a dry inkpot

Change is the essence of life. Being willing to surrender for what you are, for what you could become. But in the scheme of things and cross of changes the rules and grammar stand ill-defined. Sometimes the wagon-R (read Reliable) of life fails to negotiate a turn and hits the fencings. Sometimes the flat tire is left without a Stepney replacement. Or maybe even the necessity of a journey is fundamentally questioned and not even a smoke trail is noticed! So much for the momentum of life... turbo charged!
I do not know where this scribble would end. Maybe in a long time, this is a first. Maybe there is a dry inkpot and some confused thought. Was that fancy poetry? Some crazy rhyme that once made sense... that once held promise but then Barack Obama became the president of US of A and the leaves withered away! Hell! True or false you just need to blame something. From the financial debacle to the Laden mystery and the Slumdog Millionaire, i can take my pick! It seems now that beginnings do not have a rationale, and there is hardly an end. Life at times just interrupts you in the middle and packs you off. What might you do? Complain? Cry and cry hoarse over the confused past and the perfect present! I mean what is this life so full of care... sorry, I do not want to quote Wordsworth exactly but then, ya... the question words pour along with the emotional outbursts. The lachrymal glands, the cranial matter and the bloody four-chambered heart, all conspire to ‘paint my love’ just like MLTR had sung, only with a lemon twist on the word.. . IF. IF! IF only, just, but, would! You’d paint my love... Ha! The profound foolishness of human mind is enormous.
There are phases of life that hit you like Katharina, I mean the hurricane, but still you seem to be shamelessly biting dust. Reels of the past seem to run full house in the quagmire of a juvenile system! The planetary movements of life nucleate around just one Homo sapiens of the fairer sex and there is tremendous amount of pain. History tells us that men behave wisely after all other options are exhausted but sigh! Even in the darkest hour (I tell you it is pitch black!) of la belle dame sans mercy (look at me even expecting sympathy, empathy...!) blissful ignorance is my actual “credit” rating!
You thought so much, of so much you could think but then just so much it was left at! It was left with! The guise of sarcasm and the faint trace of humour do little to salvage the ends lost and the beginnings erased! Thanks... they (or is it she?) spared the middle! A middle that is now like the stale vegetable left after a Sunday morning market wraps up! You might just try to look back and stop, turn the page and... And... Just maybe move on. It is a great relief – closure. Traffic signals of life, the right guidelines. But do we ever learn red, yellow, and green? I wish I had known you when you were there, or then maybe you would have never been there at all.
Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in memory as the wish to forget it.