Laying in bed and reading 'The Count of Monte Cristo' by Alexandre Dumas. The window is open and the sky is overcast! Love the energy in me now. 

Twitter

I quite Facebook. Maybe not permanently. I like Twitter now. Most people wouldn't agree with me. Since they got used to Facebook and the intense commenting and also being commented upon they would find twitter 'EMPTY". No 'likes' or games or chit chat not to forget to mention that one can only tweet upto 140 charcaters. I think that would be what stops Facebook users or "Facebookians" as they are called now to want to even think of tweeting.

Its back!

We missed you a lot dear Rain.Well at least I did. You made your appearance later than usual making my cleaning look punctual. 
The roads today had a very snowy look. The foam and the reflection of the white and slightly grey tinged clouds made it look like the country experienced snowfall. These unusually white clouds brought about a lot of rain. They seemed to speak to me of what they were capable of doing today. They sure did say that they were better than their grey coloured brothers. 


My favourite part is when you see your breath fog in front of you. Today they did. It wasn't so much as I want it to be but in the country I reside its pretty good. 


This weather creeps me out and also elevates my mood. I like the slushing of tires against the collected water (ya the water is dirty). The cold hands and the needle pricking sensation on my hands when I put them out of the window when being driven at high speed. All this counts to a cool day.


And today I had an awesome day.  

A Lost World

Long ago I had this intense love to read books. I would lay my hands on any of them and read from front to end. For me reading was like a thirst, which was to be quenched with the purest and cleanest of water or liquid.


I didn't want this thirst to die nor did I want it to subside. I wanted to experience it for long life. As I became older this feeling started fading away unconsciously. I hadn't realized the closing hole. Now I have many, many books to read and yet I don't even lay one finger of mine on them! How did I become like this? I shock myself thinking over this.


I wish that I get that wonderful yearning back. Books were like drugs (in a good way). I can recall the love, interest and time I spent on even flipping through the pages. The letters etched, the twisted and abrupt plots, the characters who became people around me, the world of fantasies and the world of fear and the world of the new and the world of the old, they all consumed me as much as I let myself to be drowned.


I want to drown once again and again and again. I desperately seek to plunge into these clear and shadowy depths and to resurface back... just so that I can gulp in a lungful of evanescence and descend to its inviting bottom.


I may reach back to that stage but then again I think not. After all it forms just a small portion of what all we lost.

Poetry at the close kill

I wish to write poetry and
I wish to update my blog.

I take an oath to reform and
I stick to it seldom as
I shake hands with boredom

I realized I suck at poetry.
I can't make two words rhyme
Nor do I make any sense
And progress in this is taking no time!

The only thing I did pull off,
Was attempting to write one and
Also making you read None!