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Member Since: June 4, 2016



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What would you do to change the world?

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This is a place to sing your song and let your voice be heard. Define Coo

coo - verb

  1. To make a soft murmuring sound, as a pigeon.
  2. Speak softly or lovingly;
    The mother who held her baby was cooing softly
  3. To speak in an admiring fashion, to be enthusiastic about.
  4. To show affection; to act in a loving way.

coo - noun

  1. The murmuring sound made by a dove or pigeon.

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Created Light on the World, Legends and Legacies and Taste of Pittsburgh Spotlights

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Rise Above

Sangram Lama
One of those moments when the reflection seems more real than the real object. When the shadow seems more real than the substance.
When the thoughts in your head seems more real than your very presence... Oh, rise above your thoughts, rise about your conditionings, rise about your habits. Out beyond the ego, there is Life
By Sangram-ing Lama

Votes1 DateNov 1, 2016

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Sangram Lama
As a kid, if there was one thing that I feared, it was this particular feeling of loneliness. The realisation that I am all alone and that I am extremely helpless
- Sangram Lama, Kathmandu
Oct 9, 2016- Lonely… Yes, that is what I am feeling. I feel it slithering like a snake right around my left chest, right under my skin, leaving behind the legacy of regret, contempt and frustration in the alleys of my veins and arteries that is hindering the otherwise smooth flow of the blood. If only you were to prick my skin slightly, the cold, sticky and jelly-like feeling of loneliness that smells like rotten semen would gush out in abundance, way faster than the blood. After all, that’s where it is supposed to be felt. Everything has its own time and place. One can’t expect to feel lonely in the belly! Like one can’t expect to feel the hunger pangs in one’s arms. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.
Anyway, if loneliness had an odour, how would it smell like? Would it really smell like rotten semen? Actually, how does the rotten semen smell like? I have no idea. Oh, I am hoarding assumptions
upon assumptions as if I were solving an arithmetic problem. As if my life depended on assumptions. Wait, my life does depend on assumptions. My life is actually revolving around the assumptions. As if my life was the planet earth and the assumption, the sun.
I have been assuming everything so far. I have never questioned any assumptions because I am scared. What? Scared? You see, I am assuming once again. If I didn’t assume, I would question everything and find the truth, if there is any, for myself. Is it another assumption? Yes, it is, but the difference is that, with this assumption, I can denude all other assumptions to its bare skin. I have the ability to questions, dissect, analyse. If so then, why should I take everything for granted? Why should I heed to everything I have been conditioned to? Why should I be so naive to get brain washed by all kinds of mass media and wrong information? Why can’t I stand alone and try to figure out things by myself?
Tonight, with every sip of whiskey and puff of cigarette, I am going to dive deep into the feeling called ‘loneliness’ and I will try to shatter all the assumptions regarding this feeling. And I hope by the end of the night, I will come face to face with the loneliness in its purest form devoid of all the cliches it is decorated with.
Yes, I am feeling lonely. And nothing is wrong.
Everything happened inside the vast cloud of mist. Everything happened mysteriously. I was a figure made up of morning mist and so was she. Though we couldn’t exactly figure out one another, we could definitely feel one another.
After our brief encounter at an Irish bar, we decided to merge into one another and become one giant figure of hazy mist.
We fell in love just like that. May be because other people around us were too bright for us like the burning star. And we were both afraid that their brightness might shatter our existence if we tried to merge with them. This mutual fear was one of the things that brought us together. We became one by turning our backs to everyone else around us. I became her escape and she became my escape. We were escaping our individual loneliness. The very foundation of our relationship was unreliable. Where was the love? We just acted like one another’s saviour. And the day came when we got tired of one another. It was too much of a drama. We can’t always wear our masks. We suffocate sometimes.
After countless drink together, after countless dances together, after countless kissing and love making, after countless dinner and lunch together, we slowly got tired of one another. There wasn’t any passion from the very beginning as we were simply fulfilling our own motives. Before, at least, the mists that we were contained few drops of morning dew and was little moist, but now, we became dry mist.
As I told you, everything happened inside the vast cloud of mist. Coming out of that hazy relationship, I am feeling kind of hazy loneliness that I have always felt once again. So, I have discovered something. Like they say, don’t go into relationship when you are lonely but only when you are ready. I wasn’t ready. I am not ready yet. Not yet…
The best part about my apartment is the balcony. I slept all summer in the balcony, watching stars and moon. I never get tired of my balcony. Just the thought of my cosy balcony gives me utmost joy and a strange sense of freedom. I always had this strange image in my mind of a small house with a big balcony, bigger than the house in volume. I don’t love the house, but its balcony. And this is not possible, so I have got to love the house as well. Sorry, I am talking nonsense once again. My mind just drifts off wherever it wants. It is the midnight madness that I often go through.
I swigged the last few sips of
whisky accompanied by last few puffs of cigarette. I am feeling much better now.
So, I am not feeling lonely because we broke up. Actually, I was feeling lonely prior to our meeting. In fact, the feeling of loneliness was there in me ever since I was a kid. I could feel it at its peak in the short interval after I took shower and before I wiped off my body with the towel. At that particular moment, I would suddenly feel so cut off from the entire universe. The colder the water, the lonelier I felt. I would feel like a dry autumn leaf blown about by the wind. I would suddenly feel helpless even though I was in the presence of my mother. I would feel like I was falling eternally into the dark bottomless well. My mother, who would be wiping my head and body with the big blue towel, would suddenly look like a stranger to me. What is happening? I would ask. My body would suddenly start to shiver like never before. I would try so hard to control my body so that my mom won’t notice it. It would take me a while to come in terms with the reality. I would slowly get familiar with my mom and towel and all the people and articles around me. The sense of familiarity will gradually dawn on me. Then I would know who I am.
It is the reason why I was always resistant about bathing. I would lie and complain that the water is cold. But my mother would heat up the water and make me take a bath at least once a week and the same feeling of loneliness would return and occupy my body and mind. As a kid, if there was one thing that I feared, it was this particular feeling of existential loneliness. The realisation that I am all alone and that I am extremely helpless.
My whisky is finished. My cigarette pack is empty. It is already 4 in the morning. My roommate is already waking up and getting ready to go to his work. I can see the darkness before the dawn outside my window. Today, once again, I couldn’t go deep into the feeling of loneliness like I said. Today, once again, I couldn’t unravel all the assumptions surrounding the feeling of loneliness. As usual, I couldn’t come to any conclusions. I lack that perseverance to go deep into any matter. I lack that patience.
It’s time to sleep now. I have to wake up at 7 and go to work. I can’t be late today. But it seems I will certainly be late. Not sleeping is better than mere three hour of sleep which would make me want to sleep even more. So I decide not to sleep. I go outside to my balcony and sit
down on the chair. I will watch the sunrise instead. The air is so pure and fresh at this hour. I heave a deep sigh of relief.
As I wait for the sunrise, I start dozing off. And, coming in and out of the sleep, I reach to this fragmented conclusion that the feeling that I have been feeling so far isn’t loneliness but emptiness.
I heave a deep sigh of relief once again, coming in and out of my sleep. I start drooling and groaning uncontrollably.
With every groan, I mutter,
Emptiness… Emptiness… Emptiness…
Published: 09-10-2016 08:39

Votes1 DateOct 9, 2016

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Sangram Lama
Solitude is intoxicating. There is you, only you. There is silence, only silence. There is contemplation. There is meditation. A puff of cigarette, a sip of wine, a line of poetry. There is monologue. You begin to miss someone when an old familiar song plays in the radio. There is joy, only joy. And a tinge of nostalgia.
By Sangram-ing Lama

Votes1 DateSep 12, 2016

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Sangram Lama
Before, everything was meaningless but resentfully, reluctantly, half-heartedly.
Now, everything is meaningless but wonderfully, magically, full-heartedly.
I guess, nothing needs to be changed but the perspective.
Just change your old age perspective or just see through it, and you will feel the wind of change blowing under your skin, rattling your entire skeleton system and pushing you into the realm of utter delight and joy.
Aliveness is the greatest treasure.
Poetry by Sangram-ing Lama

Votes1 DateAug 2, 2016

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Sangram Lama
Memories were once a first hand experience. Something you experienced with your hand, your body's skin.
Whatever you are experiencing now will soon be a memory. Meaning, you can only experience it in your mind, your mind's membrane...
But even the first hand experience -- happening here and now -- we are already partly experiencing it in our minds. In a way, we are experiencing the here and now through memories.
And we experience memories through memories too.
So, everything is memory and the memory is everything.
I might be wrong. But without any memories, what is wrong and what is right.
So, without memories, everything is right.
And without memories, everything is wrong too....
Memories are living for us. We have become a forgotten piece of life, drifting in the vast universe...
Poetry by Sangram-ing Lama

Votes1 DateJul 27, 2016

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The Remaining 80%

Sangram Lama
I have lived as my head for a long time now. And all those years, I wasted my life, my aliveness, my presence.
I was caught up in pretense, pretext, presumption.
Enough of befriending the thoughts and trusting them as if they really exist.
Now, I wanna live as my heart, my hands, my fingers.
Now I wanna live as my belly, my legs, my thighs, my knees.
Now I wanna live as my slings, my feet.
It's high time we shift our attention from above our neck to below the remaining 80% of our body.
Poetry by Sangram-ing Lama

Votes2 DateJul 21, 2016

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What If

Sangram Lama
Oh! what if, what if happiness was the biggest propaganda humanity believes in?
What if we were brainwashed to seek happiness and avoid suffering?
What if we could accept and welcome every state of mind as it is no matter how unpleasant or unacceptable it might appear?
What if we could all recognize that we are the life itself bursting with eternal aliveness?
That we are not the ideas, thoughts, beliefs, religion, and all sorts of conditionings. What if we could live like a child with the wisdom of an old man?
Poetry by Sangram Lama

Votes2 DateJul 14, 2016

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Midnight Sky

Sangram Lama
I love sitting in the balcony
And stare at the midnight sky,
The sky full of stars.
No matter how hard and long
I stare at the sky and the stars
They don't mind.
I guess,
I like that freedom.
So when I say
You are the sky full of stars
What I mean is that you don't mind
No matter how long and hard
I stare at you
Instead you give me the smile
That says you enjoy being stared
I guess,
I like that freedom.
Poetry by Sangram Lama

Votes1 DateJul 1, 2016

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Under the Starry Sky

Sangram Lama
Under the starry sky
The mundane reality, where I usually dwell, has completely lost its existence. Now I dwell in a different realm of existence
- Sangram Lama
Jun 12, 2016- Ten glasses of gin and tonic now swim inside my stomach. The world has suddenly turned upside down. The mundane reality, where I usually dwell, has completely lost its existence. Now I dwell in a different realm of existence. The realm where everything seems so perfect, so alright and so ‘no problem’. The realm of existence where your cheeks never stop rushing towards your ears. The realm of existence where you laugh even when someone asks your name, let alone address. There are some breeds of liquid that has the power to transport you to the land of your fantasy. Today, I took its refuge; I surrendered to its power.
I am drunk. I might be unconscious, but if being unconscious can be so beautiful and blissful, why the hell would anyone bother to return back to the pseudo conscious living?
I don’t care. Let me enjoy my unconsciousness now. Fully unconscious… Fully drunk…
I stand up. I wobble. So I clutch at the chair for support. It feels like I am carrying someone else’s body, like I am not my body; it feels like I am not my mind either. It feels like I am a witness. Someone who is aware of everything that is happening in and around me. Someone who is observing everything silently, without any kind of judgment and identification. It feels really good to detach oneself from one’s incessant chatter of the mind. Peace…
“Excuse me, sir,” said the bartender. “You haven’t paid yet.” I laughed as if I heard the funniest joke ever told. “Sorry dude,” I said, slipping my hand down to my pocket. “I thought I paid you already.” The bartender laughed at me.
Perhaps, I looked like an asshole. But who cares? I can’t afford to care anymore. Now let me enjoy my high. Let me enjoy…
It was such a long day at work.
For me, today was the longest day of the week. I spent all of my body, mind and soul doing the things I am paid to do. Doing the things which make me feel more and more dead, day after day. The day work has robbed me of my passion.
At the end, I have become yet another insipid character in the book of history. Living the same life story like almost all other fellows, leaving behind the same legacy which I tried my entire life to avoid, but to no avail. I fell into the same trap my father fell into and the trap which my father tried so relentlessly to avoid for me. The same story of living someone else’s life, the same story of living life like a corpse. If only a machine could breathe, it would look exactly like me.
After paying my bill, I shuffle towards the door and push it open. Outside, everything seems so quiet and fresh, as if the whole surrounding was made up of fresh dew drops. A gust of wind wafts. It almost blows away my intoxication. My long hair sways like tall grasses in the summer breeze. I must have reacted in a certain way. I don’t remember clearly. Perhaps, my expressionless face looked more expressionless.
Outside, next to the door, I see a couple smoking and gazing towards the stars, hand in hand. Perhaps, they are making wishes. I want to make a wish too. A wish to be free of all wishes. By the way, how would a person survive without any wishes? A wish-less person? A person devoid of any desires? I am certain nobody in their right minds would ever desire such a person. Even someone who has transcended all worldly desires should still have some desires, wishes and dreams. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have any reason to live.
But I don’t seem to have any desires or dreams any longer. It might be the reason I often want to die. Oh wait, isn’t that a desire too? All day long, my mind is literally empty. Or so I think. And it hasn’t yet turned into a devil’s workshop. I guess even the devil seems to be frightened to enter the inside my mind.
I reach towards my pocket and fish out a cigarette and light it. You have got to do something all the time. That’s how I started smoking. Smoking kills, I know. At times, living kills too. We know it well. Leaving behind clouds of smoke, I move forward one step at a time, piercing the silent street. My body seems like it has got no bones to hold me erect. It feels like I am drooping from all the sides.
I have this deep fascination towards the midnight street. I have this deep intimacy. And I experience utmost gratification walking the street at this particular period of time when the city is in deep slumber. When you are enveloped by the palpable silence. When the street is softly illuminated by the lamp posts. When I see my reflection shimmering on the rain puddle at a street corner. Oh how I cherish such moments. It’s midnight and you are drunk and a cigarette dangles from your mouth and you are walking towards somewhere; but you don’t exactly know where, listening to the music of your thoughts. At such moments, very few things matters. You are a light unto yourself. I mean, you are a darkness upon yourself. Whatever. Your heart is finally at peace. You feel at home. Nobody is in sight except a few whores in their short skirts, waiting outside at the corner of the road, looking for customers. Under such circumstances, I can feel the moment. I can hear the moment whispering, “Live me. Live me fully.” And I feel I am truly myself.
I reach an intersection, and at the corner I see a Chinese lady gesturing me with her head to come to her…
“How much?” I ask. “$120 per hour,” she says in a Chinese accent.
I follow her for five minutes—we cross five blocks. She then opens the gate of an old, dilapidated house. I follow her. We enter a room, a small room that reeks of soy sauce. There are heaps of clothes strewn here and there on the floor. At a corner, there is a small rickety bed that looks like it might collapse any moment. She turns off the light and pulls me towards the bed and takes off my clothes one by one.
She rides upon me. She rolls her tongue all over my body and stops a while at my nipples and plays with it for a while. I hear her warm and heavy breaths colliding against my neck as she kisses me fiercely. All the while, I caress her breasts. Her body is soft and smells good unlike her room. I roll her around and lay her on her back. Now, I ride upon her. I don’t know if she moans and groans out of pleasure or does it just to make me feel good. Whatever might be the reason, I am not satisfied. Neither is she. This is it.
Shortly, after the business is done, we talk for a while. We share our mutual interest for reading and writing. I promise her I will write poems about her one day. That one day I will write a book about her. That one beautiful evening, she will be walking down the street and that she will stumble upon a bookstore that proudly displays the book I wrote for her. She smiles. She is really beautiful.
I read her some of my poems and she keeps on smiling after each poem.
She asks my age. I say, “27.”
I ask her age. She says, “44.”
“You don’t look like 44,” I say. “You look maximum like 35.”
“No,” she says. “I am old.”
I am taken aback.
“So where are you going now?” she says, as I pay her.
“I am going to a graveyard and lay down and watch stars.” I say.
“What? Is it safe at this hour?” she says with genuine concern. “You better go home and have some rest now.”
“No, I am not feeling like going home anymore,” I say.
“You are stubborn.” She says.
“Goodnight.” I say.
“Come back soon,” she says, waving her hand.
Her memories keep flooding my mind as I keep on walking aimlessly under the starry sky.

Votes3 DateJun 30, 2016

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Lifts (Votes)*

Name Vote Date
Rise Above Nov 1, 2016 @ 02:57:44 pm
Emptiness Oct 9, 2016 @ 08:06:47 pm
Solitude Sep 12, 2016 @ 02:09:58 pm
Aliveness Aug 2, 2016 @ 08:28:13 pm
Memories Jul 27, 2016 @ 11:25:08 am
The Remaining 80% Jul 21, 2016 @ 10:08:34 am
What If Jul 14, 2016 @ 11:11:40 am
Midnight Sky Jul 1, 2016 @ 12:44:54 pm
Under the Starry Sky Jun 30, 2016 @ 12:35:05 pm

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