"IMAGINOR":Hour Of Magic....

Make a wish when you are down. Save a wordlist and go through it everyday. Pick a song,listen to it over and over again. Obsession,the good parts. Take the people as they are. Can you,even in disguise? Feel so far away that you can see a light house and the mighty sea waves hurling themselves. Take a picture of a homeless man in your mind, reach out. Close the space between and wait for the season's first rain. Watch a perfect mingling of the nature. Let your thoughts kill each other and you feel free to walk on the streets. Don't try to be the sun,don't try to reach the sun, feel the power of it and shine like the moon. Like the dark chocolates you always hide,hide the true self of yours. Find the trapdoor in concealed footsteps.Take the cakes out of bag. Remember capering on dusty playground in summer time when you were young. Listen to the song over and over again. PS-Incomplete.

Imagine a big old oak tree spreading its branches where the road bends. Post holocaust,unknown German village. It is standing there for years and years now. Witnessed the joy, conviviality of the villagers, witnessed deaths,audacious Nazis and sorrows. The old woody tree survived the events brought to it by time. Long cold harsh winter,low water. Blissful rain. It was there for the farmers providing a rejuvenating shade. It was there for shy lovers. It was there when the farmers became soldiers and farmlands were ruined by the British incendiaries. Helpless,harmless tree was engulfed in flames and no one was there for him. Why would some one be there for a tree when human lives were in real jeopardy. But somehow it is still standing. Lost its graceful green leaves. Lost the bird nests. Left with numerous irrecoverable scars. He is left with pain and desolation. The village is now annihilated.Hardly a sign of life. This is a victory for the other side of this war-game. Flying fortresses

So the thing is life and how good you can make it for living. People commute,jump,climb and kill. Fast food,restaurants,cafes,technology. Hunger,death,army,border security. Moonlit night,fashionable closets,kids,super cars. Cigarettes and Alcohol How I woke up on the wrong side of my bed and felt a train ran through my head? How drunk am I? The sharpest pin prick I cant feel Am I the bad influence? or is it just because I can see what lies ahead? And I do not really care. Am i living my life or some one else's life? Running after an illusion thinking this is the way What is the way? Is it just written somewhere on the wall? or is it my heart telling me something and I am getting it all wrong? How hungry is that kid? How is it even possible that a mother is asking for a shelter? Is it a conspiracy or fate. Cigarettes and Alcohol. And my passion to feel that I'm in a distant place, riding a bicycle on a rain washed evening. Is it a fault of my nature or the world is going somewhe

I fear of a man standing next to me. I fear of an array of dark clouds gathering, forming into a giant,little by little on the horizon. And I saw a flash of terror while walking over a small railway footbridge, lights on its roof flickering in a perfectly cold winter night. I can't let some words be spoken. I am cautious about the unforseen consequences. I live in fear,I live in hope but I can't perceive the exuberence of the present. I am the cynic.I am the critic. I laugh at people but I don't have the will to confront myself. What mockery can be greater than this?

The one word in one good conversation between two silhouettes, standing somewhere on a foot bridge. They parted in a good note,maybe or in a bad,maybe. What is it in a conversation which ends up in nothing and somewhere in time we are left with that little piece of "nothing". Just like finding a forlon,dusty frame of picture or a novel. And we smile And we cry And we feel something. What is it in love.How stupid are we that we can't capture the moment to cross the line that separates a perfect world and a dreadful world. What is it in passion.How stupid are we not to have one and obliged to follow what is written on the wall. What is it the bunch of flowers.The smell just fade away in front of our eyes and we don't get a feeling what's gone. What is it in the last train.The eerie feeling as it whistles by. All the simple things doesn't really have a simple answer.God did not make us this way.Or did He?He doesn't have the power to control us.I believe. How