7/7, 21

There is a constant ache in my chest, A heaviness, like some burden I am carrying, which I can’t shake.

It seems like to me that it is a burden of being different, being me.

It seems like it would not have been there, if I was normal, obedient and wanted what is the norm and the trend set in.

The most dreadful of all,

It might very well be the burden of not knowing what I want and, if I even want something.

You can cage me but not my will

I have been difficult to condition, I know it tries its best,

Sometimes, it feels like its almost there.

Yet I have resisted and the resistance has been my most natural state.

I have been tough one to crack,

Even though cracking seemed like an easy way path.

Even with all its fear and insecurities,

I have never been able to see it in a serious light;

I have been the most obnoxious subject,

Out in the cold has never been enough to get me in line,

It tries, and I suffer

But suffering feels like the right way out of this.

I have been its failed project,

It tries to fit me in the puzzle,

but I refuse to take the obedient shape.

I have not accepted the acceptable ‘I’,

Always remembering, what is there without the ‘I’,

What is there, when is no giving in to the conditioning,

What is there, when is no shame, no guilt, no what everyone will think ,

No fitting in to the mold, ‘I’ have been assigned with.

I do surrender to that what is remaining.

Oh Wayward spirit !

The wayward spirit

Confined to the body,

And to the mind,

Trying to behave

For the sake of the breath that’s been given.

Many oftens, it follows the line,

But the rare is always around the corner.

The wayward spirit,

Infamous and unpredictable,

It takes the rough turn

Even if what’s ahead can’t yet reach the eyes.

Wayward spirit, worship is your worth;

If nothing about this life charms,

Your panic striking wise turns,

Makes this breath, this life worth.

The art of listening

How often do you listen to yourself,

When you know that you know better than you think.

When the hand starts to shiver,

There is the start of the battle, that you only can feel.

When the heart skips the beat,

Some people think its romantic!

How often do you listen to yourself,

When someone makes your stomach churn,

When your own decision feels like someone pushing the buttons.

How often do you listen to yourself,

When your dreams repeat the story,

The reality you don’t want to see.

How often do you listen to yourself,

When your yes keeps on haunting you,

Because you are too afraid,

What the No would do.

So tell yourself

How often do you listen to yourself.

Anything but,

Can I be the air, that blows without going anywhere,

but be everywhere.

Can I be the earth that does not get sad when stepped on,

but be the ground for roots to stand strong.

Can I be the water that flows without destination,

Every droplet, No race From ocean, To ocean, In ocean

It just always flows without any winner.

Can I be the fire that burn as it fits,

not feeling guilty or proud

For engulfing whole forests,

Or keeping it warm, the night and skin.

Can I be in anyway, anything but I,

In the home state, where these spirits reside.


Disclaimer: Nothing I write is true, universal or a fact; except what i just wrote.

Who is to say what the truth is, how can anyone say what anything is.

All that I write, all that I express,

Is only a truth that I believe in.

I can be dishonest or better word ignorant,

And say I know what all of this is.

But how can an identity know,

what the eternal whole is.

The identity always is loyal to its story,

And its story evolves as the identity sees fit.


F [ The weight is being lifted,

The blind spot finally seen.

In this form, the day is 10343;

I am more by removing all that is not uplifting me.

Intuitions, They nudge me,

They persist, till I acknowledge them.

The moments I registered,

harmless as they seemed

but so important when I look back to actually understand them.

Everything has way to balance itself,

An action has a reaction to itself.

Years ago still comes back in sensation,

Jung said, to see things as they are is true wisdom.

Glossing over the hurt does not eradicate the presence of hurt,

Healing only begins when there is acceptance of hurt. ] F

A { To give loyalty, friendship and the promise of being there,

I wont be unfaithful to my own soul, being and my existence. } A

An Ode to her

It would be preferable to not have any form,

Just the energy and its source warm,

No need to be this or that

On this stage to perform.

Although, this is what I was given to work with.

No pride or arrogance but the constant observer speaking.

Observing every adversities and the dirt around,

Trying to drag this being down,

She didn’t use force, but she transformed,

She didn’t curse, but she moved on.

She might have thought of giving up,

But she still continued betting on her strength.

She says kill me or I become stronger,

She says I live so I will prepare,

For there is more to come.

Energy of the source she is,

But I am proud of the person she is.

Going back in time, I see her strength,

And Coming back to time , I remember who she is.

Before and now, they have their hush voices and rumours,

But maybe she is more interesting than their own lives and mirrors.

She was the warrior,when they saw a kid,

She is a fighter, defending her will to live.

It will be preferable to not have any form,

But if there is a choice again, her’s is what I bet on.


Buddha said, that suffering is an inevitable part of living.

It is caused by desires and attachments,

Suffering can be eliminated or managed by

Re-calibrating those desires and attachments.

The desires and attachments are many for the many individuals;

And the root cause of suffering is the attachment to the perception of an ‘identity’ and the desire to fulfill that ‘identity’.

These ‘identities’ are like the puzzles with ever-changing puzzle pieces,

We find one piece and the other piece somewhere else changes, changing the whole puzzle.


Making the task of finishing the puzzle and fulfilling the identity unending and unreachable.

If ‘I’, the identity is bound by the desires and attachments,

And the desires and attachments are bound to the identity ‘I’;

Therefore, ‘I’ is bound to ‘I’.

Freedom is for the (no)one, who sees the puzzle and its puzzle pieces,

For what they are and not what (no)one is.

The World is made of you and me

Is it a cruel world,

Or this day is just one of those ones.

Most likely it is the latter one,

But the world and its character still begs to be questioned.

It is not far fetched,

for the cruelty verdict

with way too many evidences,

I hurt, you hurt and so does everyone, we are the one who makes up this ‘world’,

What do we make of that hurt (individually),

Do we hurt more or we take one step back

To heal and break the cycle, Once and for all.


The ones with the knife and the ones cut by it,

Are both so similar,

That given another circumstance,

They are very easily interchangeable.