Words of a Soul.

To,

The Craved Childhood Impasse

Justification, ramification of the perverse course that the languid existence shaped into is not what I speak of here. I speak of the glory that pertained in the swift discourse of time. The mythical childlike curtain that ever engulfed making its dramatic disappearance took away the solid gold of innocence. And left what? That is what I again speak of. I am, at this moment in a resurrecting intersection of one’s mighty stage of further bloom. Nostalgic memoirs echo in the depth of my fraction of thoughts. The beguiling surge of predictions sits with me in a daze of dubiety. Hence, I yearn for the patterned stitch of bygones. The rules of growth allow me to shrivel and attain a body of longing for the simple penchant of oblivion. No more, I need the sharp senses and beauty of eternal knowledge. This is what the heart desires to feast upon, the commending simplicity that was.

Saying it all, I further impose that Man is nothing but a confection of emotional hue. The moment stagnation sets in. He wants a brisk motion of uncertainty. What impending business I share is nothing but a ranting of a bewildered soul. I need the wayward eloquent sweetness of a juvenile. Still I look up at the bright shiny stars. Yes, I do look above with a tinge of anxious uproar of jolting beats. The ever ending perpetuity holds stupendous appeal but the rage of coming upheavals charms a fascination too. Reiterating what is left, I come to this conclusion. The stark propensity of seductive unknown beckons with a wild cry. I subdue naturally as it’s the evident encompass of time and the wavering willingness of adventurous submission.

I hope I make sense when my expedition of apprehensions here gets fulminated. Dark deep realization awakens that such raving even though justified drains out no forthcoming enduring weight. The stock of impairing commotion of mind persists with constancy as I move along the line of fumbled days of age. Ergo, the weak etching of dual fancy keeps its steady gallop in the minute corner of my pacific instinct. The longer the line draws, the remembrance scents stronger. I know fate waits as such.

What of now when I question myself. I feel encumbered with the brazen truth of the roadmap already in place. The fresh gesture of younger day’s purity no longer stays a short walk away. But it in no way leaves me terrifyingly grappled. The brilliant mirror of former makes some gaping scenery but releases a will to go the extra some mile of unsung territory. The cravings shall exist. Never will it float to vanish, rather would remain, building walls of both hazy and luminous recollection of happy tales and sunshine smiles. Later while I endure the penance of wear and tear, the wings of wish shall whisper softly, that the walls would be enough. And that shall be enough.

From,

Reminiscence