For Narcissus...

There is a song to sing for happiness, they say,
A song for despair too.
For pure lament, nostalgia, love,
Affection, attachment,
Pain, Discontent.

All he sought was himself.
Like Narcissus, he sang the song of self-love,
His own pain, joys, regrets, lessons,
Life's agonies revisited and performed,
Again and again.

Oh, the hours one wastes
Near the pale whiteness of Narcissus's face,
To know the Narcissus in him,
It takes an immense life time, you see,
A string of numb, deceiving days.

To turn now and see the mocking Sun
To witness the irksome garden and rain,
She shall teach her heart, by and by,
That song of sweet Revenge.

The Skies shall see that
Moon-lit hour,
When Narcissus sits and broods.
The hour of a new agony,
Her gift,
When another's pain in his heart intrudes.

Nemesis, she needs you not.
I see that venom, that power
That Song of Revenge
Shall fill the blue air,
When Narcissus walks in that her-willed hour.

All the world's a stage...

We know not what we are made of. I don't...I know. Our claims are our whims. Or, at best, our wishes. There is a satisfaction in thinking of oneself in particular ways. May be, we aren't that. Who knows?
We are not that which we talk. Talk is talk. Its simply a version. May be actions help. But, they carry their own intent- of being seen in certain ways, of making certain impressions, of protraying oneself in a certain genre? Where do we actually belong? When are we out of the play? Off the stage? Un-acting?
Thoughts might actually constitute some kind of inner voice. Things we say to ourselves perhaps are a better reflection of that within us? May be we tell ourselves "act nice", "wear that one...", "he'll like it..", "she''ll approve...", "oh...all this lecture", "they arnt worth it...", "i need to get away...", "one more glance and she'll be in.."?? ;)
May be we act out our entire lives. Say things people want to hear. Do things they would appreciate. Make impressions round-the-clock.
And so we change. For good. For bad. In somebody's good books. Out of somebody's wish-list.
Who do we think we finally are? That which we were trying to be all our life? Or a bad version of our "original" selves. Will happiness be closer then, or Illusion be our new reality? Is that called metamorphosis or self-deceit?
Why do we need to think before talking? Dress-up with an eye on others' taste? Order food and bother about plates and tongues? Why do we need to bring any one around? Live up to any one's image? Or, may be create and live our own? Why do we need to be bohemian, chic, elegant, intellectual, sophisticated, cute, sharp, humoruous, witty,brainy, melancholic, dreamy? Anything?
Being is not enough. Life has its own traps. Living is perhaps that...an entrapment. A desperate attempt to get into Life and then get out of it.
In the interim...All the world's a stage...

Morals of Multiple Stories:

-Ideally, you should help drive the last nail in the Coffin.

-Mistakes can be avoided if you stop ackowledging them.

-Courtesy should be practised. Even to the dying.

-Silence is Golden. Beacuse words are fake.

-Move On. Or be pushed aside.

-You are happy. You dream too much.

-Options help. Even when Option is just a word.

-Life goes on. No time to see where.

-Happiness!? The word sounds cool!

-And...In the end...there's actually THE END.

Old-Fashioned

If you skipped today's daily, news is that I was recently called old-fashioned by somebody. Details are not to be revealed as the case is currently under investigation. But, this comes to you directly from the horse's mouth, so you better SIT-UP-AND-TAKE-NOTICE. (Hope you have by now!).
I did not react. Not much. One cannot, sometimes. Yes, even if 'one' is me.
My patent strategy of part-mockery, part-overconfidence, part-stubbornness didn't rescue me. Something penetrated my skin. Just deep enough to be a bluish, bad prick.
My wise, old heart has begun doing the damage-repair. It tells me there are a zillion ways I could justify I am a NEW WOMAN (but..but...but..can women be new? or, only girls are that??). I talk, think, write, live in ways that are incomparable to the bleak tag of being old-fashioned!!May be, if I tell you all my ideas (even the ghastly, guarded ones) you would think I am well ahead of my times, like all great thinkers are.
On the other side, whats so bad about being old-fashioned haan? It just makes you a rarer species around..the nostalgic-wostalgic, "value"-loaded, guarded, obscure, crazy, antique types...adjectives, I don't really mind!
So, either way its a win-win situation for me you see. The case is in my bag. (no, I wont say kitty!!).
Question is...how are the guilty to be punished?

:)