कहते सुना था उन्हें भी
किताबों में पढ़ा था कहीं,
ये जिन्दगी सब सीखाती
है यहीं ;
सोचा करती थी मैं कभी,
कैसा होता होगा ऐ जिन्दगी
सीखाने का तरीका तेरा।
कहाँ जाना था तब,
मैं भी होऊंगी कभी
एक दिन तेरी कक्षा में,
और इस दिन में केवल
चौबीस घंटे नहीं होंगे,
होगी ये एक यात्रा समान
यहीं समय की छाँव तले।
यहीं देखे मैंने लोग बदलते,
समय संग बदली
यहाँ रिश्तों की बुनावट भी।
गलतियाँ करते देखा है
सुना था गलतियों से लेनी
होती है सीख समझदार को,
यहां उन्हें दोहराते भी देखा है।
पर मैंने ठान रखा है
गाँठ बाँध ली है मन में,
सीख रही जो तेरी कक्षा में
ऐ जिन्दगी, उसे ना भूलुंगी मैं ताउम्र।

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Every action and every thought produces an unseen energy, that surrounds your girdle.
And that energy has all the proficiency to influence not only the life near you but also you..
So, it becomes very important to know what kind of energy are we exuding in the process...

Our whole world is a form of energy...

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Artists

There was a time,
when an artist with rich art
was considered a successful virtuoso.
But now, it is only a rich artist
who is considered worthy
of his art..

Even the divine Art couldn't escape
the cold gauging eyes.

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Aren’t our lives just
like a building?

(Read full in caption)

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To be conscious about how you feel and not let yourself feel it completely, you know you're digging yourself your abyss and feeding your subconscious through it.

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Looking at the rising sun,
from it's deep slumber;
Full of vibrancy and zeal..
I ponder over my life as yet,
awaiting to rise like it...

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When I read your delicate dreams,
Over that lucid yet faithfull lament.
I saw us, being that reality.
A reality we weaved, so often,
I forgot how I'm so obliged.
When I don't hold your hand,
Remember I held your heart.

You don't know how, You shine my broken constellations,
Those burned out daydreams.
You don't, and so every moment from now.
Neither to drown, nor so driven.
When you told, 'let's stay'
Stagnant my heart, forever
as you said.

How the days go by, as to why,
'Dance me through the night'
I let out nothing but a joyful cry.
Not a love story, but a story of love. You said no more,
how euphoric was that,
Off the shore as we walked, hand in hand.

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All writers are sensitive.
OR
All sensitives are writers.

??

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I have still not found
an answer.
The question:
"Why do only humans
ask so many questions
about their existence?"

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All over the world when people are being quarintied and are being compelled to practice social distancing . We are trying desperately to remain sane in a world that seems bordering on the insane. So,it's just the right time for us to ponder,reflect,meditate,and discover the world within our own minds.

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