A stigma called Crisis of Conscience.
Those Impulsive Feet of mine
From those scaling heights world seemed clear, the wind mingled and I felt the part of it. But my impulsive feet brought an end to the fairy tale. I dived feeling breathless, my eyes were filled with shades of blue. Those thundering waves, those darker shades of water were standing tall to gallop. On my part, I wasn’t familiar with that scenic reality. Those waves trains appeared friendly, I felt I would surf through them just like those tangible fishes hurrying across, melting into the horizon.
The depth was beyond my imagination, the silent blackout there had a hideous scream. I was throwing my legs and hands amid the suffocation to imitate the sea life, there flawless camaraderie with the blue.I felt as if an anonymous dark energy is envy of me.Even the water gods were dethroning me.My survival instincts were jeopardized.Drowning deep inside, my impulsive feet became slavish, i cursed them for being the culprits.I felt for my conscience, it submerged into crisis.
I am a Romantic
Love , life , nature, woman, poetry, prose, 'On the Rocks', all the gushing and simpering, the beaches, sunset, sunrise, a little drizzle, a little breeze, all that tenderness are portent of that romanticism that dwells within a romantic.I am no different, living like a bohemian seeking for another of my kind.Sometimes i run away from reality and my survival instincts, those instincts which are the stepping stones to experience all the romance.Often i wander with the phony image of mine, i stroll on the streets with all those words rhyming inside, kidding myself that i am the God's child, in the destiny's cradle.He will make my way somehow, knowing the fact that here,one has to make his bones himself.
I summon myself as an artiste, almost boastfully lagging behind that empathy for people around.They often find me bizarre, entitle me as a hypercondriac.I am so wrapped up deep down inside that all the romantic vibes are trapped in the cocoon of my thoughts only, they never feel the air.I never find any bliss or excitement around me.I ask in disdain, why do i lack the proximity with physicality? Who to blame for all the mess?.The conscience is fighting its crisis.
I crossed my play field
He chose his vision, he pursued it, he realized the moment of glory.Three phrases defines a legendary tale.I read it somewhere and here i was all geared up like a samurai warrior to become a big shot.I was with me then, every thought, my conscience, the road were aligned.The road was my field of play, i pranced all over it, discovering new destinations, new sources of energy.I gained momentum ignoring those cam nights, the equilibrium of mine.
I found some friends and some foes on the other side of that road, humming and whistling down the lane as if they are immortals.My road was coming to its end but the journey sucked the marrow of mine, my conscience was put to test.I crossed my field of play and embraced my friends and my foes.They oscillated back and forth having no driving force, i stuck with them for a while but soon went out of sync with there symphony.Soon i realized there were mere phonies, unperturbed from there consciousness, from the fact that they will stale to death.Eventually i was left behind with another road to conquer.