And places fill up quite easily.
Not always it’s you who vacate.
Sometimes you are replaced,
or the place itself undergoes a
metamorphosis.

We feel pain when we bear
heaviness of not giving,
or, getting enough.
We feel a grave chasm inside us,
when after giving every bit,
we still lose everything.

I feel this as a silent death that
no one speaks about.

Efforts do matter,
being good do matter.
But in the world of
‘’ I, me and myself’’,
everything fades
like nothing ever matters.

To not have a choice is an ache.
To not give a chance to build
bonds again, is cruelty.
But at-least no part of my heart
would be at stake, to get crushed
once more…

-

And when death finds me,
I hope it brings me the
promise of forever.

-

People find me different and difficult.
I tried to make them understand
that I’m different but not strange.

And I’m easy to go.
Easy to please,
easy to love,
easy to hate and,
easy to trust.

With times,
I have realised the meaning
of being different and difficult,
is actually different and easy.

Different because it’s rare,
difficult because there’s only few left
who are easy

-

Where will I go after getting tired?

All I see is restless me lost in chaos.
After an endless fight,
where shall I find abode?

A Home!? One that truly feels Home.

-

It’s been so long.
They’re all gone.
Some have reached.
Some about to.

Most days, I think of loss.
Once in a while, I embrace.
I know, I did right.
Once in a while, I accept it.

No time, I was fine.
Never I lived happily.
All I passed was broken.
None that I was in time.

It’s been so long.
Many ways they chase.
The other way that I go.
Some far, rest a little less known.

-

The clown acts,
the circus lights up.
The clown walks,
the blind circus follows!

-

Life is all about actions.
I feel it is a dramatic concoction
of different acts.

Sometimes it’s about you standing in the rain.
.
Sometimes it’s about who gets you the umbrella.
.
Sometimes it’s about the one who stands in the rain
while they have the choice to embrace the warmth
of a cozy home.
.
Other times, it’s about the one who flood your house,
ruin your peace and makes you wonder,
if it’s the heavy rain, or the universe crying
at your despair.


Not sometimes anymore, is something that I conclude.
It’s always about every time that life holds a story,
is a story.

And it’s every story that holds a life.

-

And maybe sometimes we are too harsh on ourselves
that we be so kind to others, while we bleed, only to
realize later that all this time we were the one who
suffered unkindness, few by them, most by our own self.

-

If there’s something in me
that would probably kill me
someday then that would be
my desire.

A longing that I had as a child,
A longing for love, care and kindness.

If ever I lose to chaos living in me,
I would say that I was killed by my
own self that desired to live.

-

yet we keep on playing various roles.
Some days are just an act of leaving
things behind. And then, a day
where every light has to fade.

I smile today, I laugh out loud,
and I have started to dance
in the new song. I see no tears.

A star shines brightest
at its last moments is
what they say.

-