Microsmos

Career. To make the ends meet And To sit in the driver's seat. Should we make the daily run? Just to see the morning sun? Passion. To feel that fire At Your heart's desire. Should we, maybe, shovel it deep? And not let a drop of it to seep? Love. To just part away from logic And Be swept away by magic. Oh, could this run our lives? And not just be parting good-byes?

Abdullah and Pari. Idris and Timur. Nabi and Wahdati. Parwana and the twin sister. And I swear there's at least one more side story that I'm missing here. And The Mountains Echoed by Hosseini takes the readers back to the sunny rogue lands of Afghanistan only to tour Europe and US later. It tells us the stories of siblings and their complicated relationships, which for all the sane reasons seemed way too forced and artificially built up. Around six side stories introduces the readers to how six different pairs of people can be siblings in six different ways. Hmm, she is my friend. And we aren't related by blood, but know what, she's my sister! Well, he is technically my cousin, but he is as close as a brother to me. Fyi, I hate him though. She's my twin! He's my employer and am his driver. Uh, we could be siblings eh? One could sense the efforts that the author had taken to bring in as many ways that two ppl can be thought of as siblings as possib...

Let's run away... Run away, Afar and alone To the walls of silence And forgotten stones. Let's run away... To the oceans deep Where tides are none And tears can seep. Let's run away... Into the deep dark woods Where no creatures sound With no soul around. Let's run away, friend... Into our past lands Through sands of time And our entwined hands.

We watch the waves that reach the shore Like those words that cross our lips But, what if there is something more? Like gurgling currents in the deep abyss; And wars of thoughts shattering the bliss.

Not a star. Deceivingly near to be so far Of craters filled with smoldering scars. Like a kite With string strung tight Drenching the night with soothing light. You and me Let's swim the sea Of love, passion and morning tea.

Bees we are, a little and some lot Trying to meet some of our own sort. Met a bee once, on a fine fair day "Hey, this is my name", I smile and say. Hobbies and likes and all sun and dry Convos covered with nothing left to pry. I say, "I'm not here to stay And what about you, if I may?" He goes, "But I ain't here just for a day Unlike some, I'm not here to play" With a swift left swish, he goes abuzz Leaving me with A smug grin and 'God! What a wuss'. Well, yes this was tumbling... And with it will follow the mumbling... But Even if the night comes ahead rumbling, That's what it is to be Bumbling.

Memories.  Yes, memories. Stored in a dimension unbeknownst to man - yet, wrecking havoc and joy in an otherwise colourless world. Like where are these memories even arising from? Is there a genie inside each of our brains, that gets released when the slightest sensation of a place or smell rubs some Aladdin lamp off? Is there really a Cartesian theatre in our deep abyss of mind that puts up a Broadway show every now and then to garner claps or stones, smiles or tears, depending on the script? And then, it dawned on me. How strikingly similar they were to leeches.  No, I’m not kidding. The very same - black, kind of slimy, totally ugly, but the kinda sorta useful helminth. Consciously recalled memories are like consciously placed leeches on our body. The very same ‘medical procedure’ that costs a buttload to put some worms on our skins to suck out the bad blood. Well, Taylor Swift will be interested. Anyway, these type of memories help open the curtains to let t...