Wednesday, 29 July 2015


Its a quest for reasons to stay, among reasons to leave. 

I thought I could convince myself otherwise, that 'being alive' is living a dream.

But sometimes, they throw you back to the quarter, where you feel that you're better off in those dreams.

Am I scared 'cause they've made this place a world of ghosts? No.

Am I happy 'cause this  is a beautiful place? No. 

Have they taught you too to ignore part of it, and keep moving blindfolded?

I cannot be in the middle of what just is, and is not just. 

These are two shores, either you're here, or you're there. 

You cannot be on both of those, that's not a way out. 

But whoever sails through, goes through the river. 

And just as all the rivers are, this one treats  you like you're special. 

Isn't that everything you had always wanted? 

Welcome to the world. 

“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.” 
―Eric Roth, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Sunday, 12 July 2015

Take me home.

On one hand, the reality screamed faithlessness.
They smoked hash, and penetrated in the world within.
Like escaping reality, finding the truth, they called it.
Like the winds felt true, like truly the world knew.

On the other, I met my brother.
He was always in this world.
Like his reality was always true.
Engulfed within, science and universe exploding!

But they disapproved,
 reverse-drugged him,
gave him shocks to bring him back to what they believed was the truth.
The one they approve.

Who is to say,
 what is real?
Is it she who’s dreaming in hash of escaping within?
Or he, who lives within, and is being forced to be normal?

Who could ever define,
 Anything for that matter?
Even the definition of matter, is nothing but partial truth.
How much of what they say is ‘matter’, do you believe it actually is?

How am I to decide, who am I to choose to love?
The one who loves me back, unconditionally,
And cannot control himself?
Or the one who has always loved me, controlled me, and made me the human they wanted to see?

This brings me back
 to the yang part of reality.
The one that’s darker,
Faded, twisted and self-destructing.

Escaping seems like the exit,
Like, it could set me free.
But they told me there’s no freedom,
Not until you’ve fought it through.

Doesn’t the black hole
Take it all within and save the world?
Or isn’t the ever expanding universe
Throwing us farther away from each other?

How are we to choose?
 Which one is true or real?
Or aren’t these words ‘truth’ and ‘reality’,
Incomplete versions of everything we’ve ever wanted them to be.

The sound of my thoughts is much louder than my voice, much bigger than my head.
They break loose frolic around the room chanting the anthem of my doom.

Saturday, 4 July 2015

22 reasons to survive.

They told me many stories, some told me better human to be, some told me to be careful. 

So should be scared 'cause the one who stays downstairs and says he loves me, is a psychopath? 
Or should I love him back, and expect to be killed one day in the near future?

Should I be happy 'cause I've worked too hard all these years, earned myself more than I could've ever dreamt about?
Or should I cry, 'cause I couldn't do anything to save the one I loved, while he lied dying on the road?

Should I smile 'cause this boy I recently met showed me reasons to be happy?
Or should I sit back and wonder about the zillion reasons it won't work out between us?

Should I tell her that I love her, she's more than my sister to me? 
Or grieve 'cause she's leaving too?

Should I be happy cause this time what I learnt, told me I could be greater than I look in my dreams?
Or should I cry 'cause the path will make me distant from the ones I love too much?

Should I be happy 'cause I wanted to leave, and now I'm away?
Or should I cry 'cause I'm away?

I don't like being in the middle anymore.
But, somehow that has always been my home. 

“I am here.
My mind is not doing the trick anymore.
I am here. There goes your explanation. 
It comes with a presence.
It is honest.
It sings.”
— Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems: Presence