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  • godofsmallmusings 107w


    I'm a little rusty.

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    Perhaps I don't know you as well as I know myself, but I want to. I know a piece of your heart is still stuck somewhere else, and what you have been dealing with ever since it broke for the first time. I am sorry I was never around even when I wanted to, Sarah.

    I like you, perhaps even love you. Perhaps not in the air-bending or earth-shattering kind, perhaps not even in the traditional way, for I don't know what that is anyway, but I do.

    I am a flawed man-- a boy with a coin trying to identify himself in a sea of random variables he calls himself, with the hope to find someone beside whom he can walk with no uncertainty.

    While I have traveled a significant chunk of my life alone, hitchhiking every once in a while, I am made to doubt the meaning, the purpose of it all when I am doing it all by myself, all for myself. Now, today, I don't want to do it all with such singularity. It's also true that in all this time that had, I couldn't strike a chord with anyone who's not you, Sarah.

    So here's my question to you, Sarah-- as we both, as individuals, tread on a path dealing with our pasts, writing them as prologues for some big, fat russian novels, do you want to do it together?


  • godofsmallmusings 131w


    Been a while.

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    Cold Calling

    It's been continuously snowing on my TV
    It's a B&W screen,
    Yin and Yang duality,
    Salt and pepper static;

    There's never enough salt,
    And never enough pepper;
    Salt and pepper swapping places,
    As if they were put there
    at the wrong place and at the wrong time;
    Salt and pepper running out of their houses
    as soon as they went in.

    Infinite lives reside in my body.
    I am a product of my past,
    All the people I have known,
    All the places I've been,
    All the hope I still cling to,
    All my dreams I still escape to,
    All my mistakes,
    All my regrets,
    All the pain,
    And all my crimes,
    I rather not mention.

    I'm the hollow kind--
    The pretentious kind,
    The kind who drinks drama
    From a wine glass as an excuse for life.

    I am the guy you met
    Last night at the party.
    The guy who boasted
    About having conquered the world,
    Yet the same guy who runs out of his depths
    The moment he steps out of his room.

    I am the "savage" kind;
    The kind that makes bold comments
    And tries acting "cool";
    The kind that slithers
    Behind the walls of hypocrisy.
    I am the one
    who doesn't give a damn.
    Yet, I am also the one
    who persistently screams for validation.

    My visions are clouded by
    Instagram filters.
    I am a mere shadow
    of my ancestors' memory.
    My mind is a wardrobe
    That smells of unused hangers.

    Yet I bleed and sweat my way
    To brick and mortar a stalwart dynasty,
    All the while filling the crevices in the walls
    With crisis and cat piss.
    I am a wet-brain loser who falls for girls
    Like an object who has just discovered gravity;
    I am a product of the masses--
    A domino effect gone wrong;

    I am a dude of the 21st century.

    My thoughts run in parallel.
    Always together, yet never coincident.

    Philosophy asks me to question the end
    Hawking asks me how it all began.

    Buddha makes me observe reality,
    The world forces me to fit into it.

    Election results making me
    take it all with a grain of salt,
    Game of Thrones,
    with a modicum of pepper.


  • godofsmallmusings 150w

    After a while. Read?

    #writersnetwork #pod #readwriteunite #mirakee

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    it has been a long while
    waiting for the rosy fingers
    of the morning sun
    to caress my face

    i am being constantly shaken
    in my own multidimensional delirium

    and forgotten
    as if a whisper in a sigh--
    i am shipwrecked
    on a remote island from where
    no one can save me

    i am a perfectionist--
    odd figures give me sleepless nights
    so do incomplete tasks--
    the half-way's
    the in-between's
    the almost's

    the bass has to be set at 69--
    68 is too low
    70, too high

    my coffee has to be boiling hot--
    i need the aroma spread around me
    like a blanket
    before i can drink it

    i always start walking
    right foot first
    and i won't take
    another step forward
    if i felt my shoe-laces
    were getting loose

    i am a visionary
    at least i think i am
    but am i?
    i don't know
    maybe i am just pompous

    i guess i am lost
    i guess i have always been
    or maybe i have been lost ever since
    i heard the word "LI-BER-ATION"

    trying to explain what i feel
    is like a grammatical error
    trying to seduce literature

    my thoughts--
    they triangulate around honeybees
    around cigarette smoke

    my dreams--
    they are like the twisted
    mesh of earphones
    i don't even care to untangle anymore

    i am bluntly equivocal
    i am optimistically unhappy
    i showcase normalcy
    but yearn for eccentricity

    my subconscious knows
    that I am pretending
    i don't trust it much though
    but maybe, just maybe,
    i don't pretend

    i am a hole in the universe
    from which darkness
    spills out like tar--
    spreading like liquid ache
    in the bodies of those who touch me

    so loneliness is one of my
    closest relatives
    so i have developed a tendency
    to act alone
    so i seek refuge and solitude
    in my own concept of happiness

    i am the hallmark
    of individualism

    i have sleepless nights
    when i think of my failures

    when i am tired
    i sleep forgetting everything
    then i wake up--
    my inner self scratch free

    i am a hybrid
    of all human emotions

    i advise people
    in their troubled times
    yet i am unable to tackle
    my own problems

    my subconscious
    again doubts my ability
    to advise others
    though i do not trust it
    its correctness will forever be
    independent of my judgment

    i will never know
    if my subconscious is right
    all i know is that
    it's my own unique subconscious

    we may not be unique
    we may be reflections of each other
    but the subconscious
    works differently for everyone

    but this time
    it's someone else
    it's not me
    it's a reflection
    what my subconscious wants to be

    this is not real
    it's not happening
    what you are reading is not real
    i am not real
    this subconscious is not real
    or is it?

    the truth is as terrible as death
    only harder to find
    but i have nowhere to go
    nowhere to be
    i live on this island
    and this island--
    it lives in me
    i am being constantly shaken
    in my own multidimensional delirium

    it has been a long while
    waiting for the rosy fingers
    of the morning sun to caress my face;


  • godofsmallmusings 165w


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    Coffee And Its Side Effects

    Sometimes I just sit somewhere and think. Many a times on the swing in my balcony, and accidentally most of the times I am driven towards contemplating what life is, in general. At times I stare at life's face too hard, look at those tiny bumps and craters, those blemishes and then into the depths of her eyes. And I am often, inevitably, made to think that it's all infinitely, perpetually perplexing.
    Often plagued by the haunting idea of eternity, I try to rinse away my fears and my questions with a strong, soothing cup of coffee. The unmistakable, yet gosammery scent never fails to bring me back to myself. And I'm made to think that perchance that's all life is - to simply be real.


  • godofsmallmusings 165w


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    Dude of The 21st Century

    Infinite lives reside in this body.
    I am a product of my past,
    All the people I have known
    All the places I've been
    All the hope I still cling to
    All my dreams I still escape to
    All my mistakes
    All my regrets
    All the pain
    And all my crimes I rather not mention.

    I'm the hollow kind,
    The pretentious kind,
    The kind that slithers
    Behind hypocrisy.
    I am the guy you met
    Last night in the party.
    The guy who boasted
    About having conquered the world
    Yet the same guy who runs out of his depths
    The moment he steps out of his room.

    I am the "savage" kind.
    The kind that makes bold comments
    And tries acting "cool".
    I am the one
    who doesn't give a fuck.
    I am also the one
    who screams for validation.

    My visions are clouded by
    Instagram filters.
    I am the mistaken identity
    Of an empty road.
    I am the shadow
    Of my ancestors' existence.

    I am a "dude" of the 21st century.
    I am not what you believe me to be.
    I am not what I believe myself to be either.

    I am a fool,
    A gypsy wandering in lust,
    Through this life.
    I have immersed myself
    In the search to find "me"
    And before long,
    I wouldn't even care what
    that even means.


  • godofsmallmusings 165w


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    Do You Know Him?

    Tell me, have you ever felt it-- that scary moment when the lightbulb on the ceiling above flickered and you knew that it would be out soon, leaving you in the dark, and yet you couldn't help it?

    Tell me of the time when you were calling out for help, or trying, as your voice filled the void with desperation, in an attempt to be heard, but overcome by the gusts of wind, as the avalanche mercilessly swallowed you whole.

    Tell me of the day when you were alone in that new city with absolutely no idea which road was going to lead you home.

    Or perhaps you could recall one of those moments when you looked at her, and saw her smile, and it struck hard that you weren't even close to the reason of her happiness and that she was never going to be yours. Hm?

    Your vulnerability is, oddly enough, an open book. So, hearty welcome to The Complete Idiot's Guide To Indefinite Helplessness, my friend.

    You see, there are barely a few factors that constitute a person's unique identity--the one by which we know them. But, uh, they are enough. And these 'real' identification marks are what makes them truly vulnerable.

    Do you think you know your roommate just by his taste in women? Or by his city of birth? Huh?

    Have you ever tried getting into his skin? Do you know which song he hums when he thinks no one is around? Do you know what he thinks just before he forces himself to sleep every night? Or about that itchy memory that still makes him form a lump in his throat?

    Have you wondered why that girl on the table across always puts a little extra chilly on her oh-already-so-damn-perfect pizza? Or why your well-to-do professor wears those same torn pair of shoes every day?
    Do you know why your father hates Crime Patrol that much? Or what your mother is most passionate about? Do you know of your best friend's needs?

    Tell me about you.

    Imagine you are on your deathbed and your whole life is flashing in front of you.
    Do you see those teeny-tiny moments that blink repeatedly? Why are they blinking? Are they moments of some significance? Yes?
    But you regret not having acted when there was still time? Or perhaps you acted and you wish you hadn't?

    Tell me, do you regret being more than enough hard on yourself sometimes? Or too slack? Do you regret not having been able to achieve anything valuable enough, make your country proud enough? Or even your parents?

    Tell me, do you regret not having read enough, or traveled enough, or seen enough? Oh, tell me my friend, do you regret not having LIVED enough while you were still breathing? (Hey, you're still on your deathbed)

    For let me know what's enough for you, anyway.
    Hell, do you even know what you fucking crave for, really? Could you even make a guess?


  • godofsmallmusings 165w


    How you all doin'?

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    Cigarettes Without Sex

    Your every puff
    Is slowly making life bleed
    Out from inside my lungs,
    Filling me with bits of voids
    Smoke and mirrors;
    Every now and then
    I find myself
    reaching out for you.

    You've got the worst of me, Sarah,
    Shouldn't be surprising.
    What was the source of my muse,
    Would be the end of me too.

    Yet I light
    Another roll of your memories
    And hope
    That you will not kill
    The days that await me.


  • godofsmallmusings 187w


    Bye. ��

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    God of Small Musings

    My conscience is crippled
    And the bones are all cracked;
    My tongue -- it's twisted,
    And mind, well, it's all whacked

    The ghosts of sweet summers
    Never leave the decayed castle
    And the fossils of everything I built
    Good things come to those who wait, they say
    But only the things left behind by those who hustle

    The light shines through
    And there's my arrow mark
    Wounds all bleed yet the scars will sing
    And before I know it, time will depart

    Have you ever heard
    the song of the dead bird?
    Ah, you must have stolen
    the peace of buried words

    Fire that makes glass
    melts it too
    And before you know it,
    bridges can be cages too

    Time doesn't move
    in a tomb so cold
    Now I am a part
    of the sacred and the bold

    I swallowed gasoline
    for the hollow men
    Throwing up my integrity
    To show just the hollow I was
    And how, just like them

    Darkness isn't as harsh as light
    Never did darkness ever hurt someone's eyes
    Don't come to me for optimism
    I'm not the one who boosts morale in a fight
    Unless you want a sickly
    Sugar coated lie

    I allow the smoke
    The me
    The present
    To be together these days
    Lest the voices should remind me
    To dissolve into thin air.

    I've faced rejection more times than I can count
    That's why it's the only thing I can actually block out
    I'm not a fan of the self righteous man
    I'm more of a personification of doubt.

    Not everyone can fly without wings,
    Nevertheless I try to become the god of small musings.


  • godofsmallmusings 187w


    I fetched from the hills
    A flower for her lawn.

    "There's no room";
    She said, swaying an arm
    Across the massacre of weeds.


  • godofsmallmusings 187w


    //The girl lived in his heart. It echoed post evacuation.

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    I Knew a Man

    Blending their toxins in his blood,
    The words would crumble upon themselves;
    He detonated a million times on the inside,
    But nothing told his countenance;

    He would trip on a tiny gravel,
    Shiver on a mere thunder;
    A bell kept ringing in his ears,
    Of what would seem like shattering hanker;

    His heart had the aspects of an echo,
    When his love changed her residency;
    Uncouth girl!
    Couldn't she show a bit of clemency?

    His smile was but a
    Carving on a rigid stone;
    What better analogy can I give
    Except for a frog's pretentious baritone?
    He would dodge everyone to shell
    Himself up in his self established maze,
    An amazon of simple joys,
    And life,
    Set ablaze!

    Earlier the tears clouded his vision,
    Just as the emotions stormed his arid soul;
    But a sparkling rainbow was soon to be seen
    As the sun was scheduled to come on its daily stroll.