Untamed Thoughts

For me every perfect story told accommodates a murky spot. And I call that beauty. I repeat, every story sprinkles a dust of cloud somewhere around the narration. To cite the easiest instance, think of the overrated Cinderalla, or Beauty and the Beast. Isn't it more exciting to get into jarring and chaotic sections than to loiter in a monotonous story which is nothing but lifelessness? An exceptional storyteller might conceal with flairs from pillar to post but I would still smell the paint, especially in elements like metaphors and elaborations. I think it's absolutely fine to bare that beauty of gloom. It's on the rugged and twisted plots we subconsciously attain pleasure and mark the silver lining at the end of the day which is a meaningful quest I suppose. If I'm allowed to narrate in a volume's stretch, I would definitely put it straight that any avid participant could chew, swallow and digest. I hate concealers. I'm not sure how many would be in accor...

(In loving memory of Azü, Avo, Abazümba and Maong) It must be beautiful out there! Better than the late summer view Offered by Anse Source D'Argent, And her caressing surge in the quietude. It must be colourful out there! All seasons planted in one whole spread Where provisions overflow and no barns raised, And everyday a plentiful harvest. It must be quite at peace out there! More than the Lysefjord of Norway Where theorists and artists perform best, And strikes a hue of comfort and ecstasy. It must be a joyful site out there! Zestful celebrations marked every time, And lavish banquets in a parallel order That would mortify even the royalties. It surely must be harmonious out there! An infinite stream of sublime music That would belittle the ranked Montverdi Choir, And dismantle the acclaimed Julliard. It must be a luxury to walk on gold out there! The Havilah path that surpasses All treasures and wealth of MidEast; I cannot fathom this in my fullest ...

Lunaria is her denomination Surely, best for her honesty; Could you gaze close into her eyes You shall see a divine silvery moonlit night, Filtered and fine to make wishes upon. Her inescapable winding scarlet locks Deliver a fiery spirit to every passer by; Her dulcet laughter enchants strangers, Sometimes lulls them to sweet slumbers. Her linen fair tone would light up the darkest wynd And make the English rose insecure; She owns a sui generis temperament Born from the Cyprus before Aphrodite, And smells like the Persian princess . She has tongue of Hermes and wisdom of Solomon; Her faculty in speech and manoeuvre a magnum opus, To the universe and a million mortals And for a thousand more ages Lunaria is the archetype of utopian civilization.