P.S. I Love You

Encountered within and ever bounded with nature
smart, cute, sexy, at the same time mature.
Your aura hovering like the sting of a bee
unbearably sweet yet sharp as it could be.
Incredible individuality with searing warmth
to which one could mercilessly be conned.
Innocent and shy, making me wanna skip a beat
every time you appear is no less than a visual treat.

An unexpected greet in a casual meet
while away in a mountainous retreat.
Never thought about it, didn’t realize how soon it grew
all turning into
P.S. I Love You

More than lust, much more than attraction
growing past each second with the swiftness of more than a fraction.
Without a sense of fear, without a traction
existence solitary seemed to be on its way to resurrection.

Mind games of the two aberrant souls
never getting through further than unlike poles.
Although never said out loud, unsaying it was a cue
with my cheeks now red, just wanna put it through
P.S. I Love You

Your hold as firm as a perfect frame
as warm as a glow of flame.
Your touch as deep as a current’s prise
as exhilarating as a breezy rise.
Your whisper sending chills down my spine
feels as though someone pulled a twine.
Your kiss as passionate as a deadly wrath
the moment we connect I forget all my math.

The spoken silence for memories timeless
an unsaid unite, all for a telepathic caress.
The bare existence for a beautiful lieu
not outta the horizon, outta the blue
P.S. I Love You

The adventurous journey seasoned with ups and downs
here, there and everywhere, bottom of a pit to the top of a mount.
Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours to call
flocked with psychedelic colors, black and white and grey and all.

Moving in sync with timeless tunes
head over heels, heart over the moons.
Yapping to glory, letting out the kitty
jippity jappity rippity rappity.
Hallelujah is to Jesus, as My World is to You
P.S. I Love You

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A Blueprint to Survival

It is a gratifying perception when you are able to comprehend the tag you would like to be given. The label with which you would like people to identify you with one fine day. The dawning comprehension you are led to as a result of all those siloed and stolen moments stemming from countless retrospections makes you only marvel at the blueprint that lay in front of you already. And this is when you feel like smacking your head. With a leather-bound hardback, may be? How could you have missed noticing this could-not-have-been-a-plainer-Jane layout earlier?

For someone as fidgety and fickle-minded as I am, to draw an inference as this is no less than a celebratory deal. I will not have a response even today for someone who asks me where I see my career head six months later. But of course, with the mercy of certain divine powers (gag intended), the orientation has found its tenor. They say a book only gets better with every page you want to turn. This pensive journey is no less. For there undoubtedly lies a series of signs, triggers, skullduggery and mazes to stream through before one can even get to spot the island while aboard the ferry.

Honestly, the quest commenced when I was grade six, and in the middle of my Geography examination. I was no Christopher Columbus back then, however, when the teacher handed me my paper, all she said to me was, “You are just playing with words.” Unabashed, I looked her in the eye, received my paper and returned to my seat. As I grew older, I started enjoying my English examinations, especially the sections on Comprehension and Essay, for these left you to your imagination (or so I thought they did, anyway!). All too soon, I had approached the uber cool-sounding twenties, and was into my first independent job. From an ultra-enthusiastic fresher to a salaried employee, the tangential curve of learning spanned a projectile, and I felt married to my work. And one fine day, I found myself being slapped awake from a drunken stupor of unfavourable alterations. Just like that. I wanted to be mad. I wanted to be leashed out. I was direly thirsty, and I wanted to be unchained from those never-ending pet-sitting workouts. A mere sip of water would have done the trick. For it was enough to spit back.

Change must be the only constant – I support the funda anyway. When change occurs for good, it can aid in greatly favourable endeavours leading to progress and growth garnished with that occasional (yet welcomed and rewarded) bout of stress. When you like what you do, there tags along too discernibly that tingling sensation of accomplishment. The bottomline being – there is a bottle of champagne waiting just for you back home, to be uncorked. That derived sense of satisfaction and a meaning to your existence is unmatched. However, when the coin flips over in the name of change, the newness can only engage you for a while. Such individuality transcending into a routine is when patterns of the dynamics come across as being dissatisfactory, leading you to draw not-a-very-good analogy of a win-win situation.

When I say I wanted to be unleashed for a mere sip of water at my workplace, it is a tad too obvious to be even playing ‘guess what?’ to determine the side of the coin that had flipped my way. With way too many vicissitudes, anticipations of whether I wanted to choose to continue delivering the way I used to, and whether I wanted to agree to the renewed sense of professional guidance landed me to a zone heavily sedated with question marks. Needless to mention, it was a thoroughly demotivating state while being reduced to cinders and of that of a meaningless existence. It was time to crawl out. Figuratively and literally.

I could have either lifted my rear off at the workplace by carving out a niche within my profile, thereby justifying my big, fat, guaranteed pay check at the end of every month, or I could have called it quits. Alternatively, I could have gone on with the uninteresting means at work to meet my obligatory ends and utilise the time to delineate my strengths, or I could have looked for another of such ‘cushioning effect’ jobs. The choices and the rationale behind these choices is a discussion left for another day.

It has been three years since. Here I am with a blog space, and more significantly, with a committed mission to doodle over it for as often as I can. The tickle of wholeness that washes over every single time is no less than that tipsy sensation rewarded after two alcoholic pegs. Had it not been for the boredom and lack of initiatives at workplace, this might have been yet another opportunity I might have stared back at, while still frantically searching for my Christopher Columbus moment!

I wish to be known as a Writer. The label I want to be tagged to one fine day. Oh, and I celebrated my five-year anniversary just last week at my workplace.

For all you know, a blueprint might be weaving out your design just in this nick of the moment. Seeking your undiluted attention. Care to share?