Wednesday, July 12, 2006


Sleepless nights,everyday.
For answers.
For inner purity.
Every little action of his, he subjected it to severe scrutiny.
Guilt.and the pain that followed.
He didn't wipe out his guilt like sweat.
Allowed it to scorch his skin.
Masochism? hmm.naa.
Self enquiry.
Enquiry that destroys the illusion of inner peace.
Enquiry about the obvious.and beyond the obvious
Enquiry into madness.
Into that dark little zone coated with silver.
Enquiry of a spiritual kind.
All this. for 40 years.
Everyday. Everynight. Every single fuckin moment.

Then, one fine day, he seduces his wife's sister.And heck,he loved his loved and yet! Whatever he got from spirituality, he lost it to flesh . Irony.And then, Redemption.Resurrection.

Tolstoy lives everywhere. That good ol' man.

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