Supreeth Madduri

The sound of a dropped coin  Into the piggy bank sounds like a desperate lover awaiting  at the opened doors of his heart. May be, that's what savings should Sound like. You put all your happiness into a whiff  Of desperation, that you slowly inhale, To make your heart ready to be served. Similar to inserting the coins, one after the other until the intensity fades. The art of saving, require a lot of talents. You need not put all your heart and soul in a single go. Relax. For instance, if the moon is shining bright today, save it for your darker days.  You see? Saving is an art. If you're wasting your love, hold on. Save it in your pockets, in your favorite books, in your diary, in your smile and most importantly in your belief. Let it entangle with every nook and corner of your bones until you feel like investing your savings on something worthwhile.

When you're out of words,  Just breathe. Just that. Your breath is your poetry. And when you do so  Listen to your breath, carefully. Dance around with the                                 silence and you might  as well hear it with a high  Pitched tone. Sometimes, your sweet little                       voice could be your wasted words. But, never mind. Just watch                       those sweet little words kiss                         the heaven. And always remember You're nothing short of the                             masterpiece that you always  Wanted to write.  Because, You are your masterpiece al...

The streets of Varanasi looked Familiar to me The bent and holes of the streets  French buildings, confusing  Crowd, deceiving weather And pretty much everything. As and when I started roaming  Around, the reminiscent of  My past started appearing on The walls of down trodden  Buildings, the etched names on the  Bank of the river which might  Have caused wars for land(s). I was lost. Google can get Awkward at times and make you so. I was lost. Completely.  Familiarity helps in ways you can't  Be less thankful for. Familiarity, sometimes, appear in the  Form of sweet words, affection at times  And in love, most of the times. I was lost. I couldn't leave a trail. But my name did. Did I travel the map? no. I just put my name on the map, happily.

The best part about train journey is the window seat. For instance, I become a paradox with a window seat. Not the paradox that mind could think about , it's the paradox that, only the heart knows. The moving mountains, flying hair,  'Tuhi re' playing along, the train's shakiness putting me into sleep as the train sounds its  Lullaby. Is someone singing along, or is it the train? I wonder how perfectly Rahman's albums frames its lyrics with the window, itself. May be that's what moving keys on his piano mean. Also, that's what a hypnotist does to you. You're aware of your heart beat, not the senses; that you enjoy losing. I am the guy who quotes 'the part about reaching the destination is its journey towards it' I am the guy for whom R N Jayagopal songs has been written down for I am the guy who puts paradox across the minds Mostly, I am the guy by the window seat.

I have read about Casanova,  Cleopatra in the pages of  lust and seduction;  Whose eyes were made of love and perfection. I have read about the cosmos, about the space, about the time, about space-time, the dimensions, about parallelism in universe, And also about your selectivity  Of actions and words. Strip me your thoughts of far away world of granular dust hovering around. The art of seduction, as the books  mention, is a sardonic expression. Space and time slips away to  a world where 'Einstein' is an alienated term, with you standing naked with your words, alongside me. Looking beneath all the myths and theories, I find your eunoic to be far more seductive.

I see faint light glimmering through the hole of hope, flickering incessantly. I strive pretty hard  to get back at you, like a cuckoo popping out every hour, reminding  me of how eager I am at the closed doors of your heart. May be I shouldn't have met you, in the first place. Second of all, I shouldn't have  dreamt about our children,  our house, or anything with you in it. May be, you were my favorite lesson in my history class. Just so you know,  I used to hate history, Only to eventually admire it now. I stare at the flickering light missing your palms  and talk to myself  Saying, whatever will  happen, will happen. And may be that's how  I should be living. Picture courtesy: arvin_illustration (Instagram)

Ashes burnt smelled exactly like  the inhalation of first breath. May be that's what life is. It wasn't suffocating, at least for once; liberation, as they say, is the highest form of purity. For all I realize, death feels nothing like pathos. Liberation from chaos, you see? All the happiness and sorrow in the  world came down to dark particles of  burnt bones and bruised flesh. Nothing more. For all I realize, the war is within and so shall you conquer the roots. Liberation floats with the wings of purity And stings with the blood of hatred. For all I realize, love is the highest form of nothingness,  and so shall you love yourself first.

How beautiful it is, to let the morning sunlight  invade our skin pervading the mist and heating us up!  The feel is just so right. A cup of strong coffee and a book full of inspiration would add to the morning perfection.

  I have tried enough to swim across the oceans. Not everyone can watch the horizon kissing the ocean from either of the sides. I have been there done that, just so you know.                               ------- Even the bravest soldier in the battlefield fear for the impending dawn I have wandered through every inch of the ground just to feel my pounding heart over and over again, without fearing. Best feeling ever.                                ------- With every second that pass by, the broken trust, the lost love, disguised promises, demeaned self-respect, the lost character. I have losen myself, lost almost everything. I have learnt the lesson. I have become wiser than I was ...

Ever seen a calm river with slow current? No. Nature hoodwink us by her looks. Ever experienced the undercurrent of a calm river? Yes. Nature is in itself is an experience to be felt. Introversion as such, can be as deceiving as a calm river. It's the experience of the undercurrent that gives the euphoria of an introverted heart.

He stood there, in the middle of nowhere. Shell shocked. Dreadful silence. Unspoken words meant the world at its periphery. Darkness scared the life out of him. The rustling leaves took a straight hit on his belief, pulse slid down just like a damping wave losing its girth. The thoughts of letting go suffocated his brain. Not breath. His hands trembled. Seismic waves, what? Sweat poured onto the paper. Oceanic depth, so narrow? With every word spilled, the wanting, the hope, the belief grew stronger. Never like before. Damn! Words are undoubtedly the secret saviours from the darkness.

You are the type that Plato gave a rhetorical pedagogy about. The stains, the vanity of appearance, the beaten bruises, and the untamed lust that craves for encomium of kindness; Everything seems so apt on your part. Wonder how You manage to show the resemblance from all the written theories dating from Centuries without your knowledge. God, girl! You must definitely be the one when Plato said, " And Agathon said, It is probable, Socrates, that I knew nothing of what I had said. And yet spoke you beautifully, Agathon "

Ever seen a calm river with fast current? Nature deceive us by her looks. Ever experienced the undercurrent of a calm river? Nature is in itself is an experience to be felt. Introversion as such, can be as deceiving as a calm river. It's the experience of undercurrent that gives the euphoria of an introverted heart.