Is it human to belong?
Dialogues are reflections of self, and such dialogues withstand the brute force of time and space. The spatial degree of separation is further marred by early onset of recurring familial tragedies.
My irascible nature unhinges inside the four, white-washed walls of a place I call home. With an echoing steed of past, resonating nothing but constant disapproval, I have come to terms with dismembering myself from the general anatomy of belonging. The sense of a surreal relation whereupon one is bound to forfeit personal longings and a continuance of sacrificial demands are impinged, I fail. Hence, I falter:
The nature of events unfold as I become wary of my irremediable surroundings. A distant memory, however docile it may be, can influence a tirade of nostalgic occurrences. This is the first degree of ‘belonging’.
At the apex of isolated sentiments, seeking shade under unbridled faith  and constrained discomfiture lies a second and much harsher degree of ‘belonging’.
Undergoing aforementioned degrees with hopeless, silent perseverance marks a third degree of ‘belonging’.
Patience as a virtue is employed, but as a trait is rare. Here it relates to an eventual ‘belonging’ that dawns in the finality of earth years.
My early morning musings shall resolve zilch, but a self-imposing satisfaction will feed leverage to my much strained conscious. Again I ask  but with a contrast.
Is it human enough to belong?


For after dark wonderings, the thought of misery suffices. My sated curiosities are awake once again in a pelagic tremor. It just dawned on me that the world has always been miserable in a cyclic time warp: before you or me existed. The course of world events have mirrored on eons of civilisations, empires & nations.
I have now come of reasoned senses (and age heaped by trivialities of “wisdom”) to realise and furthermore understand the dark oblivion this world is plunged in. It always has been leading to an eventual end. The grand finale.


A plague has infested the likes of my morale. I’ve stooped low, so low, that withdrawing myself from the guilt of expression seems impossible. Overlooked silences tend to morph into terrible misunderstandings. And from there on, starts an agonizing journey alone. Despite fractions of feelings and nostalgia, nothing can be done to redeem the morning glory. An overcast shadow that slithers away into past moments. At times, the unbearable ache forces the fears to subside into the background of conscience. Aptly, at this apex, lizards mean nothing but a creature of trivial proportions. Hence, you continue draining your hands and tears into the basin.

On ground one again, I felt like pouring out myself. But to no good use can a change in context be put, and that too with a repeated mistake. I should have learned by now. But being a woman, and most importantly, a human at heart, I fail to conform to the complicities of moments. I’d rather let them drag on till they can no longer hold a meaning.

Of intuitive dreams likened to sordid reality, I remain befuddled. The path of the former is mine not to take. The latter, despite being true, is the way of indecision and consequences. I remain hanging.