THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

Pic credits://instagram.com/pelle.faust I'm an animal of past. Of bygone years that is lost forever. That cannot be retained. I don't see Geras. All I see is the happy orchards and Wild strawberries. I long for the civilisations that ended, the lost cultures, the secrets of founding fathers, the spirits of Phoenix, the secrets whispered to the walls of the monuments and palaces, the dried out rivers, the crowned women of kingdoms, the glory of nature, the love wars and the great expeditions. The violet flowers of childhood, the years of selfless love, the happiness of mornings, the endless talks with genuine people, the echoes of happy laughs. But the comfy places and laps that offered sleep have now turned out to be a pipe dream. However, I must remind you that I'm a nostalgic idiot fed by smell of history and vintage moments. You try to get me out of here, but I prefer to be in this attic of cobwebs and blurry roofs and wait for the resurre

Maybe one day you can touch the rainbow and seperate it's colors.But darling, the colors that you see now may not be the actual ones. You should be precautious enough to see the darkest and the lightest of the colors.And at the end of the day, you shouldn't give a damn about it, because all that matters is that you seperated them, freed them from the centuries long perception of beauty. Dear,you have done well that I see them struggling for metaphors and similes! A.C

Hey, The theatre  has opened. Here begins the finale. The dessert of the grand reception has arrived. The minister of closure arrives with the good wine kept unserved. Here comes December, the final play. Contemplate everything you have done throughout the year. Compensate. You have 31 days before you. Breathe in some good air. Meet people before they hibernate. Complete the procrastinated things. Fill in the year's resolutions. Grind all bad things and flush it off. Read out some warm stories to children. Feel the baby snowflakes on the ground. Be grateful.Smile. Carol is out there, sing and dance. Hang your stockings. Give warm hugs. Love and forgive. Run and slow down. Cry and laugh. Fall and rise. Lose and gain. Wind and unwind. Act and live. Pick and unpick. Grow and learn. Let the bells jingle. Reindeers are waiting. Pack and be ready. The minister of closure is about to curtain down the twelfth play. And your journey is about to begin. An

People are all the same.They give promises not to be fulfilled but to be broken. To keep a soul closer, they offer sugar coated candies.They intend no harm, but their actions turn out to be heartless.They say they are not bees, moving from flower to flower, but how far the bee can be a beetle? Dramatic they are that their plays are popular far across seas. Yet they are not considered actors, but humans. They Masquerade, among lonely people to drain out their only original self and produce a fake one with glittering masks.Sigh and Applaud. A.C

The more you hate,the more you love. The more you forget, the more you remember. The more you become unearthly,the more you turn earthly. The more you doubt, the more you start to believe. The more you try to be material,the more you become spiritual. The more you look into peripheral, the more you go deeper. The more you suppress, the more you express. The more you look forward, the more you look back. The more you try to be lonely, the more you are surrounded. The more you try to be concrete, the more become abstract. The more you try to be stable,the more you go insane. The more you fix yourself, the more you wither away. You are a flower of contradictions drooping into lonely waters. It's difficult to be stable, but easy to go insane. Fix the roots and face the bloody sun. A.C

#Latepost പണ്ട് എപ്പോഴോ കുത്തിക്കുറിച്ചത്! പ്രണയമാണെനിക്ക്, മഷിപുരണ്ട തൂലികയോടും, വെളുത്ത കടലാസിനോടും, കടലാസിൽ പറന്നിറങ്ങുന്ന അക്ഷരങ്ങളോടും, ചിതലരിച്ച പുസ്തകങ്ങളോടും, എൻ്റെ തലച്ചോറിൽ കത്തിപടരുന്ന ആശയങ്ങളോടും, പിന്നെ ഉറവ വറ്റാൻ തുടങ്ങുമ്പോൾ നിറഞ്ഞൊഴുകാൻ സഹായിക്കുന്ന ഒരു പറ്റം നല്ല മനുഷ്യരോടും. A.C

I miss the old me. I see her lost in the seat of swing, amidst the circus clowns, stuck in the happy dialogues,shut in the black and white emotions, trapped in the school bag, hemmed in the magic lamp of Aladdin.And  I see her forlorn attempts to escape being prevented by a flood of boring unprecedented emotions. A.C