Inertia of the Mind

I was stalking myself, and I realized that we've been on blogger since 2011. 2011. It's almost 2014, now, and it's crazy how fast time has flown. Things I could've sworn I wrote last week are actually, somehow, last year's posts-my space-filling posts are now almost a year old. Yesterday's memories are last year's memories. And last year's memories, last century's. I never quite realized just how very old my old memories were. Thoughts of home now refer to a place which doesn't even really exist anymore. I've been through so much, and so little, and-everything is just so mind-boggling right now. It's like my train soundlessly moved ahead and passed a million stations while I kept my eyes shut and still thought myself at the first one.

And yes, I know three years isn't very long, but it's so very long, you know?

Time is weird.
~Sam

I remember.

I remember the first time I applied kajal, I smudged my face so badly that I resembled a raccoon. I remember trying desperately to scrub it off, the concept of a make-up remover being alien to me back then. I remember red, sore eyes for hours afterward.
I remember going to buy chips with my brother, and dropping a packet on the road. The awe in my eyes at his courage (stupidity) in making his way through the (albeit light) traffic to pick it up again. He was the wisest, the bravest man ever, back then.
I remember believing adults at face value. Believing them to be stronger, wiser, better.
I remember the first time I (vaguely) understood death, and life.
I remember my first concert, my first Enid Blyton, I remember having fixed ideas of the normal and the abnormal. Having role models because they did one good thing. Seeing the world in black and white and technicolor, but not gray.
Definitely not gray.

~Sam

Will There be Fire?

What do I dream, what do I desire?
What burning thoughts flame my inner fire?
Is there a fire, is there desire?
Or has it gone out in this daily quagmire
Of routine and work, sunken hopes and dying dreams.
So all that is gone which once burst from my seams,
So all that is gone which once burned in my eyes-
Fires and desires smothered in implacable ice.
I drown in poetry, I dream of Literature,
And yet, "Get down to Earth," snaps my law teacher.
Was it the right choice, will I ever know?
Will the fruits of taking the safer path ever show?
A glint in the eye, the sigh of a desired job well done-
Will passion and flame ever my insides burn?
Or will it forever be hopeless fatigue's turn?
Will there be fire, will there be desire?


~Sam