Blogs from the Life's Kitchen
Life moved on in spite of his inclinations to stay in one place , dragging his mind through the alleyways of insecurity, scratching out undecipherable catharsis on its walls. He wished he could go back to his good old comfortable existence where everything was just predictable, everything except his emotions, which by this time had been consumed most of his ailing spirit.
It was more like he was washed away on a wave he was surfing, not knowing the direction of the tide; like being on the wrong train going in some direction different , feet glued to the floor, immovable, looking beyond the windows on the changing scenery getting more and more difficult to keep track on.
There was something he would like to pack if he ever wanted to move on. He had voices of people echoing in his mind with reassurances, he had the music of life, he had the urge to look beneath each pebble, he had the brushes to paint characters in his mind. He had the courage to start everything he seemed unfamiliar to.
He knew he had love in his mind like a matured wine, but at that point he was afraid that he will let it go to the gutters, where there is no one to appreciate the moments it stayed in his mind, away from the lights, maturing with anticipation and a spirit getting stronger. He was unsure what sort of existence he would have tomorrow, not because he was worried about it, but probably he wanted to plan it, like a funeral director arranging things for himself. He knew he had some control, but by that time, he did not want to do anything which will undoubtedly prove that he was unknowingly chasing his destiny.
He knew what he has, he knew he had love in his mind. Like a table from a luxury dinner party, it remained pristinely clean and well stocked. Probably no one ate anything, although it was appetizing to their senses, probably they were busy with running their own life and never bothered to sample what he had. He was uncomfortable as a host, finding it was not his style to call each and everyone to sample what he has put for them to taste.
He wished he would finally end up with someone who would stay with him to explore the untouched delicacies, staying awake with the ramblings of his mind, picking up each and everything till the stars appear, with midnight breeze bringing the fragrance of the unknown wild flowers, listening to the whisperings of the leaves and wind. Then he had dreams, the same never ending dreams of visiting that far away place where he knew how to traverse all the mazes of the corn field. He knew all the montage, being there everyday for him to sample the frames, he knew he just have to be there, to feel it, to make his senses available to whatever was poured on him till the last drop , before he wakes up
