Something of Myself

Don't mind...

The mind is an amazing space. Full of so many things. Sometimes I think our entire life is shrinked in our minds. Like a capsule.

That is why it is so difficult to read somebody’s mind.

The mind is an amazing storehouse. Of memories. Of desire. Of triumph and defeat.

That is why it is so difficult to put it simply. Chronologically. Born 1981. Died 2004. What is it that happened in between?

The mind is my lover. Passionate. Wandering. Un-grounded.

That is why it is so difficult to reciprocate. Feelings aint neat my friend. Neither am I. Nor is my mind.

The mind is an amazing refuge. Pile of shit. Bed of roses. Broken dreams. Fragmented desires.

That is why it is so difficult to take refuge in it. A contradictory world – full of me. Like the rising waves…forever bound to fall. And then rise again.

The mind is not who I am. Don’t be fooled by it.

I am where my heart is.

Vulnerable.
Soft.
Cracked.
Palpitating.
Boisterous.
Of systoles and diastoles. And ventricular walls. And arteries. And veins. Of blood. Real. Dark red. Flowing. Gushing. Inexorable.

Directionless.