, then begins the process of understanding and reaching out to god all over again, just trying to reduce the miles growing up had put between god and us.
But by then we have lost the plan of life, it has merely become a series of choices we make, sometimes turning out to be good and sometimes not so good.
But all in all, we have lost that reason for which probably this life is there.
In this complex universe, I would have also had a plan, something I was supposed to achieve, someway I was also supposed to make a difference. But the assembly line of society has made me just another product of the factory which is running overtime to 'condition' and manufacture people. Now some of these products turn out better than others, some worse. But if we look at the mass of humans, what deviation are you likely to find out in one person from another? for such a large set, statistically we would find so little a variation between people. Shamefully,its a proof of how we have all managed to loose sense of our true destinations, reasons for being born,in this moribund machinery of living.
-----Inquisition-------
Dusty winds and the simmering heat,
sweaty palms and a cold shiver down my spine,
its judgment day again;
I twitch and shuffle,
mumble and grumble,
unable to face my souls inquisition;
Stand like a thief caught in the act,
eyes downcast and shoulders drooped;
its time to answer for all I promise ,
and fail to keep,
those promises to myself;
My inquisitor stares,
a smirk on his face,
and an underlying sadness,
that's quite hard to trace;
This pregnant silence between us,
hides a story of its own,
he is waiting for me to blabber;
And let go of a string of excuses,
but the excuses have also excused themselves today,
the brain is numb,
and the lips wont move;
silence lingers as the inquisitor ponders,
waiting for the second ruse,
for whenever i haven't got an excuse,
fate i would abuse ;
But this time abuses are also hard to come by,
for forever have i made excuses and abuses fly,
guess I am no longer shy,
to accept the faults within,
rather than everywhere around;
The inquisitors expression,
changed from sarcasm to anger,
as he boomed when did u learn to cower?
for whatever was your fault,
cowardice it never was;
For years i have seen you stand,
each time empty handed as ever,
but defeat in your eyes i saw never;
So speak up and tell me when did the fire go out?
I answer in a tone so low,
ears couldn't hear the sound of the tongue,
i tell him, now with each punch I take,
it becomes more hard to stand up again.
