The smell of Petrol

I really love Petrol. Being completely elegant in it's appearance and particularly in it's smell, it outclasses other fluids by a good margin; according to me. As a kid I barely refrained myself from drinking it, because the smell conjured up a curious thirst in my throat. It's color gives it a gem-liquid look.
In addition to the physique it has, it also has a soul to look at. What better proofs of it's sacrifice do we need other than it burning itself? Also, the volatility which is it's nature shows that it's so unwilling to stay in this world. Yeah, perhaps this isn't the right universe for it. Unfit.
Petrol, is the fluid to be.

Sense and Complexity

I've often come across simple questions from my lower grades and failed to answer them. For reasons I'm unsure of, their number is increasing day by day. Or perhaps I've been fed the same simple explainations I used to accept as a kid. They taught electrons in the eight grade, and do even now. Once a guy asked me, 'are they spherical'? and I found myself racking my brains. They never mentioned that, did they? They are perhaps waves, and waves aren't spherical; wait...I did read about spherical waves somewhere...or whatever. Nuclear reactors continue to appear in books with those 'Simple Block Diagrams'. How the heck are fuel rods made? One confusion drags in the next one, until I find myself a bit illiterate. I couldn't define flux once. And messed up with it's dimensions another time. All I know about motors is that they've a coil rotating because of a magnetic field. Or rather the core rotating because of the torque, or perhaps a couple.
Science is one thing. Sometimes I wonder whether Parvez Musharraf is dead or alive. I know no news, and I'd believe you if you told me India's GDP was 5678 million something. How much would it be? I don't know how much power a lift consumes, or even do the simple estimation on the number of burgers going out of McD in an hour. I don't know how much cement costs, or in what year Alexander died. And by the way, where's Columbia; not in Asia surely?
Let's call it a lack of touch, or may be age's catching up, eh?

Roger

How does it feel like to wake up in the morning and see sixteen Grand Slam titles on your bedside table? (They won't fit, perhaps!)
There is only one man on the planet who knows. Like all other great sportsmen, he has a unique style. It's never his perfect play I wonder about. I rather wonder about his mindset. Very few people have come under situations quite like he's been in. For a man, there must be no greater events in the galaxies to see after playing a match such as the Wimbledon 2008 Final.
And yet he has urge to keep it going...where's the inspiration? And of what heavenly potency?
I know you listen to Shakira, Roger.
'There's nothing left to feel,
If you really feel the way I feel.'

Winter Love

Of the few things that aren't reversible in this universe according to thermodynamics or any such damn theory, Love is the best one. I don't really know what I mean by reversibility, but I guess I wanted to say that it doesn't quite happen the way it's like every time.
I was standing in a different world. She was feet away. The cold and dry winter wind was all that separated us. Or, it appeared so.
She was all the forms of art could be-a painting, a poem or perhaps music. I didn't care. We were together;

in the best Winter of my life.

19/12/2010

If the speculation of an earth-ending date in the year 2012 is correct, well we have...umm...exactly two years and two days to live. 21/12/2012, remember?
I've often wondered how would it be if we were to know beforehand that we were going to die. It definitely sounds absurd, for i believe we can never really FEEL what's it's like until the situation is actually at hand. It's a bit like adrenaline, which cannot be secreted at will. And so whatever we think we'd do before dying would be different from what we'd ACTUALLY do.
What would you do? Donate to charity? :) If you take my opinion the world would run about to complete its wishes. What else? Isn't it obvious? The more adventurous ones would perhaps attempt a bank robbery or kill someone they dearly hate. Others would make love. But the exact prediction of what would happen is difficult, because it comes down to the moment. the moment of choice, where we choose the response.
And then we've had such prophecies about the world crashing down before. But we're here, isn't it? So why care?

From a dying Soldier.

I soak blood; off my wound, with Your rag.
In my missing skin-imagine Your shape.

Through my noisy breath, and a heart to drag,

see pallor in the stems of escape.

You surfed my dreams; over waves of Your smell.

The broken steel in my organ stays...

Wish I had spelled You: to You; had scores to tell.

I'll loathe this war, and keep You in my dead mind-

Always.