Unnamed avenues

Take a minute off of whatever you are doing and look back. Look back at everything you left behind. If everything that you carry on your back is hiding your vision and disquieting, in both positive and negative ways, then this writing is just for you. Lend all your senses to this rant.

I am just a traveller. I travel from one heart to another. I do not stay anywhere and I know with more effort, a little luck.. I might find a heart that comes close to giving me a feeling of ‘home‘. There I would stay. I could have missed it or I could be missing it right now. Leave that to me. I am a walker, never a runner. When I am inside your heart, there’s a possibility of me either walking slowly to stay a little longer or me strolling around unnamed avenues and wondering about the mystery that you are.

“The unnamed avenues of the heart are the places where people fall in love and fall in hurt, in no particular order. The unnamed avenues are the roads that your parents asked you to stay away from when you were a kid. They are the crimson boulevards that look beautiful during the autumn to everyone and during the winters only to a few who are okay with nurturing it when it has no leaves. They are the streets that smell of champagne and whiskey. You know who begins with the champagne and who ends up with a whiskey. They are the roads that have broken window panes. Window panes broken because of the crumpled papers thrown at them Not a stone, not a fist, a crumpled paper with an unfinished rant. Don’t tell me you were lucky to find the crumpled papers that belonged to a duffer!”

Do you think I can find a way through all these? Have I been a good guide? Let me know. Because it is with this blind hope against hope I am inside you now. Trying to walk through! I am not listening to your directions, I am listening to your songs. I am not waiting for your promises, I am waiting for your stories that are going to keep me awake. Why do I want to be awake? Because I am not time-bound inside your heart. There’s no night and day. It’s thought-bound. I exist when you think about me and die when you don’t. And that’s one more reason a traveller like me believes that death is never the end and a million stabs can wound you but, never ground you.

I would like to make a toast to all the people, who might not be reading this now.

“All the ways I took lead me out of your heart. Do you still think I was lost? And does that qualify as a reason for everything?

…”

Thanks for lending me your senses, fellow travellers!
Auf Wiedersehen.
(Signed)
just barath.

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