LINOO TANDUKAR

In your past life, you couldn’t fully live your youth to the fullest. You were unfazed by the world, growing, learning, and yet there was still so much left to do, so many plans. But you were cheated by nature, drowned by deep waters. So pure, so untouched, that you would have gone to heaven. But there is still the nectar of youth from that past life that hasn’t ceased. You are restless because you’ve never seen beyond this youth in any universe. In the past, you died like a saint. And in this life, if you're unfortunate, you might die like a martyr. All the people you could have met, all the eyes you could have locked with in that past life — you ignore them now, you lower your gaze, beacuse its hysterically excess. All the attention owed to you in the past is now emptied onto you in this life, and all the happiness and sadness you could have experienced back then will all be experienced in this life. Whether you like it or not, you will feel it. You will see it. The fire within ...

"Unrealistic people like to dwell in their imagination." B ut lets assume in those imagination is a beautiful little barred residence. A lthough its a dream. R oughly made up of ones neurons and chemicals. R ed wine, white bed sheets and walls slowly decorated by frames. E ventually the silence is replaced by the soft laugh of the loved one in the distance, and the children having their own names and a warm feeling of contentedness. D uring the hard times, these unconscious graphic pictures in ones mind keep them going. H owever because one is fully aware of ones potential. O ften it disappears when they don't believe in it. U nderstanding that the imagining ability decreases with age. S adly some people have that touch of madness that everything is so clear that they are already experiencing the destination halfway through the journey. E xperiences in ones life are voluntarily the results of their thoughts; if positive it brings the best of life and if negati...

But when you don't know if the sounds of thunder are from your head or it is natures production. By now you must know how to do calculus, but do they know you will live your whole life eating cup noodles? So free, like your existence is itself a freedom .Like sex in the wild, grasses in the forest that is so green that it hurts your eyes, its dark green, it has mud in it. Look into your eyes, we are so common. When you cry your ego is washed like beeswax melting in the sun. When the nature cries, it rains, the earth produces beautiful smell ...its a earthly smell so fresh that you get nostalgic. My existence itself too is a random production of nature. I am not a girl nor a boy. I am made of random moments, words and memories more than i am made up of flesh, bones and blood. It feels like as years pass by i grow into a pile of words (unsaid and half said), of memories; memories of every first time, memory of eating something so sour that your eyes go weird, memory of...