Where's my kebab?

Be All That you Can Be

Of passwords and kisses.


“… and the world’s a giant-big flower that needs to be kissed” I stand there, trembling. It is so funny. The absurdity makes me weep. My eyes are locked unto the mirror; the funny Mirror. I caress my neck and uncurl my hair, I weep more. My hair is in italics, my neck oh-so warm.

 I have simple dreams. Will you believe me? I wish to lick the marrow in my bones and feel my own shadow. There’s something laughable about this. Is there not? And then I hear Kingsley scream ‘We’ve all been muted anyway!’  He’s so funny.

He runs towards me.

Kingsley sprints like a child, a madman, ‘Baby, you oscillate between reality and dreams’

Kingsley sprawls besides me. He sees me see the mirror. I am so lost. Eyes wide open, he breathes my hair. And then he whispers into my soul. ‘You’re made of passwords.’

He shakes up and runs again. What a silly man!

 I stare at his back. What a fine-rugged manly back.  He shouts from a distance and it’s hard to decipher. ‘Your soul needs to be hacked. But there aren’t many good hackers around’

Desires doused.

I come closer and my breathe fogs the mirror, I see myself fading. I am blurred, I feel blurred. But then I smile.

I move out into the panoramic garden, and I pluck out a giant-big flower. You do know what I do next right? Kiss.

 

 

                                                                                   Bunny

Do you know how a Frog dances?


In the midst of a fractured night, the stars spit on us. How hungry are we for love, and to be loved? Maybe, we forgot being real. Maybe, reality is all but a boring tale. We sing and shiver, oh dear oh dear.

We don’t believe in truth.

I wear my faded blue jeans and dive deep into the vast emptiness of the Universe. It makes so much sense; it makes my heart scream. I go deeper and deeper. And then it dawns onto me, I never learned how to swim. But I don’t have a choice, now do I? I go further down.

What if I tell you? Tell you that you search for things that could never be found. That all the money, and fame, and success are delusions you create so you escape sweet madness. You don’t need money or fame, you need a frog.

How you feign your purpose in life. You do know you’re here not to suck in dollars, or be a raving success. You’re here to dance. . Do you know how a frog dances? Ah, silly.

Oh please, dissect your fragile skin, tear apart the naked flesh and try knowing who you actually are. Sit atop a green hill, and count all your thoughts. Transform, wholly. Have you ever tried that? You have not. Perhaps, you need a frog to hold you down, and feed you light.

Repeat after me.

’The frog is my beacon, the frog gives me light, the Frog is not a frog. It is, but my lovely star.’

let the frogs’ guide you home. The shivery-blue frog stars.

Please.

Messy Love.


A haze of dust covers the misty air in her room. Your eyes move around the daintily sophisticated wall paint, and the clean-carpeted floor. The room looks bare in her angel-like presence. ‘This room needs furniture.’  Your inner voice complains. The emptiness makes you feel so cold. You clench your sweaty fists.  She’s one of those girls, your heart screeches to be with. She makes you go numb. Albeit, the enigmatic reason behind your absolute absurdness around her is never very clear. You’re always so confused.

You find her the most beautiful when she is so untidy, not when she is all dressed up.  You like her with the unruly hair, and dusty cheeks. You fail to understand the feeling burning inside you.  She is your darned tonic of sweet madness. She makes your heart yearn to be wild. Her soft giggles make you feel good about the future. You call her your Messy Love; she is your whole love, she is your unrequited, unconditional love. Your love for her is infused with dignity.  Is she even real? God, does she even exist?

She wakes up the baby inside of you.  She makes you feel sheltered; she is your nice shelter.

And oh wait. Here, she smiled. She smiled! She smiled the smile you offered to her in the most natural manner.

 

She’s the hurricane inside your mind.She is the girl you read about in books. She is your darned fantasy. She is ….. just SHE.

 

 

The Fault in Bunny’s Stars. ( Warning: Title inappropriate)


 

These warm summer days, I am dazed by the waywardness of my thoughts.  The manner an idea develops and grows inside and makes my conscience jolt by the joy and tragedy of it all. It’s profound.  

I hear something. A voice, that screams and faints amidst the shiver of blue stars.  It screams of joy; the insane pleasure of being alive after all, of being able to suck in air. Darling? My lungs don’t suck at being lungs.  They don’t and I am not Anna.

There is this girl who is very dear to me.  Dynamic, beautiful and gracefully chic. How brilliant is she?  She loves me sometimes, and I love her too. She’s called Mahnoor. We dream the same dream; every minute of every day. She tells me, I listen. We wish to travel all around the world for the sheer pleasure of basking in its glory writing about it. We want to Feel it. Love it. Breathe it.

 We’re beautiful. You see that?  So nice. 

We are not asking a lot from our gorgeous existence. We are brave and we crave. We wish to walk along a beach and keep walking. Dream of life’s beauty and keep dreaming. Sip a steamy cup of coffee and read all day.  We think of waking up one grand day safe from the worry of rushing to school. We want to dig deeper in the woods feeling the rustle of the stale leaves beneath our feet and giggle. We see ourselves, bantering with a group of friends and going high over the deep conversations. We wish to cycle across the countryside laughing, and smiling and living on the edge. We want to take risks, and let the adrenaline spike inside. We want our veins to explode and our blood thunder with the joy of being alive. We want to feel every feeling, of terror and of joy, of Pleasure and of sorrow. We want to weep and shiver and laugh and rejoice. We want all that and just that.

 

We are best friends and I wish our homes were connected by a stellar tunnel. 

                                               

                                                                                         Bunny

I wish to go to Wonderland


                                                              

I was only having a lazy-sassy day until I saw this. There we go. Rant-Mode On. Godspeed.

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It leaves me enthrilled. I am taken aback by the comprehension of human-brain. Why, oh why, do we function that way? There has to be some built-in problem with our wiring. Or is it just a test? Questions engulf me. No. One pretty woman does not deserve to be eaten that way! Even chocolate is licked first, so, a little mercy, perhaps?

We often come across the cliche which sounds somewhat boring and mundane, ”We are the masters of our own destiny”or infact, let me try something even more dry. “We make the life we want(or dig, how badass)” and all the cock-and-bull stories. Fact is, despite being bombarded with such paulo-cohelo based anecdotes and inspiration-manuals, we always, and quite effortlessly end up doing what we want. That is;Sleep.Eat.Party.Procrastinate.Repeat.

Such lazy humans! 

Okay. FIne. I am one human too. rrrrrraaawwwr. Humour me.

Our life’s a lovely chaos. Things don’t make sense. We run after better grades, crave raw beauty, race whole-heartedly after materialistic success and make our otherwise simple life, very complicated. How stupid is that?

In all honesty and given a bright choice. I would like spending a handsome part of my life out in the Himalayas or somewhere near Ice-land, doing nothing but cattle-grazing. Wait, no. Not exactly that! Ofcourse, I’d be the person who prefers hanging out in westmorelands(mcgnautized) over partying in las Vegas. There is always a different kind of thrill to it. Something I don’t understand. But it is, always there.

Coming back from my reverie.We are never content. We don’t realzie that even after we become a raving-success in this world, achieve all our targets, and be an example of brilliance, we won’t be satisfied. That’s not how life works.I believe, If only we drop the  illuisionary idea of being immortal, we might as well, start valuaing better, more sophisticated aspects of life. Tell you what, we CAN’T and we WON’T tame this hungry soul unless, ofcourse, we stop running. You see that? Stop racing. Stop it, right there. And Breathe, sweetheart.

You deserve a life.

 

                                                                             Bunny. (cont)

 

P.S I have often been asked how I stay so cheerful so often. I never reply. I don’t understand the question. Today, however, I defy my own logic and I write back. ‘ I am cool because I stopped running

Faith


 

Inferno blazing inside her,

Eyes wet, hair messed up,

Sobbing and howling with shivering hands.

No shoulder to cry on and call as a friend.

 

Did she ever know this was her destiny?

She only craved for serenity

                       She was a mere kid for all this but no one understood her agony

And she felt as if living in no man’s land.

 

No one cared about her;

All left her to lament

But she knew one day she would attain true merriment;

And then there would be no impediment.

 

The feeling that made her over-come all wrath;

Was nothing but true Faith

She learned how to curb her inner-desire

That put an end to the burning fire.

Beauty Vs Brain


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Okay. My eyes hurt now. It’s been hours since I am glued to the computer screen doing nothing but stalk random profiles. How cool is that? Suddenly, my blogger-mode is activated and I am back to my latest version of Microsoft Word, all geared up to rant about the most trivial issues that influence my exciting life. Browsing through my face book newsfeed, I came across a post that peaked my interest. It said; ‘A beautiful women is a beautiful women, but a beautiful women with a brain is an absolutely lethal combination’ 

I was obliged to ask myself, how often is it that I come across girls who along with being beautiful have a remarkable intellect that blows your mind up? Not often. No.  It’s unbearable at how little girls are being brainwashed into thinking that being pretty or hot, or having that perfect body is important. They are being turned into insecure dimwits with a self-centered and stingy personality. Wouldn’t it be impressive to see more girls with a 95 Average than the ones with 95 likes on a nude photo? After all, what man would like to date a girl who can’t stand a conversation?

Personally, I find it insulting when someone compliments me for ‘looks’ only. You can’t be praised for something you have no control over. Something that fades away with time, like flowers wither in the sun. ( k’yall, that was emotional)

The media and our social structure compels girls to think that way. They get so many indirect messages telling them that being beautiful is everything. This needs to stop! There is nothing more wonderful and delightful than the confidence you get from being smart. Being able to raise your voice, or being applauded for your wit.

I understand, I do – Beauty does get attention, but it’s always intellectual stability that makes you want to stay with a person. Anyone with a cute face but a shallow personality is a major Turn-Off.

Mental Beauty > Physical attraction.   

      Bunny