Issac writes

It was Sunday day and sunday is a day where all the working men who are bachelors finish off all their pending household chores like washing clothes, cleaning the room. I was doing the same and while doing all this, its my habit to switch on the radio and listen to all the good and bad songs being played, the best part of radio for me is their RJs. The way they talk, the incidents they share are so interesting and fun to hear. I was listening to 93.5 Red Fm that day and Rj Swati was on air and she is one of those RJ's with whom you would fall in love with, for her sexy accent andf equally awesome sense of humour. Its always a pleasure to hear her and on that very day, she shared a great thought and i wish to share her perception with you all, this is what she said, though i may not paint her thoughts with the exact words but readers please do grasp the essence..bhavanao ko samjhane ki koshish karna,  This is what she said, "Recently saw Darr(kkkkkkkkkkkkk.....kiran waali ...

I am so broken from inside but then i have lost my ability to break down and cry, its as if i am moving around with pain in my heart and lump in my throat. Its as if i have turned into a mere spectator watching my life being punished for my actions. People coming and hurting me at their will, trampling my feelings under their feet, burying me with heavy criticism...i am just so lost somewhere..as if waiting for someone to come and rescue me from this curse that's killing me each day, each minute, each second.....this feelings they are eating me up and my soul is so badly bruised.....

He loved painting, but missed colors in his life. His painting were dark, because he drew them with charcoal, Painting was his obsession, though he missed the glory of colors, The beautiful blue of the sky, the red, blue and yellow of wild flowers, The golden brilliance of sunshine, and the rich, soft, mellowed tints of things around. Paints were expensive and he could not afford them, for his father was a poor man. Bothered about food, clothing and fuel, his father never thought about buying colors for his son. Dejected he learned to make shoes for a living, but still dreamt of painting a picture someday. With all the colors he wanted, making shoes depressed him, killed him every moment. His soul regretted every moment and his life was leading him no where. His soul was dead. Until one day he decided to run away and explore the mountains. His savings were enough to feed him for some days. The world blamed him for running away but he was adamant now, for he had been teased enough. T...

She asked me what i was doing ? I said, thinking about you. She said, are you kidding me ? Everytime i ask you this question, you give me this same answer. Tell me the truth, you cannot be so obsessed with me. I said," its quite simple, in a minute there are a thousand thoughts that cross my mind and in those thousand thoughts, a thought about you crosses my mind too....ain't a big deal...is it ? She replied, "dude you are crazy....why don't you just fuck off..."

If I must be faithful to someone or something, then I have, first of all, to be faithful to myself. If I am looking for true love, I first have to get the mediocre loves out of my system. The little experience of life I have had has taught me that no one owes anything, that everything is an illusion and that applies to material as well as spiritual things. Anyone who has lost something they thought was their’s forever finally comes to realize that nothing belongs to them. And if nothing belongs to them, then there is no point wasting any tie looking after things that aren’t mine, it’s best to live as if today were the first or the last day of life.

She asked me if I had got the poem, she had sent me some months ago. As fragile my mind had become with so many burdens, I had forgotten the contents of the poem, I had a hard time remembering , trying to think but then I overcame the initial inertia and realized that, o yes, she had penned down a beautiful poem for her nephew whom she loved the most in her family and I must say, her written piece of art was a masterpiece in my eyes. like she had lost it, I too had lost it because I keep formatting my phone and she too had formatted her phone, in the process losing all her notes. I could understand that what a loss of a poem meant because when you pen down a poem you are capturing the emotions that are transcending through your mind and soul, you make your feelings come alive weaving them into beautiful phrases, breathing life into your buried expressions.   And when you lose a poem, you lose a part of your heart because words once written in the past cannot be written in t...

I was living up every frustration of the day, of all the defeats I faced, of every insult I beared. I was shedding some tears and that’s when her text came, “ What you doing Izzzy Boy ? I said, nothing. “Just thinking of writing a Blog, Chanting a Rosary, Reading the Bible, And saying a prayer….” for i still hope for a better day...i still hope..i still believe