Have spent the better part of the morning listening to ghazals- the only kind of music that truly speaks to me. I've been wanting to write these lines down for someone to read for a while:
तेरे बारे में जब सोचा नहीं था,
मैं तन्हा था मगर इतना नहीं था.
तेरी तस्वीर से होती थी बातें,
मेरे कमरे में आइना नहीं था.
As I write, I'm pretty confident I'm delirious with fever and I can feel my eyes burn with the heat from my heart. A friend recently informed me (in utmost seriousness) that he thought that I was a closet masochist. Late night conversations end up sounding quite silly, so I paid no heed. Now that I come to think of it. It may be true. The conversation was meandering it's way through various aspects of love and people. I, obviously, was failing miserably in attempts to reason with his logic.
Beauty is always breathtaking or exhilirating. Anything other than that is just pretty and transient. There is a certain charm to pained love. I think I'm a bit of a psycho and now all those who know me well and actually give a damn have resigned themselves to the fact that I can't be part of affairs that are not torrid or crazy. In fact, I am convinced that I am incapable of loving any other way.
तेरे बारे में जब सोचा नहीं था,
मैं तन्हा था मगर इतना नहीं था.
तेरी तस्वीर से होती थी बातें,
मेरे कमरे में आइना नहीं था.
As I write, I'm pretty confident I'm delirious with fever and I can feel my eyes burn with the heat from my heart. A friend recently informed me (in utmost seriousness) that he thought that I was a closet masochist. Late night conversations end up sounding quite silly, so I paid no heed. Now that I come to think of it. It may be true. The conversation was meandering it's way through various aspects of love and people. I, obviously, was failing miserably in attempts to reason with his logic.
Beauty is always breathtaking or exhilirating. Anything other than that is just pretty and transient. There is a certain charm to pained love. I think I'm a bit of a psycho and now all those who know me well and actually give a damn have resigned themselves to the fact that I can't be part of affairs that are not torrid or crazy. In fact, I am convinced that I am incapable of loving any other way.
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