The day after Friday usually comes with just a little more ease that it should, specially when the weather seems to be favorable. The whole idea of keeping track of things is to make sure that nothing falls apart in life, that the messy parts and bits we don't know about never find their way home. And though for some it is just like any other day there is something beautiful about the craziness. We are not supposed to be perfect, we are not supposed to find meaning in between the craziness all the times but we are supposed to be relentless, we are supposed to be restless as the night waiting for the day. Someone told me last Saturday, that learning to believe again is one of the hardest things to do, but we take chances anyways , and we make changes anyways. On that very note I decided to write to the phone calls from the other side, the ones you almost thought you lost in your phone books and the scribbles at the edge of your page. And on another note don't forget to keep sending me more things to write about.
Sometimes About Mediocrity
About mediocrity is sometimes all I write about,
About the books I never wrote , about the things that lay incomplete,
About music that plays only in my head out loud,
And the artist who scribbles on a page , and the scribbles that I love to see
Folded page from the chances I took, of books that no one would ever read,
But at-least find the dog eared pages, and maybe stop for a while and give them a peek.
Do you find yourself lost in the season, in the colors of fall that writes back to you,
That cooks and smells so sweet at times, that falls from trees and that rhymes so true
A girl sung me a song once long ago, about the leaves that falls from trees so true
And though I don't remember the lyrics , I hear the same song as a leaf brushes through
Insanity cries to me in my things to do, my underscored life, my ligatures in the language I speak,
Among the curious places I often go to, the places you wouldn't know, the ones I get to keep
About mediocrity I write sometimes I guess, about poets and musicians alike,
That are found somewhere, somehow and someday and in between the lyrics for now
Stop listening to the earphones out loud, let me whisper for a little bit, let us hum alike
Among the many places you go to in your head, let me follow you, simply as a mediocre guy.
Sometimes About Mediocrity
About mediocrity is sometimes all I write about,
About the books I never wrote , about the things that lay incomplete,
About music that plays only in my head out loud,
And the artist who scribbles on a page , and the scribbles that I love to see
Folded page from the chances I took, of books that no one would ever read,
But at-least find the dog eared pages, and maybe stop for a while and give them a peek.
Do you find yourself lost in the season, in the colors of fall that writes back to you,
That cooks and smells so sweet at times, that falls from trees and that rhymes so true
A girl sung me a song once long ago, about the leaves that falls from trees so true
And though I don't remember the lyrics , I hear the same song as a leaf brushes through
Insanity cries to me in my things to do, my underscored life, my ligatures in the language I speak,
Among the curious places I often go to, the places you wouldn't know, the ones I get to keep
About mediocrity I write sometimes I guess, about poets and musicians alike,
That are found somewhere, somehow and someday and in between the lyrics for now
Stop listening to the earphones out loud, let me whisper for a little bit, let us hum alike
Among the many places you go to in your head, let me follow you, simply as a mediocre guy.
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