What is recurrent, changes shapes, rarely comes to life and almost always leads to regrets? Yes, you know what I’m talking about.
What is recurrent, changes shapes, rarely comes to life and almost always leads to regrets? Yes, you know what I’m talking about.
I would feel cheated for my money.
If I had paid good money, to buy silence.
Post purchase dissonance for sure.
I would rip open the package it was delivered in, but gently, aren’t all wrapping papers engineered to shout and crackle?
I would expect a whole day’s worth of deafening silence but I’d be in for a shock.
The early morning solace, pounded by the unrelenting waves of unfinished conversations playing back from last night.
The quiet coffee lull, shattered by the newspaper screeching its warnings about the world gone mad.
A long run up the hill, without a soul in sight, would fill my head with the noise of aborted work and the instructions I never uttered.
No one plays cassettes or tapes anymore but there is a broken down tape recorder in my head that is always powered up and replaying memories and songs I have long muted.
Try stuffing your ears with cotton and your head with reverberate with the echoes of your own thoughts.
That fellow commuter,listening to music on his earphones, will still, egged on by an incensed sense of politeness, murmur pleasantries while craving his own quietude.
Makes me wonder if it’s more polite to be quiet than to break someone’s quiet.
Did you know that even the sun sets with a slight thud? Everyone’s a talker I tell you.
And don’t even get me started about bedtime orchestras.
Those crickets are my sworn enemies.
If I was really delivered that package, I would send it right back!
A lanquid yawn escaping a shapeless mouth.
A stretch so sweet, promising to linger, you just know you’ll never be up and about.
Some giggles, some thuds, some pitter pattering feet.
The pressure cooker hissing away, promising a king’s feast.
The droning din from the television no one’s watching.
The window sill battle of the pigeon and crow, who’s winning, who’s lagging.
The washing machine is steady but shaking with passion.
The fruit vendor wafts by the window, shouting his prices in a sing song fashion
Feet are stacked on some more feet.
Hearts and tummies are full, it’s time for some more of that sleep so sweet.
Who would have thought the lazy, the familiar, and the mundane,
Could bring such peace and comfort, time and time again!
When is too much enough?
From the time we are born, it’s a steady diet of superstitions.
Don’t laugh too much, or you will end the day crying.
That’s too much happiness. Don’t jinx it.
I’ve had too much good luck, I’m in for a downward slide for sure.
Is it that we are scared of utter happiness?
Or is it just second nature to doubt normalcy and stability.
Why must our hearts be gripped with weary predictions of doom,
When it’s just so much easier to be happy and carefree?
Does an empty house with bare walls make you pine for what was?
Or does the resident laughter, the memories, the echoes that ricochet off the ceilings, rebound into your heart and light it up like a Christmas tree?
You can’t stop the sun from setting, the lights from dimming, the darkness from descending every night.
But what you can do, is welcome the rising sun with a smile, and tell yourself, that whichever side of the bed you get off, your glass will be half full every day of your life.
It felt like a day that should be forgotten, quickly.
Nothing made sense.
I looked at a wall, and upon this vast canvas I painted and projected all my contemplation.
Then suddenly you crawled into my lap. I hugged you and breathed in your tiny soft curls.
I will never forget that smell.
It was a heady mixture of baby powder, happiness, innocence, trust, joy and peace.
It carried me away on a cloud.
I was weightless, drifting, with your tiny trusting fingers wrapped around mine.
You gurgled and burped. This amused you so much that you toppled over laughing.
When was the last time I had embarrassed and entertained myself this way?
Back on the ground you crawled over everything that came your way, never losing that smile.
I wish I had thought of your resolve and tenacity when I needed it recently.
When you wrapped your tiny finger around mine, I knew I had to trust in my instincts as well.
For all the fancy schools and colleges and miles upon miles of books,
Some of life’s simplest lessons can be carried in the tiniest hands, you just need to know where to look.
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