Moment of Painting

Staring at the walls I see my childhood picture hanging.  Facing a direction as an art-piece or statue fixed to a surface. I find myself back into childhood. Often I see in movies and science fiction books authors and actors talk about what they call time machine. But my only question is about my acceptance back in time? Are the things still same? If so I don't want to change even any part of life just want to capture all those joy and sorrow into words. There is no way I think to redraft a picture that was perfect back in time. Every moment is a treasure in its own.

Neither am I a regular dreamer nor a professional painter but this early morning in my bed just before I open my eyes. How long will I live? The moment I am caught with hot breadth, sneeze and fever. It's unpleasantness to live a lonely sick life.  Time is not same to everyone. People say joy and sorrow are two parts of the life, but for me joy is somewhere in the piles of sorrow.

I wonder "Who else will cry evenly with my tears for all those pain I bear" All have to bear their part of joy and sorrow. Often I see people who neglect the sorrowful parts and seems enjoying every-time. Is it what I am deceived or the real scene that holds true. 

What you see I may never see the same.Cloudy nights when stars are on vacation and I see the fireflies it feels like stars come to earth to play together. The starry sky has fallen to make me feel and enjoy the moments no one else could have.

Unknowingly I find myself falling from the sky, down into reality. Until now I lose it all. All my senses. Where was I lost – in vain?

Weighing heavy

Never on words, feelings flow like water in the spring, shocks that break the rhythm of pain when living the life as the shadow is. Darkness is neither start nor the end; it is where at times I feel separated from seen-unseen world. It feels like heading toward nirvana. Living life in vain to relieve from pain is not my ignorance but is sick aptitude.

I always ask, Why questions never die? They follow the trail I have never paved. Lonely I am, where I am but why without permission do the feelings disturb my meditation. I want to be free, as birds, as butterfly, as wind and ultimately as the feeling itself is.

Nowhere, I run to seek the answers. So they are left unanswered. As I don’t follow any rigid rules, I am free to do what I like. Like if the life is an open game that I play alone. Yes, I want to hide all those questions into memories so no other individual will approach to them and try to find what if they would do in situation as I am.

I wonder why don’t  I want answers? A funny question to go with. It’s just the game of words. I only believe in feeling. The senses say it all. It is easy to believe in the behavior then the words. It is easy to wait and see then to guess the alternatives. It is easy to leave the questions unattended then to seek the answers. It is what it is.

Chained by questions or, say I have into my custody the questions that I created made me weight heavier than usual. Who let the feelings flow like water in the spring? Why do the shocks break the rhythm of pain when living the life as light as the shadow is? And, why am I weighing heavy?