Gusty winds all around,
Yet no moment in my room.
Rain droplets all around,
Yet no one shown up in my doom.

Thunder cries all around,
Yet no voice knocks my door.
Darkness spreads all around,
Yet no light falls on my floor.

Dreams shatter all around,
Yet no tear leaves my eye.
Hopes scatter all around,
Yet no wings learn to fly.

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Engineer’s life in 2025

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Sad Guru Purnima

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Sometimes overthinking feels less like a flaw
and more like a signal like your mind is a telescope
pointed too long at a shifting star unsure if
it’s watching a planet, a memory or a warning.
The thoughts loop like satellites in decaying
orbit pulled by unseen gravity theories collapsing
like timelines in a multiverse that never agreed
on one version of you. Maybe you’re not
overanalysing maybe you’re just stuck mid-
transmission between realms decoding echoes
from a cosmos that never learned how to give
straight answers.

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Why did you appear in my eyes in such a way that my heart made you its home? Why did you settle in my heart so deeply that my eyes see only your dreams? Your dreams come to me so often, it’s as if I live every breath with them. I live for you so completely, as if life itself is meant for you. Every heartbeat echoes only your name, and why shouldn’t it? After all, this heart belongs to you.

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I think ChatGPT and other tools have perfected the art of writing and drawing but As humans we need not to be perfect to write poetry or create any piece of writing, or draw something. Writing and drawing are journeys that we as humans are meant to enjoy the process and not the outcome thought outcome does matter but these creations reflect what the creator must have felt during the creation, telling their story and showcasing their hard work and the story they want to pass on even after hundred years when they will not be alive. It will never be as fulfilling as to receive something instantly with a single tap on the generate icon.

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He is the silent wind beneath the chaos never seen but always felt. Hanuman Ji doesn't ask for temples or chants 'cos he is everywhere. His love is the shield forged in fire that held without pride.
He is the storm that bends to protect, the mountain that moves so you may breathe. Like the flame that stays to warm while burning itself.
He gives endlessly, fearlessly, without ever asking to be known. True devotion to him is learning to give like Him.

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Real love is a candle that melts only to give its light
away never asking for wax in return. It doesn’t barter
with the darkness or count how much it has burned. It
simply glows, even if it disappears in the process. That’s
love not a transaction, but a quiet revolution of giving
without reason, without condition, without end.

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