Dilemma

Hazy, yet not saying it’s not clear. Confused, yet clarity hides behind the cushion covers of the holy mind.

Dazzling, yet not impressive enough to torment achievements and wake them from sleep to google inventions. Rusty, because too much is still not enough to consume riveting stories.

Perplexed with such goodness around you, the anti still lives to see some life and squeak through for blemish-less happiness. Yet, good times ahead.

 

perfection lives through ignorance

Perfection does not lead you to oblivion, it gets you closer to it. Doesn’t matter how long you practiced it, you will fall short as long as excellence chases you.

It isn’t naïve to believe am not perfect, no one is. When people say ‘I am Perfect’, it means the individual is good at something that you are not. He is better, probably much better, but isn’t God. You are good at something he almost doesn’t practice but you don’t tell him. You either don’t care or you can’t. You are mortal.

I say ‘am perfect’ 100 times in a day. The other person across doesn’t respond, not because he isn’t perfect but he fears that revealing the core definition of perfection might self-inflict a sense of animosity towards the integration of human behaviour. Saying ‘I am’ is much easier than saying ‘I am not’.

Nothing is perfect, at the sub conscious level. Work without policies, roads without rules, night without day, shade without trees, achievements without failures. All of these is something we all would like to happen but the tide is never on your side, so is the story here.

Perfection has no alibi. You can be near prefect, be the champion in what you do, encapsulate theories through the palm of your hand and be a master story teller. But, yet, still, no alibi. No persuasion. No stimulants.

Random genius, an act of isolated phenomena, an occurrence coming out from lady luck, camouflage, acts out of prejudice. None is perfection.

Being despicable isn’t an invited proposition, never with perfection. But can glide over, when required. Not inane, but certainly susceptible.

Yes. I agree. My days are far away, and reachable. 

vintage bits

Coming out of darkness to regain calm is mortal, I braced out of sunshine to visit better borders.

Vision and contemplation were undoubtedly kindled,
Hopes, vicious hopes and much more played tantrums.
Curiously joyous and provocatively desirable, hungry to achieve. More.
Continuos regeneration and demanding minds let go of myself in a quest.

First, then second. First again. No, second. This time, it’s first.
Fiddling priorities, dwindling fortunes, precarious patents.
Unknown landscape, beautiful sights, urban and honed structures.
Likewise features, uniformity in cultures, compassion is contrived but evident.

Challenges galore with delights of a lifetime,
Persistent modes, dentures of a different kind, palatial motives.
Fellows of gorgeous proportions, meandering thoughts, loveable melancholy.
Strength is yourself, rest is an inspiration of undisputed valour.

Travelling met elation, staggering jewels amongst widespread.
Food, grassroots, rainbow, people, snow-laden, long stretches, heaps of roads and tunnels.
Revisit bundles of fantasy, live through filmy stones, stun self with spectacle.
When me became the epitome of precocious audience.

House of dreams live by, continue is the game of thrones.
Dreams dont end, and am a Pheonix of the stone age.
Times turn, we remember, tenaciously survive. Astound but not magnum.
I am in, am back, am enliven, I live.
I am not back, I never left.

Fables disconnect..

Wondrous moments never occur in sequences, they are meant to be beautifully derailed and viciously famed. Not to mention, unexpected and curative to add as incentives. My days are good with coated pleasure and the former have self confessed turbid thoughts.

My ordeal isn’t a tale, but has gorgeous elements of miscarriage. And, would not slid away from those credentials of pampered futility as long as a force merges itself with the condiments of hope, safe and persistence.

Unsurmountable isn’t mine, though. It doesn’t require a meagre to fume hearts, nor does it require a famished belly to quench your fist. Both, mind you, are irrelevant and significant oaths of perennial paths.

Statements, quite petite and wrenching, would seldom quote marvel at its despicable veins. And emotions, ah! those that define vulnerability at its moulded worst would patiently wait for the discreet collapse of the inner mettle.

Incomplete, yes. But not in the mirage of a contained barracks. If the little one’s precious is garbage cans of discarded patents, I am, at my disposal, to fret and rise at the brink.