The rush

Every life needs a particular rush to move along. An adrenalin rush.

The source could be your work, your fitness regime, your girlfriend, your philanthropy - anything. It should challenge you every living moment, pushing you ahead, to the next minute, to the next day....

And on any given day or for a string of few days or weeks, if you manage to stay away from this challenge, it starts affecting you subconsciously. You feel thrown off your regular course of activities. You might turn cranky or less interested in your daily activities. Your whole outlook towards witnesses a paradigm shift.

Conflict of emotions is indispensable to human life. Every emotion has its purpose of existence. This clash is necessary for every person to realize the roller-coaster ride that lies ahead.

But,most of all, the rush gives you a sense of existence - the reason that extends the meaning of life beyond mere survival.

Obliterate

I choose to be indifferent to this emerging landscape
I try to siphon off images from my mind, but thoughts just don’t escape
On my haunches, I stand up now and walk out of this realm of beliefs
Several autumns have gone by and yet you seem to be painted on the leaves

Quite often, a hallucination helps me see the real world
Existence is bliss in a life into which I haven’t been hurled
I wish to spend some more time in utopia for years-a few
‘Cause upon my port of destination lies a wakening spirit of you

There is a road which walks me towards the trivialities of life
Every minute’s a new incarnation for the barren mind
I fight the urge to look over my shoulder or just around
Am I alone in a crowd with just a single face to surround?

A sadistic feeling that makes you revel in your own pain
Every poked needle that bears a spout of disdain
All my laurels and treasures that seem to fall away like dominoes
Memories, too, should have oozed out from my punctured veins

Limbo is my living expedition, as I wait for a change of seasons
For every pillion rider’s thumb, let there be a biker without a reason
And someday, when those faces in a crowd turn familiar,
Look away from the clear skies; it is summer.