Inadequate.

At times one remains faithful to a cause only because its opponents do not cease to be insipid.
- Friedrich Nietzsche

I do not do much. I do promise a lot though. I have never meant the words "yup, i'll take care of it". It should suffice to say, that I do say it often. Somehow, the whole laziness reaches zenith and I find myself not doing anything, minutes ticking away with due diligence. But yesterday, I found myself arguing about arbit positioning of stuff, and I have been doing that for weeks now. I realized I have actually fought for some very useless things through my life, that were of no specific value addition but I did them only because I had made up my mind to. I wonder if that is exactly how those foolish NGOs feel. That now that they have dedicated their cause despite being suppressed by a superior someone, they might as well continue as they have not much to do otherwise. So they sit in protest, stand in unison, collide to mock the others, and then go back to rest. Similarities apart, I am on this whole drama creation spree all alone and I am now beginning to get very sick of the whole abundance of cliched conversations and arguments. Soon, sanity will prevail and I will dedicate my time to things that will make my life a better life to live.

For long, I have done unto others what has not been done to me, but what constitutes mere amusement. The austerity with which I approach can leave them baffled for a few minutes. Sublime verses are said galore and I manage to take control. Going from underdog to dictatorship can encompass a whole set of emotions. And it is when I look down upon those, those whose life is at its nadir, I heave a sigh of relief, and tell myself I could not have possibly done a better job. Thinking in the negative has always come easy to myself. The whole pessimistic approach to life eventually helps get me more brownie points than I could have otherwise sought. Now when I sit down, total and see how many i did manage to accumulate, I get a sense of satisfaction but at the same time, I end up resigning to the sameness, the stillness, and the gloom that has now condensed. The clouds of which resonate. They shriek and shout and scream. And they burst in agony. I will not fall for it.

Because within, I know I will continue to ruin, myself more than what I do to others. Somber an existence, finite is this living.

Veneer.

And finally your fingers clipped
trying their best to win
and your hand studied my face
from the forehead to the chin.

So today i cut my fingernails
and clutched my face when
i did my best to figure out
what you had learnt back then.

A lonesome day.

Wet Behinds The Ears.

Her neatly folded hair get spread across her forehead. Immaculately clean finger nails further pointing towards the same. I wonder why she is not amazed at herself. I let myself get carried away. A bag she keeps by the wayside and her eyes seem stuck on the pleats of her shawl. She holds a musk sweater between her left arm and body, tightly held to ensure it will not slip away as easily as my eyes have. With a look so forlorn that at times it begins to scare me, she has a nose that is slightly skewed towards the left, with eyebrows pinched as if they mock those who stare. Her ears seem quiet and her sneeze would embarrass Mozart. A faint demeanor and nonchalant hands that speak of her quaint disposition. She stares now as if there is a sense of disassociation with dissonance in the outside world. In the quivering light of the room, I can observe the shadows her straightened legs make, encompassing the entire spread. They move incoherently as if they await comfort and she lets them settle on the brown pillow at the other end. The thump of the conditioner dissolves in her heartbeat and she feels comfortably mine. Another may cut a ridiculous position but she is numb in her stride, almost ignorant with a pale yet condescending thought. This impudence of hers may be criticized by the disinterested but I can steady my fill tonight. Her sturdy knees link her body to my chest and she quietly turns her head away to stare at the paint and my thumb and index finger twitch between her spine and the back of her head. She further moves only to turn around and stare at me in full force, arousing faint hope. The sweater lies dropped between us and the result is near comatose, combined with her intention to agonize tonight. Her wit overcomes my dryness and she lights herself a cigarette. Caught safely between her two fingers, she inhales providing much needed solace. Her toe nails are now hurting my feet but I am too pulsated by her limited looks to notice. She then quits halfway, pushes the ash intro the tray and faces me straight, her eyes fastening to a close, yet tenderly awaiting touch. She is now as quiet as death and she comes as close as she could without help. I raise my hand and I'd wish to intrude but something stops and refuses to infuse the last of my finite being. Her sanguine, so cardinal lips speak a language which I may oversee on look but sure could comprehend if needed, but as tired I am to work my mind, I am equally frazzled. I give her now well lit frame a glimpse, but enervated by movement, I grimace and shift away from the palpable niceties of life. Sometimes, sleep beckons with such weightiness that one forgets to read the headlines. Tomorrow, I shall get the news. Night.