DARK AND TWISTED

Have you ever felt like you couldn’t leave behind a part of your past? I’m certain that’s the case with everyone. A part of us.. never moves on. A portion of us latches on to our soul and feeds of it, preventing any forward movement or any progression.
Memories are obsessive! They are known to drive people mad. And desires are destructive. They brutally get to your and defile it with desperation.

Desperate to get what you want. To get what you could never get.
Just the tragic heroine of Bronte’s ‘ Wuthering Heights’… you see your twisted soul scavenge for what you left behind and what could have been.
you’re twisted. Dark and twisted!
you wish someone could hear you, wish someone could hear your soul out.
she is waiting to screech out at the faintest hint.
Attention. A little of bit of maddening attention.
A little bit of disturbing obsession.
Do you know what that would give you???
Power.  

You want to be worshiped.
Adored.
only that will sooth your soul. 

we are conformists.
each one of us.
do we not see how we suffocate ourselves to death.

i lie still on the green grass.
my feet embedded in the softeness.
i watch the tree covering me.
i am in hiding.
i am hiding from me.

under my canopy i am free.
i can breathe.
i can feel the forbidden emotions rush through my blood
i sense each one of them.
i can taste the unforgivable thoughts.

oh! the beauty of freedom.
makes me wonder...
what if i could breathe without  without fear.
what if i could walk and not be afraid of where my feet take me.
i do wish, all was not forbidden.
i do wish to not conform myself to this world.


i pray.
the grass reaches over and covers me.
a camouflage.



.

Celine

Celine is dark on the inside. This does not always mean evil. mostly it means human. She is aware of her senses and her desires.  She knows  the darkness inside. She knows her flaws her and her desperation. 

She seeks to rule; to control. But more often than not she finds herself losing her crown and her thrown. 

Celine, is a crystal  that shines bright with all the different colours of the rainbow once a tiny ray of the sun hit her. Shut her in and she would be a cold white stone. She has been shut for long now, she has been cold and white as stone for long now, 

She is conceited, arrogant, selfish and is well aware of her own greatness. 

But it almost hurts to see how beautiful she is. I don't mean pretty. I mean beautiful. so deep. so still.

Like a dark lake where quiet trees grow. 

She is power and she knows it. 

A WINTER'S TALE !!

let me tell you a story.
the name Emma reminds me of glowing pink cheeks, sunlight on a winters day and pink and white flowers. so this is a story about beautiful Emma.
Emma grew up around beautiful people ; inside-out. These were people she wanted to be like , to grow up into. Emma grew up optimistically wishing and believing in a happy perfect tomorrow. That some day she will grow up to be a commendable young woman , perfect and wise, knowledgeable and correct. oh! the obsession this young one had with perfection ; "god's pink-innocent promise of perfection". My Emma bears much in common with her Jane Austen counterpart. Don't get too optimistic ,there is no lovely Mister Knightly here , who will coax her to perfection. This is reality, and in reality there are no  Knightlys or Darcys. In reality there is only the 'Heathcliffe'. Emily Bronte, was a woman right in her head. extreme but correct.
because truly in reality your gorgeous all-knowing Emma is actually a 'Catherine', your glorious Mister Knightly is actually a 'Heathcliffe' and if your life has the misfortune of having an 'another' then he is undoubtedly 'poor-mister-Linton'.
Coming back to our Emma and her perfect dreams. as she grew up her dreams were more clear to her. she yearned for knowledge , happiness and like any beautiful beautiful girl; she dreamt of a gorgeous wedding and her very own 'Knightly' . As time passed Emma realised that although she pursued correctness and unflawed beauty; inside she very much the opposite. Emma was quite the dark, Victorian, eccentric and loner ; Miss Catherine Earnshaw. And if you put the story together, she found her soul in her Heathcliffe , all her happiness and joy and a reflection of her own self. But she knew this could never be. she was expected  to marry a Knightly naturally. No one would allow it. so they find a poor representation of Austen's Knightly in a man who is originally Bronte's Linton. 
but  tell you what , my Emma was a lil' smarter than shoddy old Catherine Earnshaw.
she knew life was more than pink and silvers dreams. Linton was  no good and her dream wedding belonged to someone else. it was a sign that Emma must find a more rational dream that played in her favour where she did not have to break tradition to be with a Heathcliffe, or try too hard to be happy or liked. where she did not have to seek approval but live life on her own terms with her own kind of perfection.
the new dream was not a sappy old love story, although there was the Heathcliffe. 
And all who read would know that heathcliffe is no emotional fool, he is more than just a love interest. take that away Heathcliffe is Catherine's very own soul and person and mind.
So my Emma left her godly ,perfect and now suffocating world , left sad Linton and  people's expectations behind. to live ALONE. 
For she realised that she worked best, alone and with her books of knowledge and the promise that her Heathcliffe may not be present but he is not very far. And that was assurance enough. This Emma was was not pink and silver and like sunlight. She was grey and hard as the stone walls of an old castle, white as country winter, silent yet deep like yellowed pages of a book. she was not Austen's or Bronte's..... she was her own.
Alone, perfect and content!!!! 

home-coming!

books. i dont know when they started protecting me. protecting me from everthing i feared. my books made me who i am. yet i've been away. i never said a word to them and i just left. and now i came back. came full circle to the pale beige walls and the wooden shelves.... the room lit with sunlight streaming in through thin off-white cuRtain... and rows and shelves of books. all kinds of books. old and new and dusty and clean.they were my friends and they knew me. "I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement."( Jane Eyre)
i stayed there ,hidden, with the leather bound, golden engraved friends who stood there like walls around me. holding within my pride, knowledge, my soul and every emotion ever felt. it was like i was home, after a storm had tried to take away my inside from me and shake me down to nothing.i was replenished and revived. . 

MIRROR MIRROR.......

sometimes i think im aging too quick. Every woman's woes! But really im just 21... i should be happy with myself. but everytime i look into the mirror i see a woman who has seen so many things ,staring back at me. i dont see ignorance and joy. like life and things have sobered her down. i see a seriousness... a realisation in her eyes she knows things beyond her age. so perceptive , those eyes are. nearly scares me. she doesn't feel young anymore.... but she did once! nothing feels new anymore. i see her drown in her own ocean of thoughts. imagery strikes and her mind takes the form of a russian circus... yellow lights and fire and flame-orange tents, with a mass of things happening all at one time in on place. yet she has the poker-faced expression of calm and serenity. but i see the storm raging behind those placid eyes. 

mom n dad .:)

love it... this one's a classic.