The Morning Crow

"The cock shall not crow, till thou hast denied me thrice."

There’s this brief moment of silence, when you wake up, having this emptied blissfully nothingness of sorts - all layered up in fragments of disclosed closures.

Out & away from these strangled discomforts, as I (a stranded soul) stood there outside the corridors of my house, looking onto the road(street) int the post wee hours of an early morning, trying to deep breathe in the freshness of the morning moistened misty fog(shades of grey). These humidly moist laden layered winds started hitting my face and unnoticeable set of clouds passed by as I gazed up to this smudged sky. Closing my eyelids with a sigh of relief, deeper into a wishful thinking, leaning down into the enclosures of my very existence of happy & grief. Thy lied-within, innermost dwellings that must have definitely had many a stories to tell surrounding itself with everything else that unfolded in its own series of story-telling. 

Resisting in refusal & denials to the unspoken yet cautiously paused and mum by the already forgotten night, stepping onto the morning still afresh and new, to all that' that was passe memoirs of a night before & everything else, which was much spoken never spoken of, seen-unseen passages of time, that had lost somewhere in the glorified sunshine peaking its way out from those golden outlined clouded skyline. One more day that made me a day older, and a day wiser,that had by now already caught my attention & attentively hinting me to take this break away from the daily chores of nuances that shall hit me soon or later. There we things that needed to be addressed & I needed to get over with, by the passing time of the day.

There came this crow, struggling with a yellow coloured piece of paper, that was lying on the road, which had something stuck on to it, assuming it to be a rat most probably, I vigilantly kept watching the crow attending to his activity in viciousness in its attempts, trying to get this thing off with his beak. He grounded himself on to the sheet holding on to it with one of his legs, while one of his leg seem to have stuck on to the sheet of paper too. The sheet went left and right as the crow moved & he was caught in a double whammy of sorts by now - to get his leg of the sheet, & then to get of its prey off the sheet. I stood there noticing his chore 'playful-wilderness' to break a leg. Meanwhile there was a group of several other crows that came down following the sight. By now, the poor crow had somehow got one of his wings stuck to the sheet as well and no matter how hard he tried letting it off him, he just could not. The paper wont leave him, glued along to the flights he took. Somehow he managed to take this short raised flight with him still stuck to the sheet, entering into this balcony of a next door neighbor & off the road. the rest of the crows followed him,and he was surrounded by an irony of kinds.

Everything was hidden behind those parked vehicles and shrubs, plants & trees so that was the last time I had seen him and not sure if he got the paper off him (rescued) or not & whether did he managed to have a good meal(breakfast)? or was it the other crows who made there way to it. I don't know what happened to this little fellow.

"People once believed, that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens, that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes the crow could bring that soul back to put the wrong things right."

Reminding me of this story about the crow ,who was thirsty and made his way to quench his thirst by putting pebbles in that pot, letting water rise, so his beak could apparently reach inside the pot and he could no longer be thirsty. 

Pretty much with a positive thought provoking folklore & the scene that I had just witnessed, I by now had gathered in me the strength & forces in spirit, positive vibes instilled with wit and efforts that eventually made it to the possible outcomes no matter what. 

"thee was like the cock who thought the sun had risen to hear thy crow"

I came back in, with a bunch of flowers that I had picked from the balcony, which were fallen down on the outskirts - placing them flowing on the glass bowl full of water, kept near the window, to my room, that had by now a ray of thick sunlight falling on to it.

Strangely I felt everything finally was making sense out of senseless nuances of a morning parody, that came into being by now so far.The crow, the wind ,clouds, flowers and the sunlight & everything else that came following me this morning, as much as I followed my footsteps leaving behind few memories of footprints & as the day passes, I make sure to have mornings which were one of this kinds & which lasted pretty good.

"Victims, aren't we all"- Eric Draven

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I’ll laugh. And then I’ll know what life is. - Anonymous.

Come of Age - My Escort & my Cage

You look great, are you on a diet? No, no, no, I am not a fat little boy, and I know I’ve gained some weight. But you see, I happen to like pinching the rolls on my abdomen,

Fate. As a child, that word was often my only companion. It whispered to me from dark corners during lonely nights. It was the song of the birds in spring and the call of the wind through bare branches on a cold winter afternoon. Fate. Both my anguish and my solace. My escort and my cage.

Yesterday, mom put me to bed. She told me a story, a new one, she said. Her beautiful story was a tasty bait.Yesterday, i was only eight. I woke up with throbs in my head,My pink curtains were so white, instead. But, my dolls still stared the same.They never told me whom to blame. Was it mom who wished I grow? I saw her dandelions fly, as she used to blow. Or perhaps i have slept for too long.As she sang me my favorite song! My hair's now longer, my nails are French. I saw the differences on every inch. But, as well as i can recall,. I've never wished for this, not at all!

I still get very high and very low in life. Daily. But I’ve finally accepted the fact that sensitive is just how I was made, that I don’t have to hide it and I don’t have to fix it. I’m not broken. I must learn to love the fool in me - the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.

Lately I had this lucid dream that the phone rang and it was my deceased mother. I knew it was a dream but I thought it was really her and that she could contact me in the dream state. I was frightened to talk to her but I didn't want to let that show and hurt her feelings, so I tried to act cheerful and make banal conversation. I said "Hi, how are you?" She said, "I'm ‪ pregnant‬." I thought she must have gone insane and think she's alive and young again, but to humor her I asked, "Are you going to have a boy or a girl?" She said, "I am going to be a girl." I felt more and more uncomfortable and said, "I've got to go now; I'll talk to you later," and hung up. As soon as I woke up, the dream sounded like a reincarnation statement but during the dream it just sounded crazy and threatening somehow.

The day dawns, with scent of must and rain, Of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air. Under the fading lamp, half dressed -- my brain Idling on some compulsive fantasy -- I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare, Riveted by a dark exhausted eye, A dry down-turning mouth. It seems again that it is time to learn, In this untiring, crumbling place of growth To which, for the time being, I return.Now plainly in the mirror of my soul I read that I have looked my last on youth And little more. Below my window the wakening trees, Hacked clean for better bearing, stand defaced Suffering their brute necessities; And how should the flesh not quail, that span for span Is mutilated more? In slow distaste I fold my towel with what grace I can, Not young, and not renewable, but man.

There will be a few times in your life when all your instincts will tell you to do something, something that defies logic, upsets your plans, and may seem crazy to others. When that happens, you do it. Listen to your instincts and ignore everything else. Ignore logic, ignore the odds, ignore the complications, and just go for it. ―Judith McNaugh

All I know if someone did asked me" Hello, how are you"? I would reply - I am doing well, thank you, I breathe fire, but do not worry, I am dragon and I am invincible - Anonymous.

Utterly, Buttery & Delicious

Live a balanced life. Learn some and think some, and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. - Robert Fulghum

Scratching myself (head-down-bum-up) - almost everywhere now & then, makes me feel so prehistoric. Despite a well shampooed bubble bath, a soap here & there - now! don't ask me all where? The frustration is that scratching the itch only makes matters worse. This summer is a witch - turning me into a butt-head chimpanzee struggling to reach out places (an itch you cant quite scratch). Its been a  quadrennium or even more, I’ve adapted myself to the essential necessary. Believe me I ain't a xerophyte, I need ample amount of water too. I always wanted a swimming pool or a big tub, where in I could bathe. I had one long back, but as my size grew, the more it got difficult to fit myself in & the amount of water it took to actually fill that thing up made me gave up the very idea of having one. I always wanted to dug & puddle a small pond inside the interiors of my house all by myself or having someone inside with to cuddle. There were some who could stay underwater & there were most of them who didn't knew how to swim & were possibly afraid of getting drown, but absolutely enjoy & love splash of water.

The other day, I laid on the bed stark naked, exposed to the showers(drizzle)of the water cooler - completely letting it pamper me & have a piece of me (bathing & conditioning) I was caught in a fanciful solitude in between the two fascinated ones. While, the left side of me, enjoyed being infused & fed with deliciously mouth watering musk melon & papaya & listened to music, right side enjoyed being(amused) blown away by the moist yielding winds(droplets) that would  almost dry in fractions of time, toweling up the heat. I made sure, there wasn't any part of my flesh, left untouched. I just didn't wanted my musings to get affected by this petrifying annoyance(heat).

Chimpanzees don't talk at all, they just make noises. what if they ever started conversing - I always wonder: what would they talk about?

I’ll tell you about this few steps away neighbor, who I have known for sometime, specifically through our childhood days, (when we used to interact and spend time together). Seeing her lately taking a stroll on the street after a real long time, with her petted four-legged breed. It was nice to hear, what's up from her, but then the conversation went no further after I said nothing much, you say, going on. and there it ended, before it even started. But the act of being noticed & acknowledged & initiating a conversation was a kind gesture. I decided to catch hold of her next time, hopefully soon to exchange numbers and stay connected. I noticed her again, but by the time, (that got wasted in dressing myself up) I went out, she had already gone. 

There are often these four-legged ones, who pass by, with there two-legged breeders, who just wont communicate. At times, when without any specific agenda you felt like you needed to converse with a person irrespective of any apprehensions whatsoever - The end result might vary, it either could be a harmonious or an unfriendly one. There is always this curiosity or a craving for doing things that you want to. We all fall prey to things & people that attract & appeal us - getting our attention. Please don't mistake me for being a Don Juan, I am just a friendly orangutan.

I am too down to earth when it comes to dressing up, specially when I am at home. I believe being in a petite state & wearing just about anything would do. I might have an unkempt hairdo, that's probably because I’ve just been out of the bed or possibly didn't got time to trim those prominently visible facial hair - tucked in an untidy, old loose fitting cloth that you would often find me in. I tell you, this heat has been doing no good to me & neither does the extreme cold. As much of a social obligation wearing clothes has become, there could be justified reasons either way for wearing some or wearing none. Could we just do away with the drapes & be kids(in birthday suit) dressed in diapers or nothing at all - all day long like prehistoric apes.

Besides being capable of embarrassment & so vain - even caring for the opinion of those we don't care for, there is so much that a little head is capable of doing, often considered as the heaviest weighing part of the human body. Although the largest & heaviest brain belongs to the sperm whale. I couldn't simply sit all by myself all day long in solitude & meditate. Its not like too much of meditating would make me an asexual cenobite or something but then. I wasn't meant to only remorse over the bitterly - avoiding the sweetness of utterly buttery delicious or cheesy? It was my choice to befriend or avoid handful of tasks - difficult or easy. 

"When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart - Honor grows from qualms. It is the beginning of moral consciousness."

Let me hear, see or say no evil - if now that makes me a cogent capuchin (most intelligent new world monkey), I am willing to take the risk. I would rather breed than to greed(commit acts of debauchery),leading to the abolishment of ugsome deeds of beguiling behoove.  
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I shall praxis thy and abjure by - It is utterly simple. - Anonymous