Oblivion!

 And just like that, moments turn into memories.  You know that she is not going to video call you asking you to guess what she had done, and even after a million guesses, you would have never guessed that she had basically just folded a tortilla with french-fries coated in mushroom-ginger flavored mayo and had it with olives and mint ice cream. She called you just to say, "Don't do that. It's not as delicious as it sounds." To which you would have replied, "Honestly, that does not sound delicious." Your little presentations and her wishing "Slay it." Every. Single. Time.  You know that she won't be trying to paint the easiest art ever and yet mess it up and with every little satirical glare, she would respond, "I mean- Van Gogh didn't know Physics either." She won't reorganize her shelves every other day like a passive-aggressive person and scold you for your keys which are slightly misplaced. She won't be running so craz...

  I see pools of lavender, and I see fools of the nature.  The cirrus cloud seaming the sky beaming the horizon is the prick of sunlight. A crescent moon blooming the evening dawn. Like Icarus, Like Lucifer, a meteor rumbling across, a feeling of unknown and in the starry night, dangling diamonds in the crown. The path of sunset, purple color twinkling  in the eye.  The black mountains and hidden figures in the shrine, curved roads and ladders leading to nowhere. A wooden stairway goes on and on and on a hope for a miracle like euphoria, like a fairy tale it reaches somewhere. Nowhere. The faucet  of the cloud is running- a vintage soul figures of feathers wet and drowning, there is a knock at your window, knock of the rain.  A dancing oblivion, whistling of pain, they say it's the clouds, what I see is a rainbow. The only true rainbow. A rainbow of gray.

  फक्रिएका गुलाबको टुक्रिएका हाँसो, अबोध चित्कारमा गाँसिएको सौन्दर्य, विचलित तिथिका ती काला दिनहरु, र निराश त्यो विश्वासको आध्यान्त। पत्थरको दिलको अनौठो नम्रता कालो नियतिको उदंड प्रेम, अराजकता मुमूर्षाको,  र असत्य नियतिको तीतो सत्य। खण्डित मुस्कानभित्रको पीडाबोध,  करुणा चोटको र हार अठोटको,  गिरेको शीरले भिरेको ताज,  र विशाल वास्तविकताको वाचाल अभिव्यक्ति।   पानाभित्रको आवाजको औदार्य,  गन्तव्यहीन सपनाको सुनौलो किरण,  औचित्य विरक्त संसारको,  र नि:शब्द हरेक प्रचारको रंग।   धिक्कारमा सजिएको जीवनको आख्यान, मानवताको दोषले लुकेको गौरव,  आत्मियतासंग हारेको परमात्मा,  र झुकेको सोचमा लुकेको बोझ।   यथार्थ अन्त्य र सुरुवात कपटको,  बलात्कार नैतिकताको,  चीर हरण हुदैछ समाजको यहाँ,  तिम्रा श्री कृष्ण खै त ?  चीर हरण हुदैछ समाजको यहाँ,  तिम्रा श्री कृष्ण खै त ? 

It feels special, doesn't it? Having a talk with someone. While there are millions of things to talk about, you choose the silliest ones. Something reciprocating, something valuable, something alienating, and at the same time, something revealing. You talk about Van Gogh, the stars, the Friedmann equation, the art you never really understood doesn't open up today, but you have a different interpretation. At least it's not nothing.  It feels special, doesn't it? Having a walk with someone. Amidst every busted move, sore legs and misplaced ankles, in the middle of the crowd, she laughs at the gullibility of your untied shoes. Waiting for a moment to stop by, the silence that fades when you tell each other about your chasing dreams, all while her hands delicately slide into yours. You wait. This is too good. That alone says it all.  It feels special, doesn't it? Waking up next to someone. A cliche of morning kisses, folded omelets, and a glass of grape juice. Little sh...

It saw. In the platonic save, rose a rose, embedded with thorns,  shaking the road, breaking the roar, the pigeon screamed of peace, with white feathers— daunting, revealing, veiled with misery, and in the dead liberty. It screamed of peace, and it was shaken, given the nude clothing, cut through the scars, mutilated through the wars and bereaved  like an uncanny grief. Silent it stood, with the obscure of black obstinating  through the core.  And then in the abyss it stayed empty awake, peace was never an option. Yessing, guessing and dressing, sins of hopes, and dreams of hypocrisy, surprisingly wise, sublimely unwise, and when the trigger clicks, the rainfall, colors of transgression, a rainbow of just unjust, disrupts the ever scared sacred breath, just to tell it, the color white always gets the dirt quick! Like the monotonously pierce riot tearing the canvas, a humble silence breaking the crowd, cheers of life, applause of a beginning, the show began. The cage ...