Our tongues stained pink with the sweetness of childhoods past,
young dreams that played in the sun
and came home with grimy faces and broken knees.

Sweat stinging their lips salty and shiny eyes
Oh the childhood of sweetness past.

Staining dreams gone old.
the pink of sweetness past
in the pink of sweetness spent.

PS: missing my childhood and remembering my old friends of St. Michael's...
PPS: Happy friendship day to my beloved friends who were there in my entire thick and thins.

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Dear folks,

 

I read a couple of my favorite blogs recently which forced me to come out of hibernation. That need to blog again -- if you are an ardent blogger, you would know the feeling! But I felt if I were to blog now, I wouldn't have anything interesting to say other than how irritating my B-Tech life has become or how cranky the DI and Quants classes makes me feel nowadays. Yup, I have bored  very much in the past couple of months  doing nothing and hence instead of indulging in self-pity, I decided to spice up my blog a lil. It has been bland for a long time now, hence I decided to go Red! 

 

Regards 

praveen

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I feel the need to write today although I have no reason or inspiration to do so. I can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound like everything I’ve said here before. If I write anything at all, it’ll be woven around my standard nonsense- those stale ideas of constancy, numbness, discomfort, timelessness, changelessness, hopelessness, unease. They are like the keywords in describing my every experience. So any effort to put down thoughts is guaranteed to fail.

I dive into a fictitious world every free waking minute of my life, unless my mind is too tired for it. And that happens way too often. My neural networks are catching dust; poor Na+ ions seem to be perpetually perplexed. And the neurotransmitters are probably on a holiday. Disorientation reigns. It’s a state that is inflexible and unaccommodating. It causes reluctance to carry out activities that are typically fun. Quite plainly, it’s dull and renders one incapable of exercising will. The psychologist calls it a mood disorder. The psychiatrist calls it mental strain. The pragmatist calls it a phase. The theorist calls it a threshold. The artist observes silently. The narcissist calls it (pronouncedly) idiocy. The commoner calls it sadness. The realist calls it life.


Summer’s approached with summer vacation. The 12-pm direct heat on the forehead feels incredible, almost like a physical blessing. Long walks on sultry afternoons are therapeutic. I colour the world around with the music in my ears. Life becomes easy again, free of bother, no tension of studying and masturbating with R.S KHURMI, and no more THERMODYNAMICS – in harmony with my surroundings and with friends and siblings.
I AM ENJOYING......

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Guys,

No doubt that the heart will still pine for the best friend even if, your friend rewards you with the word like “get lost” or “fuck off” or just go to hell….

This one is for my friend …..

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