Sunday, April 27, 2014

Letters from the Sunday lab

The simple writings in life aren't about simple topics, they are about extremely complex realities written in simple ways. Sometimes sitting at the student building on a Sunday afternoon is the best place to write about it. I am a graduate student and so this weekend doesn't come as a surprise for me , like the ones I phase out as I value writing something meaningful, between lines of codes. Between the shuttles I missed near the Dunn Meadow when it was just starting to rain, and sometimes going on a round trip on a bus, waiting for it to stop. The songs and playlists we put on repeat and the ones we play when the labs are empty.


There is a strange routine that haunts us at times, the realization that we can be bound in between the courses , the submissions and the semesters and that the bounded selves, the desirability to do something different is often a choice. We can still find company between the coffee breaks which often last longer than the class, the pizza slices among meetings that draws us into real conversations. Between the facebook posts and likes alike and between the weekends we deserve, I wish we lost more time to coffee breaks, and in trying to write something simple.

For now I feel the empty IMU halls, the slow flow of elevator doors bells, and the closed doors keeps the chaos away, from the next Monday. I still believe there should be more places than labs to write, and to be able to convince you that there are more reasons than one to read. For now I choose to write from here, as I pick up on the bugs and nuances that threaten my world among computer. Far away from writing,  and probably what might remain just as a dog eared page on my lab notebook, I see the spring outside, and the breeze that makes me wait for rain.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

I fear not. .


I fear not those who have come and gone, 
Neither those who couldn't leave, and stayed in my mind
I fear not the end, my story has only begun,
And yet for a moment I stray from the road, I am hard to find
 
 

 
I fear not the dwellings of the day, the view outside never bores my heart,
Among writing that I can listen to in my mind, I read but only to you my friend
I fear no one is reading the end, and hence I write of no endings, as I start
And in the colder mornings of a warm summer day, I write of things, of which we all pretend

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

We merely wrote

No we didn't live, we didn't die,
We didn't win and yet have let the winners walk by,

We didn't console , we didn't grief,
We didn't break away from love, because that was somethign we couldn't believe.

We didn't return to the same places, we never left,
We never gave away the whole of us, it was among the things I never even kept


We didn't believe in time, it was as ephemeral as somethign we merely count,
We didn't keep track of memories as we looked back to our lost and found

We didn't flinch, we didn't laugh or cry,
We simply learned to keep a straight face , we learned to survive

We were never broken hearted, we were broken as a whole,
And yet the pieces were never mine to keep, and so I was told

We were never real and yet you seemed to be as real as reality can be,
You were in footsteps and knock on the doors, are you hoping the silence will set me free?