Utopia

  Millions of memories will lost their existence during the journey of life. But there are those memories which people don't appear willing to talk about it.   The unpleasant memories    Which    they would prefer not to touch on. It's a fact that, Most things are forgotten over time. Even if we had fought a war in past,  the life and death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past.  We are so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past, are  like ancient stars that have burned out and are no longer in orbit of our minds.  There are just too many things we have to think about everyday, Too many things we have to learn. New styles, new information ,new technology ,new terminology...   But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim,   there are some things we can never asign to Oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us...

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some menacing dance with death just before dawn . Why?  Because this strom isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you.  This strom is you. Something inside you.   So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step.  There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like crushed bones powder.  You really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic strom. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like thousand razor blades . People will bleed there an...

There was a time whenever the rain happens, it used to bring some pain for me. Running from it going inside and drawing my curtains, but even indoors there was no escape from petrichor (the earthly scent after rain). It filled everything from the ground up. But the only thing the smell of rain brought to mind for me that time was a decaying stink. Shut in behind my curtains, I used to feel a violent loathing for rain. I hate it what the rain had in store for me; I hated the dull, throbbing ache it aroused inside me. I had never hated anything in my life with such intensity. Walking beneath The rain, I could hardly hear what people said to me and they had just as much trouble catching anything I had to say. My whole body felt enveloped in some kind of membrane, cutting off any direct contact between me and the outside world. I couldn't touch “them”, and “they” couldn't touch me.  I was utterly helpless and as long as I remained in that state, “they” were unable to re...