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Scribble 5

Why there are voices in my head
Contrasting to what I get
Grow up, grow they say
You have to find your way
If you haven’t started yet
How far will you get
What if you reach nowhere?
What if you are too late to be there?

The voices are just too smart
I don’t think they even have a heart
They say these are the ways of world
You have to run run and run
They command not to look back
They insist it’s just too dark
They say there is a lot to fear
I say I don’t care

I tell them that I can see mum back there
They ask how will she get here
Mirages are not for real
Shut the fuck up and get over the ordeal

I sigh that I have no one
They question the need for someone
They insist it’s not a usual journey
It’s over friends, family, luxuries and money

I whisper am I mad
I ask if I am mad
I shout if I am mad
I scream if I am mad
But the voices just don’t come back


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Some List

I'll be writing on from now on.

“You call yourself a writer but I never see you using a pen”“That’s coz I type on the laptop sweetheart”“Then you should call yourself a typer (she meant typist)”
This is my conversation with my five-year old cousin sister. She really has a valid point here. It’s so valid that I considered renaming my blog to ‘The Typist’. I could have gone with philosophical answers like:
“It doesn’t matter when thoughts flow, you can use anything to give it a physical form. It can be a pen, charcoal, brush, spray and of course now-a-days my life KEYBOARD.”
But, I guess it’s best to let women win irrespective of their age. Well that’s what I wanted to write about from quite some time. Eating out a lot lately and had some chances to sit quietly and look around. At times, I really feel bad about the plunging levels of ‘mannerism’ when people are out with a girl. Of course, in any way, I can’t be called an expert or even an intermediate at this b…