Reality of the Untold

When the words move my soul, I begin to unfold,
Unfold into reality, the reality of the untold..

I make myself desire, the ones that never mould,
Can never wish for something, that something made of Gold..

You stand like a bridge, making it all sane,
It’s tempting, it’s calming, it’s like summer rain..

Just a glimpse, your, glimpse that makes me sigh,
Sigh of relief, filled with sheer joy..

Sort out my life, to bring about a change,
Its that rare a ray, who lights the cloud range..

Life turns wonders’, when you sheer hold my soul,
To Unfold into reality, Reality of the Untold….

The Humming Hour Glass

As I sit with modest noise of silence, I hear the hour glass hum. That steady slip of silent something, every molecule chiming with mutant stokes of light, recalls the piece of past most cherished in time. That subtle grind of sand, invoking the misery that once seemed to be fading away, pertinent to the cosmos of things.

Where time is in no hurry, & i can’t seem to shake time. Where there’s a consistent need of a shelter from that bright summer sun, overpowering my own shadow. Where every moment passing reveals and steps to melt me. The sense of dismay & an added purr of stigmatic deception fluttering me, the hour glass lingering with reluctance to quality & a conscience to acknowledge.

One man’s twaddle, another man’s destiny, doesn’t quite justify. The one in power, tilting my hour glass to nuke my senses, crippling me & even challenging the gush of air keeping my feet in power & mind as set. As I sit with modest noise of silence, besides the glass pane as a spectator of a mute exhibition with voices of the verve & animation of a statue, i rest…

Asking no due..

Little knew me, thy courageous, a world resides in you,

Little knew me, all together, a voice calls so true…


Calm, composed, facilitated, without asking a due,

Stirring up the cool desire, chanting it all through…


Smothering all my guts inside, I stand out of queue,

Why? Oh why?  Hierarchy of things unfolding, utterly untrue…


A game begins, the game of life, little did I knew,

To absolute the world winning, my world being you,

Little knew me, thy courageous, a world resides in you…




The paining trail…

An empty slate, desiring words, to put meaning within the random orchestrated letters. The rules, no rules, can ever be implemented when stating ornaments of empathy. The junction where you start to care and where you know you actually do, has a familiar yet strange vibe to it.  A certain segmented truth, is now the real truth. You can very well acquire a fondness, but this fondness can only be expected to last, if it clears a due. The due that is kept aside for just me to fulfil.

The chandeliers of joy were kept aside; I enter the room & I see a tide. A tide that stops at nothing, and leaves something for me to ponder on.  To pick up the salt ridden pieces and to think back on the choices I have made. I think, yet unable to pick mistakes, I try, I fail and I start again. Where was I wrong? Whom did I foul? what made my life so shredded that I can no longer glue back the pieces together.

Though I painted a serene art, a picture that had everything, I gave it time, I nurtured it with love and I seasoned it with care. Unwavering at times of peril & staunched where vulnerable, I made sound choices. But it found, only to flounder and dissolve at first sight of woe. An unfamiliar assemblage, spooring judgement. Incompetent and rustic, yet competent & weighty, the crowd with loathing looks and stating eyes, piercing into my soul. Bustling my peace, unsettling my pastoral entity.

It’s just the coarse & paining trail, I walk. I walk for unanimity, I walk to learn, I walk to find the moment I started walking for..

Dissolve in-to Reality

“The Thing”, it’s a denotation to a several subjective or objective things we do in our Daily-Lives. What capacity & magnitude these things carry is not a noticeable conjecture, sometimes its just the tokens of appreciation or gratitude, a token to express empathy & care is just what matters. Its not significant whether it is small or big, it’s just a reflection on your inner self, from the eyes of somebody else.

Everybody says “don’t expect & you shall not be disappointed”. The question beats me saying “why not”, “maybe just a little bit”. When given a chance, I haven’t, wouldn’t & mustn’t let a single chance go, to make a loved one feel special, isn’t it justified to expect just 1% of the affection & warmth that you so proficiently extended to your close ones. That, if you made a difference in someone’s life, in a way that made them feel special & gave them a morale boost, how & why is it a social dilemma to expect the same kind of affection & care in return?

But no, the consequence makes me believe that I am standing in a low point of view, where, either I need to rethink my turns in life, or I need to let go of my thinking-self & dissolve into reality, the reality which is crude & unjust, the reality which abandons my ethical code, the code that says never to let a loved one be alone & in misery, the code that makes me “taken for granted” in this cycle of life, where I try to grant every bit of happiness through my stand-point into lives of people connected to me.

It’s an underpass, concluding me to change the way I think, and the way of appreciating the crowd I called family. From what I observe, the one mistreating is far more attractive, than the one showering affection. Maybe, Changing my approach & expressions is somewhat a logical choice, as it might let the ones know, that “things that make them special, are the things created by the “one”, who they take for granted”.