Stories – Day 5 – Let’s draw an apple

This one is truly reflective and thoughtful. Go ahead, give it some time.

I agree with the part of having the courage to pursue your passion, that too when there are no yardsticks to tell, whether the content you write, is good enough to share or not. And most people don’t even get it. Post a stupid selfie on fb and you will get all the ego boost and approvals to make you feel happy about yourself but when you write stuff, people don’t get it.
And the art classes we have encourage drawing an apple even if you want to draw a swan.
The shallow regular people get more nods.
Being proud of your siblings achievements
Give a great high
Specially when you remember that it was cats and dogs relationship as kids.


Facebook: @AakashWrites
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Thank you, Leicester

They said you can’t win anything with this manager.

They said you can’t win against the biggest clubs in the world.

They said you can’t win with non-league players in your team.

That you can’t compete at the highest level with this budget.

That your winning chances are the same as chances of Elvis being alive.

That eventually you’ll falter and return to the bottom.

That it’s just a dream and will never be a reality.

That it’s time to be logical and not be romantic about this.

They said it’s impossible.

Everyone listened to them.

Everyone believed in them.

Except you.

You didn’t care.

You just let the results talk.

You put your head down and worked hard.

You exhibited day in and day out how much you wanted it.

And in the end, you showed the world that fairy tales do exist.

That miracles still happen.

That if you really want something, you don’t have to worry about “them”.

You just have to go and get it.

For a team like you to come and take the giants on with their wealth and experience – not only take on but to beat them – it’s the biggest thing to happen in any sport.

Congratulations Leicester City on winning the league, and thank you. You captured the imagination of the sporting world and beyond with your display of courage and never-give-up attitude.

You have given everyone hope.

The romance is not dead.

Lost, but free

I am quiet. The idea of having a conversation with someone, with anyone for that matter, isn’t completely lifeless, but I don’t feel like having one. I don’t want to breathe life into it and give it some bloody hopes and make it fly high. And it hurts to see that people are judged by others all the time on what they do with themselves, not on how they feel. There’s this invisible blanket over you for everyone else that hides your feelings from them, or is it the fact that they are just too blind to see? I bet you know the answer. I wonder when lust grabs us by our balls, where does that blanket go? But I am just quiet. Observing things that others are doing around me. Observing.

Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. Quiet and honest. An accurate description of me at the moment. What’s my profound truth? Fuck if I know. I can’t tell one. There are quite a few, and the problem with all of them is they all take a piss at you at the same time and makes your mind go in circles for hours, even days. And then you can only hope to get out of that shit hole. Hope is a bad thing. It means you are not what you want to be. It means that part of you is dead, if not all of you. It means that you entertain illusions. People ask you, what do you want to be son? And before you answer that centuries old question, those heartless impostors give their valuable advice that you never asked for. Thank you for asking the question in first place, you herd of dejected limps. That invaluable advice. No, they don’t want you to wander alone.

“To wander farther was to wander alone. To rely wholly upon oneself.”

So no one’s reading literature today, huh? A man, any man, will go considerably out of his way to pick up a silver dollar; but here are golden words in our literature, which the wisest men of antiquity has occurred, and whose worth the wise of every succeeding age have assured us of – and yet we learn as far as to read easy readings. Time to stop masturbating on our lives and focus on something important, eh? When I think of it, of all the advice I’ve got in past, I can stamp it all with my ass and mail it to i-reject-it-respectfully street of some city with buildings touching the skies of nowhere and people with morals as low as hanging breasts of an antique whore you keep on an exhibition in a museum.

She was an artist once, now she is art. She went through a world-evolution which is endless. It turned her inside out, voyaging through God knows how many dimensions, to discover herself, only to find out that the story she had to tell was not that important as her telling itself. This is what gives her the metaphysical hue, which lifts it out of time and space and centers it to the whole cosmic process. This makes her therapeutic. Those people, not so much. They don’t think in cosmological terms. It is only possible way to think if one is truly alive. They care about figures and are sucked into a statistical black hole. And then they hope. Absurd.

Then some of us write. A child has no need to write. He is innocent. We write to throw off the poison which we have accumulated because of the false way of life. Every man is working out his destiny in his own way and nobody can be of help except by being kind, generous, and patient. We write to overcome the world, and thus finding it. For we must not only be in it and above it, but of it too.To love for what it is. How difficult is that? And yet, it’s the first and only task. Evade it, and you are lost. Lose yourself in it and you are free.

Unwanted Goodbyes…

Goodbyes have their own meanings,

For everyone who ever say,

Sometimes they mean joyous farewells,

But sometimes they never let you go away…

This is what she wanted badly at the moment,

She feared of the upcoming lonely hours,

He too wished of that but was helpless,

In front of his face there’s a war…

A message in the morning came trembling the place,

Her senses told it was an invitation from hell,

Her visions of future drowned in her stream of tears,

Her heart wept but she wouldn’t fell…

His heart was brave and full of courage,

But today he didn’t have any control,

He tried real hard but emotions won,

In her arms she held his soul…

Fighting the tears and believing in love,

Physically he broke the bond of their life,

No words were spoken thereafter,

Only the grieve of loneliness in her eyes…

As he marched towards his troops,

He made up his mind for the war,

He had the skills and vision for the kill,

But he couldn’t see the fields that laid afar…

Her sparkling eyes kept coming to his mind,

Her memoirs haunted him at night,

Her essence was what he needed the most,

In his darkness she was the only ray of light…

She stood there on the door,

Her legs stuck to the ground,

Her eyes in the hope of his returning back,

Wishing he would turn around…

Letting the tear to roll on her cheeks,

She turned back lost in his thoughts,

Her feet dragged over the lonely swords,

Reminding of the battles he had fought…

Her legs surrendered and fear took over,

She lost any control she had,

Will he ever come back or just fade away,

Into the desert of unknown nothingness…